The Book Nook

Als ich hörte, dass Hape Kerkeling ein neues Buch auf den Markt bringen würde, war ich ehrlich gesagt mehr als nur Feuer und Flamme. Um es kurz zu machen: Ich liebe Hape Kerkeling. Ist er meine Generation? Absolut nicht. Eher gehört er als Kind der 1960er Jahre zu der Generation meiner Eltern, aber er bringt mich trotzdem zum Quietschen. Bei Hape Kerkeling stimmt meiner Meinung nach einfach alles: Meister seines Fachs (Komiker), herzensgut, mit Weitblick und Verstand. Er ist lustig, ohne sich je über seine Mitmenschen zu erheben oder sie als Punchline für seine Kunst zu nutzen. Er ist lustig, weil er es ist. Und das ist, finde ich, ein großes Talent.

Ein weiteres seiner vielen Talente (Komiker, Sänger, Schauspieler, Katzenfreund, Sprachgenie) ist das Schreiben. In den Genuss seiner Schreibe kam ich zum ersten Mal mit seinem Bestseller "Ich bin dann mal weg", in welchem er über seine Wanderung des Jakobswegs von St. Jean Pied-de-Port bis nach Santiago de Compostela beschreibt. Was hatte ich die Menschen, die er beschrieb, ins Herz geschlossen! Darüber hinaus habe ich entdeckt, wie wunderbar Hape Kerkeling vorlesen kann - seine Hörbücher liest er nämlich selber. Sowohl "Ich bin dann mal weg" als auch "Der Junge muss an die frische Luft" höre ich sehr oft und sehr gerne zum Einschlafen. Das heißt nicht, dass Hape Kerkeling so langweilig wäre, dass er mich zum Einschlafen bringt. Ich finde seine Stimme einfach nur wahnsinnig beruhigend. Und nachdem ich "Der Junge muss an die frische Luft" nun gehört, gelesen, und auch als Film gesehen habe, muss ich sagen: Ich kenne die Kerkelings fast schon besser als meine eigene Sippe.

Umso mehr hat es mich gefreut, dass er sich in seinem neuen Buch wieder mit seiner Familie befassen würde - vor allem mit seiner Oma Bertha, die ich schon in "Der Junge muss an die frische Luft" ins Herz geschlossen hatte. Was Hape Kerkeling nun in "Gebt mir etwas Zeit" präsentiert, ist allerdings schon ein ziemlicher Hammer: seine Oma Bertha soll eine uneheliche Tochter des englischen Königs Edward VII. gewesen sein. Ob das nun stimmt oder nicht - man wird es nie erfahren, und mir fällt ehrlich gesagt kein Grunde ein, wieso Hape Kerkeling das erfinden sollte. Er hat schon alles erreicht, hat vermutlich finanziell ausgesorgt, und braucht keine Publicity - nicht wie so manch anderer deutscher Fernsehstar vergangener Zeiten *hust*. Unfassbar und ungeheuer faszinierend ist es dennoch allemal. Vor allem, wie uns Hape Kerkeling an diese Sache heranführt und dabei geschickt Parallelen zu seinem eigenen Lebensweg zieht.

Sein Buch ist, grob gesagt, in zwei Sparten aufgeteilt. Die eine ist das autobiographische Schreiben, in welchem Hape Kerkeling die Ahnenforschung, die er betreibt, näher ausführt und dabei auch auf seine eigene Jugend und eine große Liebe seiner selbst eingeht. Die andere ist ein fiktiver Blick in die Vergangenheit seiner Familie und ihren Anfängen und ihrem Niedergang in Amsterdam, bishin zu einer fiktiven Beschreibung des ersten Treffens seiner Urgroßmutter, der Mutter seiner Oma Bertha, mit Edward VII. Darin liegt, meiner Meinung nach, der große Reiz dieses Buches, denn: Hape Kerkeling beweist, dass er zu mehr fähig ist, als "nur" autobiographische Sachbücher zu schreiben. Was aus der Feder dieses Mannes geflossen kommt, ist für mich schlicht und ergreifend sehr hohe Kunst. Ich bin persönlich kein Fan davon, die Schreibe des einen oder anderen Autors bzw. Autorin in den Himmel hoch zu loben, aber ich denke, man kann mit Fug und Recht behaupten, dass Hape Kerkeling ein großes Talent innewohnt. Die fiktiven Episoden seiner Familiengeschichte haben mich besser unterhalten und tiefer in ihren Bann gezogen als so mancher hochgelobter Roman. Hape Kerkeling hat tiefe Leidenschaft und vor allem tiefe, ehrliche Freude an dem, was er tut. Eine Eigenschaft eines Autors, die, wie ich finde, in letzter Zeit viel zu kurz kommt. Zu viele deutsche Autor:innen bilden sich sehr viel darauf ein, beim Schreiben zu leiden und möglichst viele ihrer Traumata zu verarbeiten. Das ist valide und verständlich, aber erzeugt zugleich eine äußerst schwere und befangene Materie. Literaturkritiker stürzen sich trotzdem wie die Aasgeier darauf. Gott bewahre, dass man beim Schreiben Freude hat und keine Dämonen aus der eigenen Seele treibt.

