As you think of anything bad, suggests the newspaper, reads a headline that looks at the model printed photo – and suddenly gets a suppressed past again like a bad movie. This is what happens Lukas Moskowicz (32) in April 2010: ” Philippe Bach, German poet and novelist, this at 59 ” jumps into his mind when he at the counter of “Fanelli’s Café” in Manhattan the New York Times browsed. Excitement he can hardly keep on his bar stool.
Luke and Philip knew each other.
However one was once again run destiny on the road, and it was not green. The East German author Bach had in 1976 -. Shortly after Rolf Biermann – Over made to West Berlin, in 1977 in Germany his first novel “Miss Bohemia” and has thus laid a meteoric breakthrough. He was than the new German writer praised. As the journalist Moskowicz had already written a few more novels. But Bach reviled him throughout his life as a scribe in the entertainment industry.
In Mathias Nolte’s novel “Miss Bohemia” smolder, simmer, boil and bubble all glorious hard to dominant animosities among men of letters.
Neither of the two protagonists Moskowicz and Bach would ever admit how distressing it is eaten up with envy and resentment as haunts him the fear of the rival could guess what he is writing, stealing his ideas or pre bad talk now Philippe Bach is dead also. They found him “near the Glienicke bridge on the river Havel”.
For Moskowicz is now certain: a natural death will not have been.
Perhaps the eternal drunkard and a heavy smoker had indeed given the edge, committed suicide herself, or someone has cleared out of the way, for whatever reason. This idea indulging, Moskowicz turns back to the article and accompanying photographs to – and looks next to Philipp Bach’s face into another, which he had banished with great difficulty from his memory: Tara welcomes its wearer, now 29 years old.
Moskowicz met her in 2005, two days before Christmas eve. He had rented a house on a beach in the Florida Keys, where he descend to focus on his manuscript, his latest novel finally wanted to finish. As country music comes herangedröhnt, and a light blue ’78 Lincoln Continental rushing boldly into his driveway. The still classy limousines emerges a young lady in cowboy boots, white shorts and a sweaty T-shirt that said “It’s better to be a pirate than to join the navy.” On the passenger side initially shows only one also cowboybestiefeltes leg, then a hand whose fingers enclose a bottle, finally the associated man and an all too familiar face.
The welcome is exuberant, and as always dripping with derision and contempt, barely clad, on Luke down. Two years in the Keys to force to have to write? “What are you talking about for a nonsense, you Tucke?” Gone is a Christmas peace and reflection; stormy days it hot are. The beautiful, slightly crazy Tara makes Moskowicz completely tame, seduces him at sunrise at the beach. He did not want to admit to not let love, but it has already happened to him.
A secret ménage à trois takes its beginning from the creek but in no case must know – the athletic built boxer could become violent. Moskowicz thus leaving it with relish perceived satisfaction and well-kept vengeance against the arrogant imaging Bach, the supposedly intellectually superior.
The novel? For such a work Moskowicz is too much of the role; he has to postpone the project for now. He returned to Berlin, where Tara lives with Bach, and always meet with her again. Tara Bach wants to leave but by no means; she is his muse and has obviously been his model for Sabrina, the central figure of his debut “Miss Bohemia”. Now put Bach but for years stuck in his project “novel of the century” and is not a step forward with it. A few manuscript pages are already – nothing in the face of thousands of pages he has scheduled for this lifetime. When it is completed, it should be on par with Dante’s “Divine Comedy” or Virgil’s “Aeneid”.
Tara is a being in which you do not really know how to be it. The tattoo on her bottom is a symbol and trademarks: It combines the speed of a dolphin with the tenacity of an anchor, and just as that winds around this in the picture, Tara has thanks to its targeted actions in control. She is up to every trick, Moskowicz flutters as before, their relationship with Bach was over, and directs him with it in the outside control.
By 2008, it’s all over. Without preparation and without explanation Tara routed the voiceless Moskowicz with a few words: “. I’m sorry, Luke It’s really not, not I can not see you ….” As unspectacular it ends the happiest time in his life so far. Mathias Nolte’s novel “Miss Bohemia” plays on different levels of time and at different locations, with Berlin, the main stage with its typical residential areas, courtyards, pubs, artists quarters before and after the turn. With Philippe Bach we dive into the past. As a child, he lives on Ruegen, then moved with his parents to Berlin and meets the young writer Franz Krohn know who reads the eight-year latchkey from Kaestner’s children’s books. Krohn, Philip confidant and role model reüssiert, later as a successful author in the GDR and remains there as a stream to the west opens.
Franz Krohn, a recent manuscript, Bach’s sudden flight and the mysterious Tara. These are the vertices of the novel. In the end, they are linked by an elaborate, complicated-needled construct that is not easy to see through. Too many identities whiz through your mind, and believe it or not, what connections they had with each other, how important taking betrayal and revenge. When discovered at the beginning of Bach’s corpse, there is speculation that a crime, his background or his education could play a primary role; However, is that told in cool tone love story at the center. Only at the end the crime motif returns
A witty, sophisticated, perhaps a bit manipulative to artificially conceived novel about a seductive, mysterious, men young woman. Your dual love affair told Mathias Nolte delicately sensual and comes fortunately without any obscenity out. A thematic concern is the critical examination of the literature business, which is conducted in a fine irony.