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Lisa Jewell, Then She was Gone

Nachdem mir eine Fanfiction-Kollegin die Autorin empfahl, suchte ich mir ein paar interessante Titel heraus und fing mit diesem an. Das Buch las sich denn auch richtig unter der Nase weg und die Story und Charakterisierung waren so gut, dass ich es auch nicht bereute. Gegen Ende hin wird es ein bißchen zu abgedreht (bizarre wie Jewell es im Nachwort selber zugibt, und auch das die ursprüngliche Fassung noch seltsamer war, bis die Verleger einige Änderungen vorschlugen), aber ich denke, es wird nicht das letzte Buch dieser Autorin bei mir sein.

Wanting to die and dying are generally unrelated. But this felt like more than her mother simply wanting to die. This seemed to come from inside her, from the inexplicable place that thinks about an old friend moments before bumping into them, that can sense the approach of a thunderstorm before it's broken, the place that sends dogs to dark corners of the house to die.

(Lisa Jewell, Then She was Gone, 2017)

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Iain Banks, Transition

Die Lektüre dieses Buches zog sich etwas hin, weil ich zur Zeit zwei Bücher parallel lese (Tanith Lees Revolutionsepos 'The Gods are Thirsty' gibt es nach wie vor nicht als E-Book und ist einfach zu dick und schwer um unterwegs gelesen zu werden), aber auch weil die verwickelte Handlung mit den mehrfach wechselnden POV eine echte Herausforderung war. Aber natürlich lohnte es sich, wie immer bei Banks. Hie und da erschien es mir fast ein bißchen Science Fiction-mäßig und ich frage mich, ob Banks nicht mal angedacht hat, es unter Iain M. Banks zu veröffentlichen, aber das ist jetzt eh akademisch ...

And don't forget Goldman's Law: nobody knows anything. Nobody knows what will work. That's why they make so many remakes and Part Twos; what looks like lack of imagination is really down to too much, as execs visualise all the things that could go wrong with a brand new, untested idea. Going with something containing elements taht definitely worked in the past removes some of the terrifying uncertainty.
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"The greed thing," I say to her. "Everybody's greedy, Chloé. You're greedy. You might not think so but I bet you are. We're all out for number one. It's just that some of us don't kid ourselves about it, know what I mean? We all want everybody to think the same as we do and we think they're stupid if they think any different. And when it comes to love and relationships, we're all looking for the right person to worship us, because that'll make us happy, aren't we? Wanting to be happy - that's selfish, isn't it? Even wanting there to be no more poverty or violence - I mean, it's all bollocks cos there always will be both. But that's us being selfish cos we want the world to be the way we personally think it ought to be, know what I mean? You can dress it up as wanting other people to be happy, but in the end it comes down to you and your own selfishness, your own greed."
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(Iain Banks, Transition, 2009)

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Jill D. Block, The Truth about Parallel Lines

Und sie ist doch Lawrence Blocks Tochter. Ich hatte so eine Vermutung, aber wollte mich nicht festlegen, weil es auch eine Namensgleichheit hätte sein können. Und im Prinzip ist es ja auch egal. Ihr allererster Roman stand schon seit einiger Zeit auf meiner Wunschliste, und ich muss zugeben, dass ich bis zuletzt etwas skeptisch war, aber es hat sich doch gelohnt. Dieses verzweigte Netzwerk von Freunden und Verwandten mit ihren so unterschiedlichen und doch immer wieder ähnlichen - parallelen - Lebensläufen lädt regelrecht dazu ein, sich darin versinken zu lassen, so dass es mir richtig leidtat als es am Ende Jenna gelingt sich als Autorin zu etablieren und das Buch damit zum Abschluß bringt. Jetzt bin ich gespannt, ob die nächsten Romane auch so gut werden - ihre Kurzgeschichten haben ja schon vorher bewiesen, dass sie es drauf hat.