Hape Kerkeling hatte Spaß am Schreiben dieses Buches. Ob er dabei auch gelitten hat, weiß ich nicht, aber ich denke, das wird stellenweise schon so gewesen sein. Aber die Freude, diese Geschichten zu Papier zu bringen, ob sie nun wahr sind oder nicht, ist auf jeder Seite des Buches deutlich spürbar.

Und das finde ich, besonders in der deutschen, oft recht drögen Literaturlandschaft, extrem erfrischend.

Here we go again with the sequel to one of my favourite reads of the year so far.

When I remembered that I have this blog, it was "Days at the Morisaki Bookshop" that I wrote about in great detail, and when I found out that the sequel was going to be published in English, I was very excited. Nevertheless, I somewhat forgot about it until I stumbled upon it at Foyles in London. So, of course, I had to buy it, among many other books.

Synopsis: Life is going well for Takako. She has a new job, a loving boyfriend, and she is bickering as usual with her aunt and uncle - and there is the bookshop that they run. As destiny strikes yet again and turns the world of Takako and her uncle Satoru upside down, the future of the family and of the bookshop becomes uncertain.

Starting this book was like coming home - I was immediately drawn back into the world of Jimbōchō, the district of Tokyo full of bookshops. The character Takako welcomed me back into her world like an old friend, showing me around in the current state of her life: a new job, a new boyfriend (yes! It's Wada!!), but otherwise, same old. There are the same eccentric characters in their street, the same strange visitors, and the usual arguments between Satoru and Momoko, and the heartbreak of poor Takano, the barista that is in love with Tomo. Do the names get a bit confusing? Takako, Takano, Tomo(ko)? A little bit. But I believe that Yagisawa did this on purpose, and it would interest me greatly what kanji have been used for these names, respectively.

In general, there is a lot to be said about Yagisawa Satoshi's style and the choices that he makes. What I like about Yagisawa's style is how he writes from the perspective of a woman without ever being patronizing about her or her reality of life. It is rare enough that a male writer actually manages to write from the perspective of a female character that does not make me want to bleach my eyes. Yagisawa writes Takako as a woman, yes, but also as simply human. Nothing she says or does is exclusively so because of any assumption that a woman ought to behave or talk that way, even more so a Japanese woman. Takako is a fully fleshed out character with wants, needs, desires, and flaws. People praise her as much as they criticise her, and not always does the reader feel compelled to agree with either the praise or the criticism. But that is in itself a very human notion and makes the novel, and Takako's personal development, even more compelling.

There is sadness in the book as well, of course. Momoko's illness encompasses the middle and end of the book like a shadow, leaving Satoru and Takako both at a loss for what to do. But Momoko has a plan for everything even beyond death, and she does everything to save Satoru, Takako, and the bookshop that she ran with Satoru for so many years. Her destiny does not feel forced, but more completes what has been started in the first novel. Together, her character now feels less hastily composed, less rushed, more human.

But what is Takako's personal development this time? What is her raison d'être? For one, I believe it is to overcome her lack of trust in people, especially in the men she is romantically involved with. In this case, it is only Wada, who is honestly such a cinnamon roll that would not hurt a fly. At the same time, she learns to stand up for herself when men talk down at her, may they be her colleagues, customers, or her uncle Satoru. Her other motiviation is to find out what she wants from life and where it should take place: as much as she loves her new job, she also misses working at the bookshop. In all of this, Takako is acting on her own, hardly ever talking to anyone about these things, until others point it out to her. It is her boyfriend Wada who tells her that she is loved by everyone around her, and how much he wishes to be part of the Morisaki world, where people love each other as much as they love books. Takako, having never realized any of this, understands how true he is in his statement, and invites him to join her in this world - that the Morisakis will accept him.

And if that is not some sort of marriage proposal, then what is?

I turned 30 two weeks ago, and so, my friend Maria asked me what kind of book I would like as a gift. Because of course, we gift each other books. I had this one on my list after stumbling upon the German edition in town, but I wanted to read it in English. Shortly afterwards, this arrived in the mail, and it was one of the sweetest reads of my year so far.

Synopsis: Alexei and Ben meet on the Pacific Crest Trail, each of them with different motivations and different problems. Whereas Ben is finally settling on a career but struggles with getting his general life in order, Alexei is struggling after coming out to his Russian-orthodox family. Faced with a new world in which he has no longer strict parents nor an overbearing church, Alexei stumbles down the PCT not knowing where his life might be headed - and right into Ben's arms, saving him from a rattlesnake.

Personally, I am not a hiker. I am not interested per se in books that are about hiking or the outdoors, but for some reason, this book simply spoke to me. I was completely taken in after a few pages only, adoring Anita Kelly's simple yet incredibly beautiful and gentle style. It is not overly complicated but also not too simple - it is not quite how people speak, but also not too literary, making it accessible and endearing to both casual and more experienced readers. I often have the problem that the simple language of rom-coms bores me to death, but this was absolutely not the case here.

