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Fiction

"Curriculum Vitae in Pictures“

Maria Zinfert (ed.)

Kracauer. Photographic Archive

The book tells the story of Lili and Siegfried Kracauer’s close working relationship – from the early 1930s following their marriage in Germany, to exile in Paris and the war and post-war years in the USA.

Kracauer. Photographic Archive presents largely unknown material from the estate of the German-American theorist of film and photography, Siegfried Kracauer and his wife and assistant Elisabeth, known as Lili. The single and group portraits, still lifes, street scenes and landscapes collected in this book all come from the estate of Siegfried Kracauer. Published here for the first time, they are an extensive and representative selection from the enlargements, contact sheets and rolls of film originally archived by Lili Kracauer. With...

1930s
20th century
archive
1950s
biography

Current Texts

Stephen Barber

J.G. Ballard’s self-declared ‘Immodest Proposal’ for a global war-alliance to exact the destruction of America demonstrates the provocatory zeal of his last fiction plans, as well as their enduring prescience. OPEN
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A. L. Kennedy

When it all burns you’ll know – a writer was there at the first… ABO DE FR

Stephen Barber

Twenty-four hours in state of unconsciousness

Now this spectral city will become the site for execrations and lamentations, now time itself will disintegrate and void itself… ABO

Kim Gordon

Where do you go when you disappear? OPEN
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Current Texts

Pierre Guyotat

The matrix for »Tombeau pour cinq cent mille soldats«

“This text was written at the end of 1962, after my return from Algeria. For me the text is the matrix for Tombeau pour cinq cent mille soldats.” P.G.

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war
war experience

Current Texts

Soham Gupta

When life’s hard, time’s a motherfucker going slow

In his photographs and texts, Calcutta-based Soham Gupta forces the tension that arises between fiction and real-life conditions in as yet unseen ways.

ABO DE FR

Magazine Online

Halluzinatorische Chroniken New Yorks

Monograph

»Ich bin der schlimmste Alptraum, den Sie jemals hatten«

Isaac Sidel kandidiert fürs Amt des Mayors von New York City. Marilyn lernt Joe Barbarossa, den Drogencop mit den eigenen Methoden, kennen und lieben. Sidel wütet sowieso lieber unter Dealern, als sich politisch verschleißen zu lassen.

Jerome Charyn

Montezumas Mann

Monograph

Showdown im Kreuzzug gegen die Guzmanns

In seinem früheren Leben war Patrick Silver einmal Cop. Und Kollege von Isaac Sidel. Jetzt ist der jüdisch-irische Koloss hauptberuflich...

Jerome Charyn

Patrick Silver

Monograph

»Der beste Reporter, der je für den New Yorker schrieb«

Ein Besuch auf einer Schildkrötenfarm, die einen Großteil des nordamerikanischen Bedarfs an Schildkrötenfleisch deckt; das Porträt einer seit 1854 bestehenden...

Joseph Mitchell

McSorley’s Wonderful Saloon

Monograph

Eins mit der Stadt

»Erlauf dir die Stadt; nimm 15, nimm 20 verschiedene Busse am Tag, verfahr dich, sei immer unterwegs, geh in die...

Joseph Mitchell

Street Life

Topics

Autofiction—Metafiction
- autobiography
- memory
- autofiction
- fiction
- Theory of fiction

Current Texts

Donatien Grau

The abandonment of the centrality of the subject

Philology keeps it possible to open a space for the minority.

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Current Texts

Mário Gomes

“Poetry must be made by all. Not by one.”

“Nuestro Norte es el Sur” = “Our North is the South.”

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fiction
community
South America
theory of architecture
architecture
spatial turn
poetics

Current Texts

Diane Williams

How about some string?

I said “Would you like a rope? You know that haul you have is not secured properly.” ABO DE

Maria Filomena Molder

So many egoists call themselves artists…

Words are human things; a great obscurity saturates them… OPEN
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Maël Renouard

On Memory Atrophy

How can we remember the way we used to remember? OPEN
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Dodie Bellamy

A stupid tweet by a nobody, meant as a parody, somehow goes viral and the internet offers up death threats. OPEN
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“Obsessed with buffering”

Tom McCarthy

Recessional—Or, the Time of the Hammer

Towards the end of Thomas Pynchon’s mammoth 1973 novel Gravity’s Rainbow, the stumbling ingénue of a hero Tyrone Slothrop sets off on a commando raid. The territory he and his cohorts move through is a giant metropolis, a “factory-state” in which capital, technology and power, perfectly co-calibrated, send airships drifting through urban canyons, past chrome caryatids and roof-gardens on skyscrapers that themselves shoot up and down on elevator-cables: a conurbation Pynchon calls the “City of the Future” or “Raketen-Stadt.” The...

ABO

literary studies
Modernism
conversation
fiction
literature

Current Texts

The limp, voluptuous decadence of the place

Bruce Bégout

I’m not going to talk about my profession here. ABO FR DE

Tom McCarthy

The ironic self-awareness of the poet can only be that of his own inauthenticity, repeated or fed back into itself at increasingly conscious levels, and ‘to know inauthenticity is not the same as to be authentic’. ABO DE

Angelika Meier

Your story begins with a tunnel.

The lost cause is the only one worth fighting for. OPEN
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Ann Cotten

The last philosopher. The zen-queen.

In what way are you a communist – since we need to define this. OPEN
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Current Texts

Rolf Bossart, Milo Rau

Humanity is a metahuman concept.

We are bodies. It makes no sense to debate this.

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transhumanism
postmodernism
realism
re-enactment
artistic practice
art theory

Current Texts

Axel Dielmann

“Can you imagine something like that?”

The curators were probably worried that someone would stumble carelessly up the stairs while looking at the exhibits…

The curators were probably worried that someone would stumble carelessly up the stairs while looking at the exhibits—could I simply have gone past the first object at the bottom? Number 1, “Formless Veil, curtain …” Must have been attached to the wall just between the entrance and exitus … “My dear colleague …!” and staircase. “… curtain, height 310 cm, width 475 cm.” I must already have seen it in the previous section, wall-high thing. What I’m overlooking, it occurs to me, is what’s essential. Which is the simplest form of analysis. I should actually go back down the gently curving stone stairs. But it’s over. Before me the Anatomical Theatre opens up along a last flat landing. Lights …

Set into the rectangular space is the oval of a gleaming brown wooden balustrade. From here you look down. Someone is whispering. The funnel of the auditorium declines in three narrowing...

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