Judith Hermann and Claire Keegan
It seemed an unlikely coincidence, yet it happened. Two of the most interesting writers currently at work, Judith Hermann and Claire Keegan, read together at an enjoyable Germany@Home evening hosted by Mechtild Manus, Director of the Dublin Goethe-Institut. It was an inspired pairing for many reasons.
Both writers read from works written during respective, and as we were to discover, contrasting stays at the famous Heinrich Böll literary retreat on Achill Island, off the West coast of Ireland.
Both writers, now in their 40s, are drawn to inner worlds; their characters confront intense emotions and are often engaged in reflection, at times touched by regret. A quiet intensity shapes their narratives. Neither is particularly interested in depicting political situations and yet their works do convey a sense of the social history evolving beyond their narratives, life as lived by the individuals within their societies. They appear to share a belief in the power of refined understatement, the weight of a gesture, an observation, an eloquent shudder which conveys so much.
Both emerged early in their careers as natural masters of the short story. Judith Hermann’s acclaimed debut collection The Summerhouse, Later was published in Germany in 1998; the English translation followed in 2001. Claire Keegan’s Antarctica won a number of awards, including an LA Times Book of the Year, on publication in 1999.
But there are differences; Judith Hermann is a native Berliner and her work is based in the city. She is very much an urban writer. She smiled on being reminded by me that she once stayed at another famous sanctuary for gifted writers, the Alfred Döblin house. And that in common with her, Döblin, although born in Stettin in Pomerania (now part of Poland) was very much a city writer as his master work, Berlin Alexanderplatz (1929) testifies. For Hermann that city contains the inner turmoil of her characters.
On the evening of this Germany@Home she was midway through a visit which brought her to four German literature departments at Irish universities where she spoke with students and worked with them, using both the German and English editions of her new novel, Aller Liebe Anfang which was published in Germany in August 2014. The English translation, Where Love Begins by Margot Betauer Dembo, will be published in October. Herman mentioned that she had been working with her translator for close on 25 years. “It seems such a long time” she said. But Hermann does not look that much different from the young writer whose first book reflected the new face of the changing Germany.
Before beginning to read, in German, from the second chapter of Aller Liebe Anfang, which brings the action on three weeks and finds Stella, the mother of a young child, at home, alone, on what appears to be an ordinary weekday, Hermann admitted to feeling nervous. Her voice was low as she conveyed the anxiety which slowly begins to unsettle Stella. Within a few sentences a powerful sense of Stella emerged: “Nowadays she likes being alone; before, she didn’t like being alone. It’s that simple; only she doesn’t really know just when this change actually took place. And how, suddenly or gradually? In the course of months, or from one day to the next, from one day that Stella has forgotten to another.”
As Stella moves through the few free hours she has between caring for her little girl and attending to her three patients, her solitude is threatened by a stranger intent on speaking with her. The man becomes insistent, the tension builds. And Judith Hermann who writes with an exactness refined by her early training as a journalist, left her audience eager to find out what happens next.
Claire Keegan grew up on a family farm in Co Wicklow. Her work balances human concerns and interactions with the changing moods of the natural world; light and shadow are important. She is a traditional writer with a sophisticated and original feel for the ordinary, such as making tea, which invariably carries a resonance of near- ritualised import. Calm and deliberate, she is direct, while also maintaining an element of mystery. There was a knowing smile in her eyes as she mentioned that she would read “The Long and Painful Death” from her second collection, Walk the Blue Fields.
The story was not only written in the Heinrich Böll cottage, it is based on an encounter which happened there. Keegan has a dramatic presence, her delivery is unhurried and she seems to weigh the words as carefully when she reads them aloud as she clearly does when she writes.
“The Long and Painful Death” begins as the central character, a woman, arrives in the tiny Achill village of Dugort. It is the early hours of the morning and although the houses are in darkness, the natural world is wide awake. As is the woman; her senses are heightened. Taking possession of the house is exhilarating. Keegan presents it as a small victory; the woman has acquired freedom to write. A sequence of activities appears to be preparing her for the moment work will begin. But the phone rings. She is reluctant to answer it; the caller insists. So she eventually does life the receiver and listens while a professor of German literature on the other end, demands to visit. He is adamant so the writer makes preparations, including baking a cake, admittedly from a packaged mix.
The German feels that the woman who had earlier gone swimming is not respecting the privilege she has been given, that of staying in the cottage. He reminds her that Böll won the Nobel Prize. A lapse in civility, which makes a subtle play about the cultural differences further dividing the two strangers, marks the end of the visit. After the unwelcome guest is dismissed the writer sets about dealing with him and his eventual demise. It proves a satisfying revenge.
For Claire Keegan, accustomed to the silence of countryside, staying in the Böll cottage was wonderful. Judith Hermann shudders at the memory of the nights she spent in terror, alone in the dark, listening for creaking sounds. She would have welcomed any chance visitor, even a righteous professor. Disliking the solitude she did however find comfort in reading Keegan’s stories. A copy of Walk the Blue Fields had been left in the house.
Stories are intended to be read and to hear authors reading their works is always a privilege, and in the intimacy of a small gathering in a private living room, instead of the usual public space, all the better. Evenings such as these encourage readers and writers to discuss writing and share ideas in an informal relaxed setting.
