de . en
2004 - September 2004
100 pages
Hardcover, translated from the Hungarian by Wilhelm Droste
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Gábor Schein has a miracle occur in his novel. Péter makes contact with his dead father one last time and conducts a conversation with him that would never have been possible during his lifetime. In his life he was missing the language; in death it is the only thing that can resurrect what never was. There is a story to tell and questions to answer. In order to accomplish this, Péter writes a book, therefore becoming the author of his own past. With this he breaks the prohibition that the father - who robs himself of his voice the last two months of his life - issues to the son. In order to depict the family story, the first-person narrative shifts levels: He jumps from the intimacy of a two-person conversation into a narrative outer view. In that he names himself Péter and his father M., the memory gains reality; only then does the story reveal itself as a continuum. With this artistic arrangement, Schein creates an authentic hero whose wish is fulfilled.

Gábor Schein, born in 1969 in Budapest, studied German philology and Hungarian Literature in the Eötvös-Lóránd-University, Budapest. He has worked journalistically since 1994 and has acted as editor-in-chief of Irodalomtörténet Magazine since 2003. Since 1995 he has also taught at the Institute for Hungarian Literature at the Eötvös-Lóránd-University in Budapest. He has published poetry collections, like Erinnerung der Wörter (Memory of Words), Cave canem and Glasfisch (Glass Fish) as well as monographs on poetry. His prose works include essays and the novel Das Buch von Mordechai (The Book of Mordechai). Lazarus! is the author’s first German-language publication.

For too long, I believed that there were healing sentences, and now I felt even more strongly, that these, if they existed, were not pronouncable for us, their absence, however, is equivalent to failure (...)

And like earlier, your muteness- this irritated, insulting rejection of language that brought me, the one who always wanted explanations, stories that make the impenetrable bitterness at least understandable, into a situation with no way out- forces me to now speak again, henceforth without any hope of an answer, while I would like to keep your muteness as muteness all the same. Only talking can mute your death. (from: »Lazarus!«)