I had a moment or two of joy at work when, probably because I came in late because I felt like it, had a moment to pull out a tiny little Reclam edition of a few short stories of Ingeborg Bachmann.
The set-up behind that is that we needed somebody to set up the debriefing area for returning drivers, and Mr. Manager apparently was kind of enjoying not doing anything, so that became my role for the first bit of the afternoon/evening. And, in my typical fashion, I did everything efficiently and correctly and ended up with a very few minutes to see what was in my vest pocket.
No, not because I’m a pretentious ass who likes to remind my coworkers that I can do stupid things like read, but it’s a really small book which now, apparently, has no covers and is just a few pieces of paper held together by some string.
Much like my copy of the Psalter. I haven’t seen that in months…damn…it was a nice little copy of just the vulgate Psalms…and like other small books carried in my vest pocket, became damp and I think lost its covers as well and is or was just a wad of paper…still legible, though, last I remember.
Anyway, this story, which I’ve never read in any language, is just called “Das Gebell” and the first paragraph had me grinning at the wit and cunning of the author. Ingeborg Bachmann was, of course, an Austrian poet and writer of fiction in several different media, including radioplays, and she wrote in German exclusively, as far as I know. She was a doctor of philosophy, so I’ve no doubt she was capable of work in other modern languages, but she was an Austrian who wrote in German.
I should probably finish reading it. I may have to use a dictionary at some points, but to me the meaning is plain: brutal, brilliant satire. Perhaps there is more than indicated in the first paragraph!