Read more with Elke Heidenreich: »What the men can do, we can do too«

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Elke Heidenreich

»So, today I sat down next to a huge bouquet of flowers, so that we can all have it a little nicer in this long, dry, cold winter.

And I read two books for you.

One is by Lukas Hartmann.

It is called "Into the Unknown", published by Diogenes.

You know Lukas Hartmann, a Swiss author.

The subtitle is: »The Story of Sabina and Fritz«.

Sabina and Fritz don't know each other, never meet.

But their stories have parallels with each other.

Sabina is Sabina Spielrein, a character that really existed.

It was a Russian-Jewish young woman who was sent to Switzerland by her rich parents in Russia, to the »Burgholzli«.

The "Burgholzli" was one of the first psychiatric clinics.

CG Jung worked there - and he was to treat this young woman.

She was considered a hysteric, she threw herself on the ground and screamed and raged.

She had become 'hysterical' during puberty and was now being sent to the clinic for treatment.

And she thinks he's great, this CG Jung, and somehow he finds her very interesting.

And then something happens that should never happen: a psychiatrist and his patient are not allowed to enter into a relationship, but the two of them do.

They enter into a love affair.

Sigmund Freud, whose pupil CG Jung was, also gets involved.

Letters go back and forth and there are insults and tears, CG Jung is married, a big drama.

At some point this drama will end.

Sabina is considered cured.

She studies psychology herself and goes back to Russia because she is homesick, gets married,

has two daughters and works as a psychiatrist in Russia.

This is the post-revolution era, when Russia is in turmoil, and everyone who wants to contribute - including her - wants this new perspective on life, this new people, this new country to flourish.

But that doesn't go well.

She's Jewish, it's war, it's terror.

And at some point she is picked up and ends up in a camp with her two daughters in 1942 and is killed.

At the same time, the story of Fritz Platten is told.

Fritz Platten is a fervent communist from Switzerland, and he was one of the men who made it possible for Lenin to travel through Switzerland and Europe in a sealed wagon, to Russia, to make a revolution there and to strike hard.

And also Fritz Platten, who believes so much in communism,

eventually ends up in the Stalinist clutches and in the camps and is also killed in the camp in 1942, just like Sabina Spielrein.

Well, they never met, but their stories have parallels - at a time when people couldn't live their dreams and hopes the way they actually wanted.

And Lukas Hartmann describes that with a lot of empathy, very quietly, very carefully and, I'm sure, very thoroughly researched.

A fine little novel.

And then this just tumbled into my house.

Annie Ernaux, The Young Man, published by Suhrkamp.

Written in all capitals, just look at this writing alone.

On page nine we start counting, on page 30 it's over again.

So it's just about 30 pages.

At most they would fill half a newspaper page, I think

and it's a bit of a hype to sell it as a book for €15.

But it's the Nobel laureate.

And we know that Annie Ernaux has always written as an ethnologist about her own life, that is, about her origins in humble circumstances, her studies, how she managed to get out, her marriage, her friendships.

To put it somewhat unlovingly, one could say: my parents' house, my mother, my father, my dead sister, my studies, my husband, my abortion.

And now the young man, my affair, which I had at the age of 54, with a man 30 years my junior.

That describes her.

And I'm always more for the big, hearty storytellers.

As I said before, I would have preferred the Nobel Prize more for Don DeLillo or Thomas Pynchon or Hanya Yanagihara.

But now she has it and I have to say, she writes very precisely, every word fits, she writes cleverly.

It's all a little sketchy and a little too personal for me, but the way it's written is good.

And I want to give you an example for that.

And this light, which we need here for recording, blinds me so much that I use a flashlight.

So don't be surprised, because otherwise I won't be able to read this.

But what I would now like to read to you as an example of style from our Nobel Prize winner: »My body was no longer old.

Only the deeply disapproving look of the guests at the next table in the restaurant brought it back to my memory.

A look that didn't fill me with shame, but encouraged me not to hide my relationship with a man who could have been my son.

If any man in his mid-fifties could have a young woman by his side who was obviously not his daughter without drawing disapproval.

But looking at the older couple at the next table, I realized that I was dating a 25-year-old so as not to constantly have the marked face of a man my age in front of me that my own aging would show me.

Besides Carrion Face, mine was young too!

Men have known that for ages.

So I didn't see why I shouldn't have done it."

I like that attitude on her.

What men can do, we can do too.

And she actually describes it very nicely here, with very few words.

This young man who comes into her life.

And when she starts writing a new book again, the young man is dumped.

Because then writing is more important to her and then she no longer feels like it at all.

A lot of new books are coming out at the moment.

They are all on the market in mid-February and we watch and read.

I already have a few things in mind for her and we will continue undeterred.

And until then, we sometimes treat ourselves to a few flowers.

Until then."