Versuchen Sie es: Versuchen Sie einmal, über das Lesen zu sprechen, ohne thematisch dahin abzuschweifen, wie das Internet die Art unserer Informationsaufnahme verändert hat. Ich – und auch die Mehrheit der Menschen, die ich kenne, deren Lesegewohnheiten schon lange vor dem Aufkommen von digitalen Zeitschriften und Zeitungen, Google Books, Blogs, RSS-Feeds, Social Media und Kindle geprägt wurden – habe meist das Gefühl, dass ich nur dann wirklich lese, wenn ich ein Druckwerk vor mir habe, unter einer Leselampe, wenn Bildschirm und Telefon ausgeschaltet sind. Aber in Wirklichkeit lese ich sehr viel online.
Try it: try talking about the subject of reading without drifting off into how the Internet has changed the way we absorb information. I, along with the majority of people I know whose reading habits were formed long before the advent of digital magazines and newspapers, Google Books, blogs, RSS feeds, social media, and Kindle, usually feel I’m only really reading when it’s printed matter, under a reading lamp, with the screen and phone turned off. But the reality is that I do a vast amount of reading online.
Wonderful words by writer Lance Olsen:
“Fantastic reading/conversation last night with the ever thoughtful, existentially attentive, compassionate, wise, wildly talented, & fascinating Andrea Scrima about her post-genre autre-biography, A Lesser Day, its just-released German translation, Wie viele Tage, the spatial dimensions of memory, her use of the slippery ‘you’ in the text, the problematics of helping bring one’s own work over into a second language in which one is fluent, & so much more.”
April 12, 2018
Moderated by Rebecca Rukeyser.
Berliners: I’ll be reading in the series “Literally Speaking” at BuchHafen in Neukölln on January 24. Along with Chris Chinchilla, Wlada Kolosowa, Rhea Ramjohn, and Isabelle Ståhl.
Come early, because Träci A. Kim’s series is usually packed! Looking forward to seeing you all. I’m beginning my reading with an excerpt from Marie-Luise Kaschnitz’s story The Fat Child (Das dicke Kind).
My mind snapped shut like a box. I turn, perplexed: but wasn’t something there a moment ago? Waiting, waiting, looking on as though at a mute child, hoping to pry out a word, or a smile: patience is the essence. The child stands dumbly before me, and I kneel down with a friendly mien. What was that just now, what do you have in your hand, I ask gently. The child’s eyelashes veil its downcast eyes. I saw you putting something in your pocket a moment ago, wouldn’t you like to show me what you have in your pocket? But the child stares at its toes, suspended in a glistening bubble of impunity. Say something, I blurt out, growing agitated, and the child raises a grimy fist to brush the hair out of its eyes, gazing at me in sullen apathy. I hear the sharp edge in my voice, I know this tactic will lead me nowhere, yet I’m vexed, I want to drill the child with questions: what are you hiding, what have you stolen? And hardly an answer, a feeble shrug, and I, growing desperate, give it back, give it back, feeling the hand itching to slap the face of this stupid, torpid mind: will you come to your senses, will you give me back what’s mine?
I’ll be reading from A LESSER DAY this evening at a place called ausland.
How much of our lives is contained in the places we’ve lived in? And does memory have a spatial dimension? As the narrator attempts to locate meaning in the passage of time as it inscribes itself into the myriad things around her, she discovers instances of illusion and self-deception—the flaws in human perception that reveal themselves when we examine the mechanisms of our own thinking: “The amnesia that follows, when the mind carefully buries its new discovery, only digging it up some time later when it’s certain of being alone, unobserved, turning it over and over, sniffing at it as though it were a dried-out bone.”
Together with Ben Miller and Charlotte Wührer.
Doors open at 7 p.m.
Lychenerstraße 60, 10437 Berlin