People act like love is some objective thing. "Do you love him?" "Are you in love with him?" But I think it's like the color blue. You can't know if what you are feeling is what anyone else would call love.

(Jill D. Block, The Truth about Parallel Lines, 2018

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Iain Banks, The Business

Mittlerweile scheint es mir, als wäre Iain Banks besonders gut bei der Beschreibung von Organisationen oder Familien, Mikrokosmen wie Kleinstädten oder Sekten, und dieses Buch über ein im Hintergrund agierendes, aber überaus mächtiges Weltunternehmen, das nur lapidar 'The Business' genannt wird (bei Gelegenheit muss ich mal nachsehen, ob und wie das übersetzt wurde) und im Großen und Ganzen kein schreckenerregender Mogul zu sein scheint wie beispielsweise irgendeiner der gegenwärtigen Top Five sondern eher von rein pragmatischen Geschäftssinn betrieben wird, ist das keine Ausnahme. Und obwohl mir im Nachhinein klar ist, dass die Ich-Erzählerin nur weiblich sein konnte, bin ich Banks doch sehr dankbar für Katie Telmans starken und einnehmenden Charakter. Zum Ende wurde die Geschichte so spannend, dass ich die letzten 30% in einem Rutsch zuende las. Besser geht es nicht. Obwohl - ein paar Bände aus Banks' Oeuvre fehlen mir ja noch.

Turdly, we practise total financial transparency: any company officer may inspect the accounts of any other. This has become much easier technically in recent years, of course, with the advent of computers and electronic mail, but the principle has been around since the first century AD. Its effect is to make corruption as a rule either unachievable or only possible at a trivial scale.
The main downside is complication. This was the case when people had to open up cabinets full of wax tablets for inspection, when they had to unroll papyrus scrolls, when they had to unchain books from counting-room clerks, when they had to order old ledgers from storage, when they had to search through microfiches, and it is certainly the case now with computerised accounts; over two millenia, every technological advance that promised to make the task easier has been closely and seemingly inevitably accompanied by an increase in the complexity of the figures and systems involved.
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'.. I think it is wonderfully romantic to marry for love alone, but I have seen so many people do so and live to regret it. There are some lucky people, no doubt, for whom everything works out just perfectly, but I have never met any. For most people, I think, to marry for love is to marry ... at the summit, as it were. It must be downhill from there on. To marry for other reasons, with one's head and not just one's heart, is to embark on a different sort of journey, uphill, I suppose,' he said, looking embarrassed. 'My goodness, I do not choose my metaphors so well, do I? But it is a journey which offers the hope that things will become gradually better and better between the people concerned.'
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A superstitious person would have thought that somehow the little carving had wanted to stay in Thulahn. A Freudian ... well, never mind what a Freudian would have thought. Luce had asked me once was I a Freudian? I'd told her no, I was a Schadenfreudian.

(Iain Banks, The Business, 1999)

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Iain Banks, The Bridge

Nicht mehr allzulange, und ich werde wohl alle (regulären, i.e. Nicht SF) Bücher von Iain Banks durchhaben und das ist so ewig schade. Aber noch ist es nicht so weit. Dies ist ein sehr früher Band von 1986, der aber wie sovieles von Banks absolut zeitlos wirkt und sich wohl problemlos in die Gegenwart übertragen ließe. Ziemlich verwirrend am Anfang, obwohl ich von der Synopsis ungefähr wußte worum es ging, und dann komplett faszinierend, allein von den Welten her, die der Erzähler durchirrt während sein anderes, physisches Ich im Koma liegt. Besonders die Passagen mit dem Conan-ähnlichem Barbar taten es mir an mit ihrem tiefschwarzem Humor.

Pain.Circle of pain on chest. Like a brand, a circular impression (am I a figure on a stamp, postmarked? A piece of parchment embossed with 'From the library of ...... ' Please complete:
(a) God, Esq.
(b) Nature (Mrs)
(c) C. Darwin & Sons
(d) K. Marx plc
(e) all of the above)).