Alexei and Ben are absolutely fantastic characters that the reader cannot help but root for. Both have their issues, rooted in family affairs and the struggle of figuring out who they are and what they want from life. Whereas Ben's family is open-minded and has no issue with him being gay, Alexei struggles with the consequences of coming out to his conservative, Russian-American family and the loss of his religious life. Alexei is frequently mentioned praying before going to sleep, but it never feels forced, but as merely part of him. It is incredibly refreshing to read a queer character that, despite the trauma, is still religious and does not blame their god for what happened to them. Ben's struggles are of a different nature, with him being unsure about his career and what he actually wants to do with his life - and whether to stay near his family or not.

The book is perfectly paced. Nothing happens too early or too soon, neither in terms of plot development or personal growth of the characters. Everything gets its time to develop and does so at the right speed and with the appropriate consequences. All obstacles, including social anxiety, personal issues, and sudden reactions happen exactly when they should - and that is, in my opinion, a great task to achieve, and Anita Kelly has done so masterfully. Not once did I get the impression that Ben and Alexei moved too fast or too slow, or that their decisions were rushed. It felt all incredibly natural.

Do you ever pick up a book, expecting story XYZ, only to end up flipping through the pages, saying loudly "What the fuck?!" to yourself?

That was my experience with Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata.

Synopsis: Keiko is 36 years old and has worked at the same convenience store as a part-timer for 18 years. It is where she feels home, where she thrives, where she knows what to do. This is where she has set patterns to follow, giving her safety. Everyone else around her cannot understand why on earth she would not look for a "proper job" or, since she is a woman allegedly past her prime, look into getting married. Is there something wrong with Keiko? Or is there something wrong with the rest of the world?

Reading Murata's novel as someone who has lived in Japan for a bit is a wild experience. The setting is mainly a convenience store, of which there are THOUSANDS all across Japan, by several chains and some individual ones. My personal favourite is 7-Eleven. And Seicomart, because it is exclusive to Hokkaido and has the best Hokkaido milk pastries on this planet. Keiko works in one that remains unnamed, but it is her personal heaven. She knows what to do, how to react, how to speak. The typical konbini speech is her personal stradivarius. So far, so good, right?

Right.

Keiko, who is also the narrator of the book, is a woman with problems. Said problems are not what she would describe as a problem - it is her surroundings, her friends and family, who describe her behaviour as a problem and "not normal". When Keiko tells us about her childhood and how her parents and sister struggled with her, e.g. how she hit a classmate with a shovel to make him "stop" something, she does not understand how this behaviour might be problematic. When she pulls down her crying teacher's skirt to expose her underwear, copying what she has seen on TV, she does not understand why this behaviour is inappropriate. Unsure of how to talk and behave, she learns to mimic the speech and gestures of her peers, putting on individual "masks". It is how she behaves at home, how she behaves at the store, and even around her friends.

I think I was about five pages into the novel when I said to myself: "Yep, ma girl Keiko is autistic."

The word is never explicitly used in the novel, but her behaviour and her description of her own thought process definitely gives reason to assume that Keiko is on the autism spectrum. She seems to mask it incredibly well: her colleagues adore her as the most hardworking store worker they have ever met, her managers know they can rely on her, and her friends seem to accept her with her oddities as they come. Her family is mainly worried: when will Keiko finally become normal? Her only ally in her family seems to be her sister, who offers her "human" explanations she can use for situations when she is asked about her dead-end job. After all, why should she not work there? What is there to complain or worry about?

In Japan, a convenience store is mainly staffed by part-timers who have a part-time job for good reason: they are housewives, trying to earn a small side living. Students, foreigners, elderly who are a little bored from sitting at home. It is badly paid. Then why on earth, one cannot help but ask, would a woman with a university degree choose to work in what is deemed a dead-end job?

It is the question Keiko has to answer almost every single day. Something must be wrong with her, the world concludes, if she works in a job like that. Keiko gives the same answer to everyone: "I am not very strong." Her physical condition does not allow much more. The excuse is usually accepted, but not by everyone. And why is she not married? Surely, she must be desperate at this point, going on forty and with no man in sight!

Keiko cares not for it, and therein lies the great scandal.

As a new co-worker starts at the konbini, Keiko comes to face a reality entirely foreign to her. Shihara, a man roughly her age and seemingly little confidence, declares loudly that all people working at konbinis are losers and that he is there to look for a wife only anyway. When he is fired for stalking a female customer, Keiko runs into him outside the store a while later, and finds herself in a heated conversation with him. It is in moments like these where it becomes clear that Keiko, despite masking a lot, is perfectly capable of holding conversations without masking in the first place. Shihara tells her of his theory that human society has not changed since the Stone Age, and that men ought to hunt and women ought to bear children - and that he has been fucked over by a cruel society in which women allegedly only ever aim for the attractive, muscular men, and leave the "good ones" like him, to the side. He hates that he is, as he puts it, always pressured into having a perfect job, a wife and children, whilst not being allowed to do any of it, because he is far too brilliant to have a simple job, and no woman wants him because he has no money.

Dear reader, it was at this point where I loudly exclaimed "What the fuck?!" and almost threw the book across the room. I had not expected to find fully-fledged incel rhetoric in this book.

