Mister Clemens Meyer read at the Literary Colloquium last night. I went along, accompanied in the carriage out to Wannsee by fourteen chatty nuns, all with matching glasses and black handbags. It was not unlike a small outing of septuagenarian schoolgirls. The sun was still shining as I arrived, and I settled down in a seat next to four young Finns - or perhaps Hungarians. Mister Clemens Meyer arrived late, as usual, but the weather had put the audience in a conciliatory mood, and there was little shuffling of impatient feet. And I have to say it was worth the wait - this time. In the past, I've seen Meyer reading and it's been a very mixed experience. If he doesn't like the person interviewing or introducing him, he seems to have no qualms about showing it. If he finds the questions put to him banal or unintelligent, he lets you know. I once went to a reading where he checked his mobile for text messages during the Q&A session. But if he feels comfortable with his interlocutor, you'd better fasten your seatbelt - because you're in for a very exciting ride. The woman at the steering wheel last night was Ina Hartwig of the Frankfurter Rundschau . And she had Mister Meyer very firmly under control. They were obviously comfortable sharing a stage, and she had obviously done her homework very well. It seemed almost as if they were just picking up the thread from a past conversation. He read Die Flinte , die Laterne ...
Anytime
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