Afterwards she took out tarot cards and started to tell his fortune. She was interested in the tarot, in astrology and sun signs and the prophecies of Nostradamus; she didn't believe deeply in them, they just interested her. He thought that was worse than believing in them completely.

I am a lucky bastard, he thought. I have so much, so much around me that is good. Not everything; I still want more, I probably want more than I could handle; in fact I probably want things that would only make me unhappy if I had them. But even that's OK; that's still part of the contentment.
If my life was a film, he thought, I'd roll the credits now; fade on this beatific smile in an empty room, the man on a ladder making things better, renovating, improving. Cut. Print. The End.

Oh god, back to Thatcher's Britain and Reagan's world, back to all the usual bullshit. At least the bridge was predictable in its oddness, at least it was comparatively safe.
Well, maybe not. I don't know.

I know one thing: I don't need the machine to tell me the choice. The choice is not between dream and reality; it is between two different dreams.
One is my own; the bridge and all I made of it. The other is our collective dream, our corporate imaginery. We live the dream; call it American, call it Western, call it Northern or call it just that of all we humans, all life. I was part of one dream, for good or ill, and it was half-nightmare and I almost let it kill me, but it hasn't. Yet anyway.

(Iain Banks, The Bridge, 1986)

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Robert Crais, The Two Minute Rule

Ich brauchte noch ein Buch um die Zeit zwischen 'The Night Fire' und dem neuesten Sword and Sorceress' zu überbrücken, und irgendwie bot sich das Buch als Lückenfüller an, obwohl ich es erst letztes Jahr noch wiedergelesen hatte. Irgendwas an der Story fasziniert mich einfach.

Cecil had gold fever. Men in the joint used to talk about it, trying to make their bad decisions sound romantic by comparing themselves to Old West prospectors; men who got high by draming about the pot-of-gold score taht would set them up. They thought about it until they thought about nothing else; they obsessed on it until it consumed them and they had nothing else in their lives; they became desperate for it until their desperation made them stupid. This idiot was looking at six first-degree murder hits and all he could see was the money. Holman saw his way in. He smiled.

(Robert Crais, The Two Minute Rule, 2006)

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Daniel Defoe, The Life and Adventures of Robinson Crusoe

Diesen absoluten Klassiker wollte ich schon so lange wieder lesen und schob es doch immer wieder vor mir her. Nachdem ich die kostenlose Ausgabe von Public Domain bei Amazon fand, gab es keine Ausrede mehr, und die E-Bookversion liest sich m.E. so viel schneller und bequemer. Ich kann garnicht mehr genau sagen, wann ich das Buch zum letzten Mal las, aber tatsächlich kamen mir beim lesen viele Sachen wieder ins Gedächtnis. Das hat sich auf jeden Fall gelohnt.

How strange a chequer-work of Providence is the life of man! and by what secret different springs are the affections hurried about, as different circumstances present! To-day we love what to-morrow we hate; to-day we seek what to-morrow we shun; to-day we desire what to-morrow we fear, nay even tremble at the apprehensions of. This was exemplified in me, at this time, in the most lively manner imaginable; for I, whose only affliction was that I seemed banished from human socienty, that I was alone, circumscribed by the boundless ocean, cut off from mankind, and condemned to what I call silent life; that I was as one whom Heaven thought not worthy to be numbered among the living, or to appear among the rest of His creatures; that to have seen one of my own species would have seemed to me a raising me from death to life, and the greatest blessing that Heaven itself, next to the supreme blessing of salvation, could bestow; I say, that I should now tremble at the very apprehensions of seeing a man, and was ready to sink into the ground at but the shadow or silent appearenace of a man having set his foot in the island.

It put me upon reflecting how little repining there would be among mankind at any condition of life if people would rather compare their condition with those that were worse, in order to be thankful, than be always comparing them with those which are better, to assist their murmurings and complainings.

(Daniel Defoe, Robinson Crusoe, 1719)