The glorious turn, however, is Keiko's reaction to it. She plays along at first and allows him to live with her in her tiny apartment, keeping him "in the bathroom" and giving him food when it is "feeding time". Her reason for doing so and for playing along is not that Shihara has convinced her of his ways: in fact, she is merely curious to see how her surroundings will react to the knowledge that she is living with a man - after all, that must mean something! The reactions of her friends and family are immense: despite not knowing him, they are so incredibly happy for Keiko that they finally declare her "normal". When her sister comes to visit and is appalled at the state she finds Keiko and Shihara in, only to be told the lie that Shihara had been cheating on Keiko, her sister is relieved - after all, better a cheating man than no man. It is a disgusting mindset that made me shake my head several times.

Convincing Keiko to go through with his plan - marrying, him living off her money that she will from now on earn in a "proper" job, but no sex because clearly, Keiko is "below his standards" - Keiko quits her job at the convenience store. Everyone there is happy for her - after all, there is nothing greater in a woman's life than to get married. Even if it is Shihara, the man they all found incredibly creepy and disgusting. "It does not matter who it is, really, when you are a woman" - such is the way Keiko's friends argue, as long as you end up married and thus, respectable and normal. But on her way to her job interview, they stop at another convenience store, and Keiko realises that this is where she belongs. When Shihara explodes on her and insults her as not being human, she agrees: "I am a convenience store worker."

And she would not have it any other way.

I am not sure what the moral of the story is - if there is one at all. But what Sayaka Murata has created is a masterful, poignant tale of the role of women in society. I am not even sure if it is limited to Japanese society. A woman's worth is bound to her usefulness, specifically to the usefulness of her womb. If it is not used, she is worthless to the "village". I believe we have all heard this sort of talk before. In the novel, Shihara screams it into our faces, whilst not realising that he is failing not because of his looks or lack of a job, but for his uselessness for the people around him. Everyone else is at fault, but he never is - after all, he is a man with intelligence, and should be thus a catch for the ladies. They, however, reject him. And thus, they are pure evil to him.

Keiko can follow the arguments the people around her make: she knows that it is typical for women her age to be married with children, or to have a well-paying job instead. She knows that her otherness is why she is singled out and excluded. But she does not understand the reasoning behind it, and for that alone, the reader has to love her. Her naiveté about it exposes the arguments of her friends and family as what they are: insecurity about things they do not know or understand.

As someone who is on the autism spectrum herself, and asexual, I felt that deep in my bones.

In the end, Keiko triumphs nevertheless: for she recreates her own system that has served her so perfectly well. She returns to a life as a convenience store woman, and has no need for Shihara anymore. In her system, he is of no use.

What, we are talking manga now on this blog?

Of course!

Ever since I fell into a Maomao/Jinshi shaped hole on Crunchyroll, I have been taken hostage by this story. Needless to say, I immediately went on to read the manga and found myself captivated even further - so much that I am actually shipping Maomao and Jinshi, and those who know me know that me shipping a straight couple happens once every ten years. But the chemistry between them- oh, where could I possibly begin!

But, as always, first things first.

Synopsis: The young apothecary Maomao grows up in a brothel and lives with a physician whom she regards as her adoptive father. On her quest to find new herbs, the young woman is abducted by human traffickers and sold to the Imperial Court to work as a maid. Soon, however, her skills as a healer and her incredibly sharp wit attract the attention of the eunuch Jinshi, whose true identity is a well-kept secret. Soon, Maomao finds herself in the very midst of the intrigues of the court as the personal food taster of the Emperor's favourite consort, and it is there where the mysteries begin...

Truth be told: The Apothecary Diaries did not lure me in immediately. I had seen the manga in some bookshops, but the art style gave me the impression of "yet another shojo manga" and I did not bother reading the blurb. Then, I got a subscription to Crunchyroll and decided to give the anime adaption a try and-- here we are. Now that I have also read the manga and still follow it, I felt the need to give a review.

When looking for manga to read or anime to watch, I can be very picky. I am not easily impressed by what is currently popular and I need a story to grab me by the throat and shake me thoroughly, only to rip out my heart, tear it into pieces, mend it and put it back again. Most anime and manga that are currently popular in Germany are of the shonen genre, which is not really what I am into. But how would I classify The Apothecary Diaries?

What Natsu Hyūga has created with her Light Novels and now with the manga is a beautiful mix of romance, mystery, and comedy, embedded in a gorgeous historical setting inspired by Imperial China. Set at the Imperial Court, the reader is thrown into a fantastical world of pomp and splendour where everything, from things to food to women, is at only one man's disposal. What sounds like a classical harem trope is one only to a certain extent. The system of the court is merely described, not glorified, but also not judged. In that, Maomao is an excellent main character to follow as she mostly observes and makes her conclusions, only to state at the end of it: but it's not my business anyway. I am not sure if I have ever seen/read a main character like her before that draws such a strict line between her own life and the business of other people - perhaps she is a bit like Jane Eyre, but with a passion for poison. The deadpan exchanges she has with Jinshi definitely reminded me of the conversations between Jane and Rochester, minus the psychological manipulation.

