Frankly … Berlin   Just an ordinary guy

Berlin is a German kaleidoscope of colourful characters where being an author is really nothing special. As Gerasimos Bekas frequently discovers – despite his writer status, he tends simply to get in people’s way. Which is why he prefers to escape to literary festivals, where he can be among his own kind.

For me, the toughest times in Berlin are when I return from giving readings in other cities. After an evening of being in the spotlight, reading from my book and signing it for people who came especially to see me, this tends to be something of a shock to the system.

After spending a night in a freshly-made hotel bed and having someone make me breakfast and bring me my newspaper in the morning as if it were the most normal thing in the world, I alight from my train in Berlin. And immediately the problems begin: I can hardly get out because everyone seems to be in such a terrible rush that I am jostled back onto the train. When I do finally make it down onto the platform and am trying to get my bearings, I’m told, in no uncertain terms: “Hey, you’re in my way!” This brings me back down to earth with a bump.
 
Authors are treated well all over Germany, except in Berlin. Perhaps it’s because there are so many here. Actually, it’s hard to walk around Berlin without tripping over a writer. Often they can be spotted sitting on the kerb with a bottle of beer in their hand, mumbling about advance payments or complaining about their fellow authors.
 
This is unlikely to change anytime soon, as new authors are constantly arriving. For example at the open mike festival for young German-language writers that is held every November in the splendid hall of the Heimathafen in Berlin. I like to attend the festival because of all the familiar faces and because of the new works that one can hear there.
 
This year, I feel as if I have traveled back in time and have somehow ended up at a 1980s party. Either the young authors all share the same taste or they have dressed like that because they think that’s how writers should look – from their hairstyles to their shoes.
 
But the festival is not supposed to be about how people look. To take part, writers submit texts and are then given a 15-minute slot in which to read from them. Apart from dividing the works into either poetry or prose, there are no particular stipulations. Often the texts are about human excretions and the narrative situation is somewhat nebulous. A team of bloggers gives live reviews during the competition. At the end, prizes are awarded by a jury of authors and an audience jury.
 
Winning a prize here is a real door-opener in the literary world. This is also how I started off five years ago. So it is hardly surprising that many of the participants are nervous and excited, whereas I can sit back and relax. Here it is pretty cool to be an author, but by the time I leave the building and am back outside on Karl-Marx-Strasse, I will again be just an ordinary guy who is getting in people’s way.