alter ego, not Schnitzler. As far as I’m concerned, what’s really interesting about your books is the relationship between the narrator and the interlocutor. I’m fascinated more by this confessor than by your heroes, this being who remains in the shadows and who never passes judgement. Unlike most writers, you’re never the hero of your own books. Your ‘I’ is like a ghost inside this being who is the repository of all the world’s miseries… Your novels won’t be remembered for the way they evoke the world of yesterday, that dear forgotten world of yours, but as the chronicle of a carnage. You’re fooling yourself if you hope to be remembered as the master storytellerof the old gilt days or the great bard of nostalgia. The characters in your books are a testament to the destruction of the world… and please forgive my bluntness here but your heroes only ever talk about your own wound and they chronicle every stage of your long downward spiral. You shy away from activism, refuse to sign our petitions or fight with the exile organizations, you once even placed your hopes in Chamberlain, which goes to show, doesn’t it? But your fight lies elsewhere, you’re engaged in documenting the destruction of the world. You had so assimilated yourself into that Viennese world, that dear departed Mitteleuropean culture, that when the Nazis destroyed it, you got torn apart in the process. What you describe, as though you’d foreseen it, and what your books express, through the madness of your heroes, is the story of your own annihilation—and this story is so intense and candid, your writing is so painstaking and crisp, that your work and your personality have blended seamlessly into one. Your characters never stood a chance. They were doomed as soon as they opened their mouths or exchanged a first glance with someone. You lead them to the place where you have spent the entirety of your life… under the rubble. I don’t know whether this is a divine gift or a hellish curse. The Nazis are the embodiment of evil, while you’re catastrophe personified. You’re the writer of disaster… All right, now where was I? You moved your bishop to d6, didn’t you?… So I’ll move my queen to c7. I’ve got one word for you: checkmate!”
*
Lotte was running down Avenida Koeler, blue in the face. Whenever she found herself gasping for air, she would put down her basket loaded with fruit and vegetables at the foot of a tree.Let the children help themselves to it! Let them throw a street party in the city square! Let the women wear their jewels and the men crack open bottles of champagne! This day was a great day. This day would be remembered for ever as the most celebrated day in the history of mankind. Light had come back to earth. God had broken through the silence. America was entering the war! She had just heard the news. The historic event was on the front pages of all the dailies featured in the news-stand on the market square. She had read and reread all the headlines to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. The news-stand owner had assured her she wasn’t dreaming: Roosevelt had declared war on Germany and Japan. Tremble with fear Hitler, your days are numbered!
In a month’s time, the Flying Fortresses she had seen on the newsreels would descend on Europe. Armadas of ships would unleash millions of GIs on the beaches of the Atlantic coast. The soldiers of Liberty would have the German butchers for breakfast! The forces of Good would vanquish the demons. They were saved! Jews would be celebrating this day in Katowice, Frankfurt and Vienna, singing hymns to the Lord! Their ordeal had come to an end. America had reached out its hand to the damned. Quick, she had to give Stefan the news! He wouldn’t have heard it. He had recently decided to stop reading newspapers and listening to the radio. He could no longer put up with the bulletins of tragedies and catastrophes getting in the way of his work. He had sequestered
*
Lotte was running down Avenida Koeler, blue in the face. Whenever she found herself gasping for air, she would put down her basket loaded with fruit and vegetables at the foot of a tree.Let the children help themselves to it! Let them throw a street party in the city square! Let the women wear their jewels and the men crack open bottles of champagne! This day was a great day. This day would be remembered for ever as the most celebrated day in the history of mankind. Light had come back to earth. God had broken through the silence. America was entering the war! She had just heard the news. The historic event was on the front pages of all the dailies featured in the news-stand on the market square. She had read and reread all the headlines to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. The news-stand owner had assured her she wasn’t dreaming: Roosevelt had declared war on Germany and Japan. Tremble with fear Hitler, your days are numbered!
In a month’s time, the Flying Fortresses she had seen on the newsreels would descend on Europe. Armadas of ships would unleash millions of GIs on the beaches of the Atlantic coast. The soldiers of Liberty would have the German butchers for breakfast! The forces of Good would vanquish the demons. They were saved! Jews would be celebrating this day in Katowice, Frankfurt and Vienna, singing hymns to the Lord! Their ordeal had come to an end. America had reached out its hand to the damned. Quick, she had to give Stefan the news! He wouldn’t have heard it. He had recently decided to stop reading newspapers and listening to the radio. He could no longer put up with the bulletins of tragedies and catastrophes getting in the way of his work. He had sequestered
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