The seven stories in this volume show the author at his highest artistic level. They are sparkling masterpieces.
There is no glossing over: Hermann Peter Piwitt’s storytelling is as casual as it is skilful. Autobiographical, recalled and fictitious elements flow together, indistinguishable from one another. When, for instance, he speaks of his own childhood, of his conflicts with his father both before and after 1945, of his brother, of the adventures he experienced as a young man with friends and fellow artists in Frankfurt or Berlin, Rome or Seestadt. Or of his continual new attempts to impress women, both as a young man and in old age, which result in the occasional success along with many a humiliating failure. There is no embellishment, no ornamentation. Piwitt no longer needs to prove anything, either to himself or to the reader – he comes to the point and digresses, makes comments whilst looking over his own shoulder, effortlessly makes up life stories that one cannot get out of one’s head. He is a precise listener and observer, his affections lie with normal people, with the moments of happiness and mishaps of everyday life. Into these he breathes something incredibly sensual, and at the same time something much larger than their own selves. He takes stock of things that have been important and are worth keeping, and of things that have remained a mystery all his life.
Hermann Peter Piwitt, born in 1935, grew up in Frankfurt a. M., studied sociology, philosophy and literary studies. Since 1965 he has published numerous widely discussed novels, short stories and essays. Piwitt now lives in Hamburg.
