Encounters – The World Through the Eyes of German Authors

Judith Hermann

Judith Hermann was a publishing sensation: her debut book, The Summerhouse, Later: Stories (Sommerhaus, später), sold a quarter of a million hardbacks in Germany. That was back in 1998 when she was only 28. The critics hailed her as a successful author, a resonant new voice in German literature. But instant fame, and the expectation that her first book held out the promise of many more, took their toll.

But Hermann is nothing if not patient. It took her four years to write her next collection of short stories, Nothing but Ghosts (Nichts als Gespenster). This was a bestseller as well, although the critics were harsher this time. Even now, when asked what she does for a living, she feels uncomfortable admitting she's a writer. "It's difficult", she says, "it raises too many expectations". Even so, she's currently working on her third book.

Judith Hermann was born in Berlin in 1970. She studied German, philosophy and music and then trained as a journalist. During an internship at a New York newspaper, she realised that literature was her true genre. Since then, she has won many major prizes for her writing.

A place in her heart

Judith Hermann collects her stories from around the world. She travels widely – to America, Eastern Europe and Scandinavia. Iceland has found a place in her heart. Stefanie Duckstein spent three chilly hours with the author in a Berlin department store restaurant and found out that: "Cold is good for the mind; it helps you concentrate".

Hermann: I prefer cold to heat and I like darkness more than light. Nevertheless, I did not expect to experience such a sense of homecoming, an instant feeling that I had arrived in a place close to my heart.

Ultima Thule – the mythical place in the far north, beyond the borders of the "known world" and mentioned in every Iceland travel guide – this was what drew Judith Hermann northwards to this chilly volcanic island. Beyond are Greenland's frozen wastes. After that, there's only the Arctic Ocean.

Ultima Thule – it is such an evocative term, and its strangeness struck a chord with me. It conveys a sense of many things that mean something to you but which might be less significant under different circumstances.

"Nature is left to itself"

Our meeting takes place in surroundings very different from the country she describes with such enthusiasm. We're sitting in a restaurant in a Berlin department store, located next to the cuddly toys. From the fifth floor's oversized windows, we have a panoramic view northwards across the overcast city. Hermann's hair is windswept; it's raining outside. Her hands hug the coffee cup. She takes it black, no sugar.

Judith Hermann - Iceland WMA, 0:25 Min.

The strange thing is the landscape: you can't bathe in the rivers or lie in the fields because it's much too cold. So nature is left to itself. What you can do is enjoy its wonders. Maybe that was what appealed to me. It brings you back to basics.

These basics helped her to focus on what was important – her second book, Nothing but Ghosts. In 2002, Hermann was awarded a grant to spend six wintery weeks in Reykjavik. She spent the time bathing in hot pools, hiking across soft moorland and drinking gullet-searing spirits with the locals. She sips her coffee and laughs as she talks. The Icelanders were morose but friendly. They already knew her works before she gave her readings. Apparently, no other nations reads as much as the Icelanders. It goes with the territory – it's always so dark. If she had to choose, says Hermann, between the heat of southern Europe and the cold north, she would opt for Scandinavia every time. There, she encountered places and situations which inspired her to write. Her book Cold Blue (Kaltblau) describes the hard quality of the light which, she says, is unique to Iceland.

I am one of those people who are always tired. I only really get going once it starts to get dark. In Iceland, it didn't get light until 11 o'clock. So I would get up at 9 a.m. and sit in the kitchen, listening to the radio, to Schubert …
I would see the dawn breaking, the blue emerging, which we generally don't experience so consciously here. I would be wide awake, watching the daybreak. The sky would lighten and I would see the snow lying on the neighbours' rooftop. It was such a strange feeling. Outside it was cold and getting light, while inside Schubert was playing on the radio and I would be drinking coffee, wide awake …
Then it would stay light for three or four hours, just at the right time for me to get on with things. I always associate nightfall with downtime. It's as if I can let myself go. Everything winds down and gets softer. And in Iceland, that would happen at 4 o'clock in the afternoon … It did me good.

A sense of yearning

The characters in Hermann's stories are driven by a constant sense of unrest and are always on the move – in Prague, Venice, Nevada or Tromsö. They feel a great yearning, never really finding what they are looking for. They love and leave each other. Jonina, the heroine of Hermann's novel Cold Blue, set in Iceland, is symbolic of much of what Iceland stands for in the author's mind. Jonina has something that many other characters lack.

Perhaps, ultimately, Jonina has a quality that is wishful thinking on my part. She has an inner calm. I gave her a sense of acceptance which I myself lack ... the ability to enjoy the moment, knowing that it will pass. She falls in love, and this passes as well. I myself am much more desperate and obstinate and stubborn, always obsessed with something even when it's obvious that it's not working out.

Guttural tones suit the stories

Hermann's first book, The Summerhouse, Later: Stories, was translated into 17 languages. Icelandic is still her favourite, says Hermann, and imitates a light, throaty lilt.

I thought it sounded good in Icelandic. It sounds quite understated. That fits in well with the stories. I found it more difficult in other languages. Spanish is so emphatic, and French is so beautiful that I felt it was too much for the subtlety of the text. Whereas the more guttural languages – and Iceland is quite guttural – always seem to suit the stories better.

As mementos of her visit to Iceland's rocky expanses, Hermann brought home a handful of volcanic soil and the word "ha". A year later, on a second visit to Iceland, she scattered the soil in its rightful home. It did not belong in Germany; it seemed to bring discord into her home. But she kept the word "ha".

The Icelanders have their own way of asking for clarification. We would say: "Sorry?" or "Excuse me?" but they say "Ha?" It takes some getting used to as it sounds rather abrupt. But I really liked the way it sounded, and I carried on saying it when I got home. I managed to keep using it, which caused some irritation. It was hard to keep it going, though. When I did so, it made me happy; it brought back so many memories.

Judith Hermann takes time for observations and her stories, without any pressure – especially from herself. "The success has been great", she admits, but the criticism was hard to take. She gazes into her coffee cup and puffs on her cigarette.

The pressure of expectation – that all seems to have gone now. You do surmount a hurdle with the second book. Nonetheless, writing always means starting again. It's not something that you can do once and know it all. You learn more and more with every book. But nothing is certain. It's always the same mountain you have to climb.

The full interview with Judith Hermann in German (WMA, 6:13 Min.)