Maomao could have easily become a Mary-Sue character with little personality beyond her enthusiasm for all sorts of poison. However, she is a strong-willed young woman with flaws that are entirely believable, such as her assumption that she might lack typical human emotion due to her upbringing. At the same time, she stays wary and follows the advice of her adoptive father to never make assumptions out loud, and to never ask questions, lest she might fall into something that is none of her business and might harm her in the end. She is aware that as a woman not following a traditional path, she must be even more careful, but at the same time, does not judge women that follow or even want a traditional life. Jinshi is intrigued by that, but also by her skill and her wisdom which she never flaunts, but only ever expresses as a passion of hers that she is not ashamed of. It is a pure joy to watch Jinshi grow fond of her, yes, fall in love with her for what she is, says, and does, while Maomao stays all the while entirely oblivious, not thinking of herself as particularly pretty or lovable based on her low social status. Said status does not bother her much and she does not attempt to change it even though it would be within her means to do so - her decision to stay away from what could become her birthright is entirely understandable for the reader and makes Maomao even more fascinating.

The character of the eunuch Jinshi is a masterful mirror of reader reactions to Maomao up until the point where his own story unfolds. Born at court to a mother belonging to an emperor and raised in a golden cage, his true identity is unknown to most beside a selected few that also keep his identity hidden. The purpose of this secrecy is slowly unveiled just as the reader learns of the weight resting on Jinshi's shoulders, and Maomao's appearance at court seems to shake him out of a rigour he has been subjected to for a very long time. Although everyone's favourite at court, Jinshi is alone in his beauty and Maomao, observant in terms of both plants and people, soon realises how lonely the man is and how deep the secrets run. After all, the man is far too beautiful to be a eunuch. But even here, she stays true to her credo of not getting involved in anyone's business unless she is forced to, even as the chance arises to learn the truth.

Especially noteworthy is that while the world of Maomao and Jinshi is a golden one at court, Natsu Hyūga does not shy away from depicting the horrible things that humans can do to each other. Various darker topics are covered: human trafficking, child abuse, rape, pedophilia, the exploitation of women and children in the name of royalty, envy, and the illusion of free choice. The world of The Apothecary Diaries is not a kind one to women - Maomao points that out, reflects on it several times and knows that she, by her gender alone, is viewed as inferior. It does not stop her from pursuing her goals, but it keeps her incredibly aware of her surroundings. Many times, stories like that fall into the trap of creating a female main character that is "not like other girls" and constantly belittles the women and girls that seemingly fit the picture. Maomao might not be a courtesan, concubine, noble lady, or consort, and she might not necessarily have traditionally female interests such as fashion and jewellery, but she never belittles the women around her for their interests or life choices. This is an incredibly refreshing take and speaks of the excellent skill of the author to create a female character that is special, in some ways The Chosen One, but also likeable, obscure, and true to herself.

Ein Hund ertrinkt in einer Punicaflasche.

Was nach einem absurden Satz klingt, ist auch absolut absurd. So absurd, dass ich beim Lesen erst einmal gestutzt, den Satz nochmal gelesen, und dann so schallend gelacht habe, dass ich fast vom Bett gefallen bin. So ungefähr beginnt Giulia Beckers Debütroman "Das Leben ist eins der Härtesten" - und der Humor ist Programm.

Inhalt: Silke aus der Bahnhofsmission ist jedermanns Fußabtreter, Willy-Martin hat seine Onlinefreundin inklusive Hund in der Wohnung, Renate hat nach dem Tod ihres Hundes einen HSE24 Shoppingrausch und Frau Goebel will mit ihren 90 Jahren nochmal was erleben - also ab gehts vom beschaulichen Borken ins Tropical Island.

Ich weiß gar nicht, wo ich bei diesem Feuerwerk der herrlich deutschen Absurditäten anfangen soll.

Vielleicht fange ich am Besten beim Anfang an.

Ein Hund ist in einer Punicaflasche ertrunken und wirft das Leben von Besitzerin Renate vollends aus der Bahn und direkt in den Shoppingrausch von HSE24. Das allein reicht schon, um die Leser:innen dieses wunderbaren Buchs zu fesseln. Schwer zu glauben, ich weiß, aber es ist so herrlich komisch, dass man nicht anders kann, als weiterzulesen. Jetzt ist man, wie man so schön sagt, invested. Das liegt nicht nur an den Charakteren wie Renate, sondern auch an dem wunderbaren Schreibstil von Giulia Becker, die mancher vielleicht als eine der Drinnies kennt, dem "Podcast aus der Komfortzone". Interessanterweise ist dieses Buch eine Geschichte davon, wie man seine Komfortzone verlässt und manchmal auch merkt: das Gras ist zwar grüner, aber ist halt nur grün angemalt. Manchmal ist die Welt außerhalb der Komfortzone wirklich nicht besser. Beim Lesen spürt man es am eigenen Leib: man leidet direkt mit. Mit Renate, die völlig die Kontrolle über ihr Leben zu verloren haben scheint und der es offenbar völlig egal ist, wie andere darunter leiden. Mit Willy-Martin, der ein relativ einsames Leben fristet und all seine Hoffnungen in seine Onlinebekanntschaft setzt, nur um dann doch enttäuscht zu werden. Mit Silke, die aufgrund eines Fehlers, den kein normaler Mensch je als Fehler bezeichnen würde (sie hat bei einem Schwächeanfall im Zug die Notbremse gezogen und ist ohnmächtig geworden), von Freunden und dem eigenen Ehemann verstoßen wird und seither der Fußabtreter für alle ist, sich dabei aber aufgrund eines unglaublich guten Herzens für jedermann aufopfert. Und dann natürlich fühlt man auch mit Frau Goebel, die mit ihren 90 Jahren noch was erleben will. Eine rüstige alte Frau will also ins Tropical Island nach Brandenburg. Es sind schon seltsamere Dinge passiert.

