A Sad Affair

A Sad Affair

Wolfgang Koeppen, Michael Hofmann

Language: English

Pages: 176

ISBN: 1862076014

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


Set during the heady, pre-Second World War days of cabaret-era Germany, the novel centres on Sibylle - a stunning seductress who balances her love affairs with five men at once - and Friedrich, the callow, melancholic youth who obsessively pursues her. Originally banned by the Nazis for its frank sexual themes, Wolfgang Koeppen's first novel is appearing in English. A romance that anticipated Beat literature by nearly twenty years through its dizzying language and exploration of casual love, this is Koeppen's most autobiographical and amusing work.

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And is still perplexed, wondering how to play with it. Her face seemed to be inclined over us, even if it was actually lower than we were, walking, and I think the way we were looking up at her was like puppets at the puppet-mistress who was holding our strings. "Now what about tonight?" she asked. And to me in particular: "You're ill, you don't need to be a doctor to see that." Beck nodded. I insisted I wasn't, and began to wish they would both leave, so I could quickly go and lie down on the.

To calm the noise all around. Sibylle came on, sounding thoughtful and hesitant. "Oh, it's you," she said. "Where have you got to?" Friedrich flew at her. He would have bitten through the telephone. He wanted to seize her, and carry her off. "Sibylle," he screamed, "I'm waiting here, you've got to come away with me, you've got to, you can't stay there, I'm waiting for you, I'm expecting you, we're leaving tonight." He described the landscapes that lay ahead of them, he heightened, he.

Also he saw himself as one of the panting porters: the man weighed down and the man obliged always to remain behind. How lucky I am, he thought to himself, to be leaving with Sibylle. The increasingly frantic cries of newspaper vendors, fruit sellers, and cigar sellers, the increasingly monitory calls of the conductors, and the squeals of brakes being tested, all sent waves of sweat down his back. He raced down the length of the train. "Sibylle! Sibylle!" He was shouting. People turned to stare.

Their factories. A streetcar screeched to a sudden halt. Sibylle could feel in her teeth the grind of the jammed wheels on the smooth rails. Her room looked cool and bare. She looked at her stuffed toys, her bears and dogs and donkeys, and thought they still looked asleep. Then she got out of bed, went up to the mirror, and saw that she was still the young Sibylle with the delicate features. Her wakeful night hadn't caused her face to slacken. The skin was taut with a tension that looked well on.

Sand, in the midst of a group of bathers who, in spite of the early season, had already ventured out. They were a mixed company of young people, playing gramophone records in the sun, and they extended a jolly welcome to Friedrich and Sibylle. The pleasant wistfulness of English dance tunes seemed especially thin and delicate against the beat of the waves. The boys and girls danced together on a wooden pier. They laid their brown arms round their hips, in stark contrast to the white of the.

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