All Yesterday's Parties

For many people, the book fair is less about going to the trade fair, visiting stands, looking at books, listening to panels, and attending readings. It's more about seeing friends and going to parties. Many of the reading in the evening seamlessly moving into an open-ended party and it's all too easy to lose track of time. It offers the chance to feel young again (until the following morning) and for repeat visitors occasionally feels like a class reunion and/or Groundhog Day. But if you’re no longer in your twenties, it’s important to pace yourself.
On Wednesday I attended the opening ceremonies at Leipzig’s Gewandhaus. Afterwards I said hi to various functionaries and publishing types, but managed to slip away after consuming multiple hors d'oeuvres and two glasses of wine. Next door at Moritzbastei I caught the tail end of some readings, but wisely turned down the potential after-party, cycling back through the park with some friends instead.

Thursday was the first real day of the fair, and after received a shot of adrenaline from interpreting in front of 100+ people at the Café Europa stage, I spent nearly an hour on tenterhooks during the awards ceremony. My favorite didn’t get the nod, but Esther Kinsky was a very deserving winner indeed. Luckily there were post-awards refreshments, but I had to hustle back to put my son to bed. Baby monitor having been deposited with the neighbors, I headed back to time-honored reading and party put on by Tropenverlag (Klett-Cotta).
Alexander Schimmelbusch’s debut, The Murnau Identity plaid with the idea that Thomas Bernhard (much like Elvis), hadn’t died, but just disappeared instead. With his second book, Hochdeutschland, Schimmelbusch gives us a dark, sarcastic narrative that tries to ask some probing questions about German society. The reading took place in a gallery room with glass walls belonging to GfZK, Leipzig’s premier contemporary art gallery. As soon as it was over, the contents of that fishbowl poured out into the adjoining Baubau café, and everyone sloshed around. I ran into Emma Glass, who had just read from Peach, and her German translator. The conversation mostly focused on pets, dogs vs. cats, and why you shouldn’t name a fictive animal after a loved pet. Spoiler alert: if you kill off the pet on the page, the namesake might die IRL. Luckily I was able to disappear (sorry if I missed you) and was snoring before midnight.

Friday has typically been the culmination of my book fair. Beyond the typical milling about and bumping into people at the stands at the actual fair, there was another panel to interpret for and readings to attend. This time around our son was able to stay overnight at a friend’s place, so things could get a little late. First stop was the annual translation reception at Moritzbastei, feature a special edition of the Dead Ladies Show. Along with hosts Florian Duijsens and Katy Derbyshire, Aurélie Maurin and Maria Hummitzsch helped tell the exciting story of La Malinche, Dorothy Sayers, and a historical overview of women in translation. Beyond the usual translator suspects, the reception also included this year’s participants in the Literatur Colloquium Berlin’s Internationales Übersetzertreffen, some 35 translators of German literature who have been spending a week together. Despite (or perhaps because) the DJ had set up and the translators had started dancing, I led a gaggle to the next tram stop, where we rode through ice and snow to the Party der Jungen Verlage.
Some may be confused by the German word jung - the indie publishers behind this event aren’t necessarily that young, except for not having been around for long, but they are young at heart. And the mood was correspondingly merry under the pink lights and fog being pumped out by a machine. We got out sometime between two and three, and were lucky to only have a short walk home. Some of my friends later reported waiting an hour for a taxi.

Saturday was initially marked by taking a friend to the hospital. She had been pulling a tram ticket from a machine when she slipped and fell on the ice, gashing her knee. Then I raced off to the fairgrounds to interpret, then home again lickety split. Following the appropriately reverent poetry reading Teil der Bewegung, most of us went across the street to the release party for Tippgemeinschaft, the annual anthology of writing by the creative writing students at DLL. Although this might have been the objectively coolest party I attended this year, my energy was flagging. In short, I bowed out before embarrassing myself. I’m already looking forward to next year.