Man muss ehrlich sein: die Charaktere, die in Giulia Beckers Roman zu Wort kommen, sind normalerweise jene Menschen, die von RTL in den Nachmittagssendungen gerne Hops genommen werden. Es sind jene Leute, deren Geschichten man bei "Mitten im Leben" oder "Familien im Brennpunkt" zu Gesicht bekommen könnte, stark überdramatisiert und schlecht geschauspielert. Ich weiß nicht, ob man gut in Worte fassen kann, wie sehr RTL dem Image der Leute geschadet hat, die nicht im wohlgepflegten Wohngebiet im Einfamilienhaus mit Garten leben, sondern kaum Geld haben, Sozialhilfe empfangen, einsam zu Hause vor dem PC sitzen, sich "freche" Frisuren an der Grenze zu Polen machen lassen, weil es dort billiger ist, oder Love Scammern zum Opfer fallen. Allein die Tatsache, dass ich bei den Figuren in diesem Roman an RTL gedacht habe, sagt einiges aus - sowohl über die Fernsehgewohnheiten meines damals 11jährigen Ichs wenn ich allein zuhause war als auch über unser aller Verständnis darüber, wer es im Leben "geschafft" hat und wer nicht. Die Wahrheit ist jedoch: die Menschen in Giulia Beckers Roman sind real, auch wenn sie nicht Renate, Silke, Willy-Martin oder Frau Goebel heißen. Sie haben gemeinsam, dass das Leben ihnen, wie man so schön sagt, ordentlich eine reingewürgt hat: durch furchtbare Ehemänner, schlechte Mütter, die deutsche Gesetzgebung, Krankheit, oder einfach nur Pech. Kann man ihnen einen Vorwurf machen?

Zugegeben, die Versuchung ist groß. Wer ist schon so blöd und fällt auf love scammer herein? Warum sagt man nicht einfach, dass man einen Schwächeanfall hatte und ohnmächtig wurde, und deshalb die Notbremse betätigt hat? Warum schmeißt man die Klamotten weg, in denen sich ein Hund festgebissen hat und vernichtet somit Beweise?

Als Leser:in schüttelt man den Kopf und hat gleichzeitig doch irgendwie Verständnis. Menschen machen Fehler, und nicht alles, was Menschen tun, ist logisch. Und dennoch habe ich mich beim Lesen dabei ertappt, wie ich Urteile gefällt habe. Denn Renate, Willy-Martin, Silke und Frau Goebel, oder auch der Obdachlose Zippo, sind nicht die Menschen, denen ich in meinem persönlichen Alltag oft begegne. Am ehesten noch einer Frau Goebel in Form meiner eigenen Großmutter. Doch alle anderen finden in meinem eigenen Leben nicht statt - vielleicht, weil ich das alles hier aus meinem Arbeitszimmer im Einfamilienhaus mit Garten meiner Eltern schreibe, die mich während meiner aktuellen Arbeitslosigkeit nicht nur finanziell, sondern auch emotional sehr unterstützen. Ich habe so gut wie keine Berührungspunkte mit Menschen, denen es so geht wie Giulia Beckers Figuren. Ich nehme an, es geht vielen Leser:innen so. Vielleicht ist das auch der Grund, wieso man beim Lesen einerseits so herzlich über die Menschlichkeit der Geschichte lacht und deutsche Eigenheiten wiederfindet, andererseits aber auch die Hände über dem Kopf zusammenschlägt und ruft: "kann es denn noch schlimmer werden für diese Menschen?"

Was dieses Buch noch lesenswert macht, ist die Hülle und Fülle an Erfahrungen, die ich jetzt einfach mal salopp als "very German" bezeichnen würde. Roland, getrieben von den Lehren seines Life Coaches, der ihm das Geld aus der Tasche zieht und ihn dazu verleitet, dasselbe mit anderen Leuten zu tun. Fehlt nur noch, dass Roland "KOMM IN DIE GRUPPE!!!" schreit. Gadget-Stefan, der so ziemlich jeden Typ verkörpert, der Sport und Englisch auf Lehramt studiert hat. Herr Marquardt, der die Bahnhofsmission zum Trendsetter machen will und dabei auf die Leute, die solche Orte am meisten benötigen, herabsieht. Sascha von Tropical Island, den du auch getrost am Strand in Australien stehen haben könntest, wo er gerade lernt, sich selbst zu finden, frei nach dem Motto "Not all those who wonder are lost" - und ja, "wonder" statt "wander", weil Sascha in Englisch vermutlich nicht aufgepasst hat.

