Geschafft: 64 von 64 Seiten
Anstelle einer Rezension - Briefwechsel mit Schelmuffsky:
Mein Lieber Schelmuffsky,
nachdem ich nun die große Freude hatte, Ihre fiktive autobiographische Reisebeschreibung lesen zu dürfen, muss ich Ihnen leider einige knifflige Fragen stellen. Doch zuerst muss ich doch ein Lob aussprechen, auch wenn es ein Lob an eine fiktive Person ist, und zwar ein allgemeiner Lob und danach ein spezieller Lob:
Was ich liebe an solche absurden Erzählungen? Die reine, ungestörte und angefesselten Absurdität. Heute liest man auch bei comic novels die Zivilisation mit. Selbst bei einem modernen absurden Meisterwerk wie "A Confederacy of Dunces" bleibt der Autor innerhalb der gesellschaftlichen Grenzen, die, 500 Jahre nach der protestantischen Revolution, enger geschnürt sind denn je.
Die Ratte, die ins Loch kroch, die wiederholte Erbrechungsspektakeln, die unterschwellige, befreiende Mangel an Moral und vor allem einfach eine Atmosphäre von Absurditätspotential liebe ich. Ich wünschte, es wäre heute noch möglich. Ich wünschte, unsere zahmen Autoren heute würden sich ein Stück davon abscheiden.
Vielleicht waren die gesellschaftlichen Normen in der Zeit um Schelmuffsky und Grimmelshausen einfach anders und erlaubten solche absurden Exzessen, aber als Autor muss ich sagen, egal, ich mag das und finde es zu schade, dass solche Bücher heute nicht mehr geschrieben werden und vielleicht auch nicht mehr möglich sind.
Also mein lieber Schelmuffsky in diesem Sinne: Respekt.
Was meine brennende Fragen angeht: Mehr davon in den nächsten Tagen.
In Verehrung und Neid,
Eric T. Hansen
KOMMENTAR AUS DEM BLOG http://planet-germany.germanblogs.de:
Absurdistan / Snack Daddys abenteuerlichen Reise: Geschafft 50 von 378 Seiten
Schelmuffsky (erster Teil): geschafft: 57 von 57 Seiten
If you want to know just how conformist, submissive, rule-servile, uninventive and downright boring we have become, read the following two books at the same time: "Absurdistan" and "Schelmuffsky."
Absurdistan is a current bestselling comic novel about a fat (they're always fat) Jewish Russian and his misadventures in Russia and the US. It has "creative writing course" stamped all over it. It's in the sentences: author Gary Shteyngart positively strains to turn out well-formed sentences, like Michael Chabon and like most American writers writing today. They are grammatically correct, touched with a tinge of irreverence of the kind that might send an appealing tingle of shock through the fragile spines of upper middle class women at reading groups. Then he goes on and on about it. Scenes don't end. Over-ambitious similes take over.
"Rain fell like pin-pricks on his cheek." Do we need a sentence like that in a comic novel? Do we need a simile at all? Strained similes like this remind me of John Gardner, that stuck-up pseudo-elitist writing teacher who recommended "original, unusual" similes and metaphors in his classic book On Writing Fiction. Whenever I read a simile like that that the book can do without, I think of Gardner and I wonder if the author like Shteyngart isn't more interested in impressing his creative writing instructor than in writing a scene, much less a funny scene. Jesus Christ, just say it's raining and get it over with. Is the big thing the raindrops, or is the big thing the story… whatever that may be? "Pinprick raindrops" might in some cases establish a dramatic atmosphere, but here it is unnecessary and strained and that goes for about 75% of all his sentences. And In the above paragraphs you can replace the name Shteyngart with almost any name out there today.
At the same time I read "Schelmuffsky", a thin comic/picaresque novel from the 17th century that best translates from the German as "Rascalsky", which is the name of the main character. It's not a classic and it's not really a good book. The main attribute was that the author Christian Reuter seemed to start off in comic directions but stopped before going all the way. The absurdist elements were punchlines, not springboards to further absurdity.
But even then, Schelmuffsky was ten times better and far more absurder than Absurdistan. The way Reuter did it, without doing anything special, really, shows up our modern literature for just how unadventurous it really is:
1. Reuter doesn’t give a damn about grammar. This is typical for his pre-dictionary time (and for other classics, including Grimmelshausen and English writers of the day) and it gives his sentences a crazy, veering, careening life of their own. It starts with the (sub)title: "The curious and dangerous Travelogue." How can a travelogue be dangerous? It can't. It doesn't matter. It just sounds better, and funnier, than "The dangerous travels" or "Description of a dangerous journey." And come to think of it, who cares that it's "wrong"? Nowadays we over-schooled writers are so afraid of making a grammatical mistake that our prose becomes stiff and lifeless, every sentence cowering before the assumed scrutiny of our high school English teachers. All this right-and-wrong grammar stuff is nothing but modern-day literary Prussianism.
2. Reuter is not afraid of extreme absurdity. I know of no novel today that dares to be so ridiculous. While Tristram Shandy opened and closed from the womb, Schelmuffksy also starts in the womb than describes how a giant rat ran under the dress of his sister and into a "hole", causing his mother to faint and remain unconscious for a few days, causing him, after a few days of no food, to crawl out of his mother's womb with mature faculties, meaning he can speak and think as an infant – and immediately he gets into a confrontation with and triumphs over the village priest before waking his mother. It goes on and on like that. The only absurd thing about the hero of Absurdistan is that he is obese. Okay, fine, who cares? Why are there no adventuresome authors out there today? Reuter cold have gone another step or to beyond what he did, but he went a huge step beyond what we do today.
These, then, are the Two Comic Laws of Schelmuffsky: 1) Forget the pretty sentences already, and 2) go one step beyond.