I read this book in one day.

It is not very long, just about 200 pages. I have read fanfiction longer than that in less time, but something about Julia Armfield's novel made me read slowly. Now that I have finished it, I don't even know where to begin.

That's a good thing when it comes to books, right? At least most of the time.

Synopsis: Leah is a scientist working for the Centre of Marine Enquiry, ending up trapped on the bottom of the ocean in a submarine. While she is gone, her wife Miri tries to cope. But as Leah returns, nothing is as it was before. Leah cannot speak of what has happened in the submarine, spends her days in the bathtub, and her body begins to change. Miri is looking for answers, but soon realises that there is no one that can give any.

I honestly don't know how to describe this book. It is queer fiction mixed with the supernatural, mixed with romance, mixed with horror. It starts easy enough, only to slowly turn into something inexplicable. As a reader, you become slowly aware of being witness to something very private, of something you should not see. You become a witness of grief, a witness of a loss that is happening right before your eyes, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. The question, however, remains: what is Miri doing to stop it?

Miri is an interesting character to follow as she makes it incredibly easy to follow her in the first place. She tells us of her life after Leah's return and how her wife is no longer the woman she used to know. She tells us of the time when Leah was gone, and how she coped. She tells us her perspective until the very end, but do we know how she feels about it?

Even if it is written out in the book, the emotion does not reach the reader. Truth be told, that is something I have not experienced before.

It is somewhere in the middle of the book where I stumble, as Miri suddenly addresses the reader. She gives an explanation of her behaviour, a justification why she carried on and how. To me, as the reader, her behaviour did not strike me as odd at all. If anything, it spoke of her denial, of her refusal to worry and to admit that she is almost going crazy about the unexplained absence of her wife. But this also presents an interesting turn in the narrative. By addressing the reader, the book becomes not just a retelling of something, but a direct address. Miri is telling her story to us on purpose while we wait with bated breath for the next chapter from Leah's perspective.

Leah's perspective is what grips the reader the most, I believe. Miri's perspective of the "before, during and after" frames the narrative, whereas Leah's chapters are almost impersonal although they tell, slowly, the story of what happened at the bottom of the ocean. Normal human behaviour does not take place. None of the crewmembers seem particularly worried and, besides praying and wondering what might have happened, no one seems to do anything or try to come up with a plan. The submarine becomes a capsule at the bottom of the ocean where typical human behaviour becomes obsolete. Leah, Jelka and Matteo merely exist. They eat, they sleep, they wait. As the reader, I could not help but ask myself: "What do they know?" The sounds that they begin to hear in the submarine reminded me of an episode of Doctor Who, in which the Doctor is stuck on a train on a planet made of ice, with some unknown creature knocking from the outside.

Human emotion and human behaviour only return as power returns, and all of a sudden, the interactions seem natural: Panic, fear, excitement. The ecurring smell of burnt/roasted meat inside the submarine is never explained, but brought into connection to the creature that Leah sees in the darkness and writes her name down for.

Leah's chapters are a diary of some sort: "I don't know who I am writing this for, really. I think I need to explain what happened, but it's hard when so much of it happened in the dark." In Miri's chapters, Leah explains nothing at all. She only ever keeps talking about the ocean, dropping random facts that Miri cannot work with. As a reader, I could not work with them, either, but it seemed to me as if Leah's soul had left a long time ago - that only her body had returned, and the reader becomes witness to Miri realising that over the course of the book.

Do you ever find yourself with *finally* enough time to read, but then you don't? Do you ever settle for the evening with the determination that you're going to read, but you end up scrolling through Instagram instead, AGAIN?

I have a lot of free time these days. Ever since my last contract ended in July 2023 and my trip to Hokkaido from September-December, I have been looking for a job. The market is tough these days, and the publishing industry in my country seems to be rather reluctant in hiring new people - let alone women in their late 20s/early 30s who might pop out a kid in the near future. And although I have zero ambition to have children anytime soon, they naturally throw me into one pot with other women and decide they'd rather hire a man or no one.

So that is where I am at the moment. Living with my parents, with enough time on my hands, writing job applications, trying to not go insane. You see, I have a lot of spare time on my hands these days.

Then why do I not use it to read through the pile of shame that I have amassed?

My attention span has become ridiculously short and fanfiction is always a safe bet. I know the characters, I know what I am getting into, I know the deal. This is why I also love writing fanfiction so much. But besides reading fanfiction, I should read more of the books I actually spent (a lot of) money on. For some reason, some reading energy came over me, and here we are. I remembered this blog and thought I should just do it. Give it a try. Write about the things that I read and maybe write some reviews, perhaps that will inspire me to read on and on and on.

So here we are with Satoshi Yagisawa's "Days at the Morisaki Bookshop".

Synopsis: The story follows Takako, a young woman living in Tokyo, heartbroken after her boyfriend tells her he is going to marry someone else. Depressed and overwhelmed, she quits her job, and her uncle Satoru calls her from the family's bookshop, asking if she didn't want to stay with him for a while and work at the shop for a bit. At first, Takako is not a fan - she is not a reader, she does not know what the fuss is all about and why people love a second-hand-bookshop of all places. Slowly, she begins to embark on her own reading journey and finds a new footing and new interests, until all of a sudden, her aunt Momoko comes back into her and her uncle's lives.

My experience with Japanese literature is very limited. I tried to read Haruki Murakami a few years ago and threw the book against the wall because I found it too exhausting. I also tried Banana Yoshimoto a few years ago but I cannot remember if I finished it. I have read far more manga, translated into English or German. While I was living in Japan, one of my housemates turned out to be a fellow graduate of literary studies and she had written her thesis about some pieces of Japanese literature. She loved it so much that I was determined to also give it a try, and she told me what to watch out for. I am not sure if I caught all the things that are to discover in "Days at the Morisaki Bookshop", but what I caught was very delightful.

One does not need to know Japanese culture or have been to Japan in order to read/understand Yagisawa's novel. In fact, I find it an incredibly easy way to look into Japanese society for people who have never been there; it is like a window that welcomes everyone to stand in front of it and look through. When one imagines Tokyo, there's usually Shibuya Crossing and lots of people, lots of lights and billboards, lots of noise. The Tokyo that Yagisawa presents to the reader is a surprisingly quiet one: Jimbōchō. I have never been to this part of Tokyo, but after reading the novel, I imagine this book-town of Tokyo as very similar to the other narrow streets and lanes that I have wandered down during my time in Japan. It is the magic that you can find in every large city in Japan: bustling life, lots of noise, a sensory overload; but as soon as you turn around the corner into another lane, the sound of the city disappears, and you are in a quiet sphere. This is the atmosphere that Yagisawa masterfully creates in this novel, allowing the reader to step off the train together with Takako, entering the quiet and musty world of books.

For any book lover, the mere description of the Morisaki Bookshop is a delight. When Takako first enters the shop, she describes the smell as "musty", which slightly embarrasses her uncle. Her naiveté in this utterance is charming as it is almost ridiculous to any book worm: we all know what kind of smell she is referring to, and we would never call it musty. We would simply call it the smell of a book shop or, more precisely, the smell of old books. Although Takako is, in the beginning, "not one of us", she does not make herself unlikeable by pointing out what annoys her about the bookshop. They are fair observations, such as a packed room full of books that is supposed to be her bedroom, or the fact that she can't really find anything in the bookshop. She does not feel superior all of a sudden when she eventually picks up one of the many books and starts reading, and she is not ashamed of admitting that she has now added reading to her hobbies. It expands her world and gives her, as she puts it, the kick in the butt that she needs. She finds a new life, and new love, but most importantly, she keeps going for her own sake. She does not have the perfect happy ending - if the book has a happy end at all. It ends in a rather abrupt way.

I was not sure what to think of the Momoko subplot. Takako's aunt, who has left her uncle Satoru years ago and suddenly returns in an almost dramatic way that screams "tadaahh!!!", seems like a strange intrusion in the second part of the novel that is simply titled "Momoko Returns". Takako pretty much mirrored me, the reader, when Momoko suddenly showed up - she does not know what to do with the woman that is suddenly there and takes over the little life that Satoru and Takako have crafted for themselves, and neither of them are brave enough to ask. Later, Momoko invites Takako to a girl's trip to a place she used to work at, and during their trip, she opens up briefly towards Takako about her reasons for returning. Her reasons make sense but also appear selfish to the reader, which Takako agrees on. She tears the note that Momoko leaves for her after running away again into shreds, then tells her uncle to run after her this time, or it will be too late. She kicks both uncle and aunt in the butt this way, no longer willing to be the intermediary between them (agreed tbh).

The novel often makes it seem as if Takako is merely living for other people. In the beginning, this is most definitely true. She is living for her shitty boyfriend Hideaki, then for her uncle, then for her friends Takano and Tomo, setting them up as a couple. As soon as she receives her own kick in the butt to get her own life back on track, Takako starts living for herself again - slowly, with hesitation, but much less afraid than before. When she finally meets Wada, a customer, fellow bookworm, and nursing a broken heart similarly to Takako in the beginning, she is not sure whether or not to allow herself to think about him. She is not even sure if she has actual feelings for him or if she is just pretending, which is an incredibly refreshing take in literature. Love and romance, and feelings in general, are not always clear-cut, and the novel reflects this. Not even Wada seems to be sure what to think of her, and the way they find together, through some minor misunderstanding, is lovely to witness. Personally, I would have liked to read more of their love story, but that is not the point of the novel.

Takako is an interesting main character as she seems to follow the reader in their experience. I was often taken aback and shocked, only to find that two lines down, Takako expresses the same feelings. At the same time, it does not feel as if the reader is taken by the hand by the narrative to come to certain emotional conclusions. If anything, it shows that feelings and emotions are valid, even if it takes a while to understand them, like Takako does. It takes her several chapters to finally realise how angry she is with Hideaki and the way he treated her, and she allows her anger to come through fully when Momoko runs away yet again. It was interesting to check on myself during the reading process: "What does this scene do with me? Alright. I feel anger. Let's read on and see how Takako thinks about it." Personally, I don't think I have experienced something like that before in reading.