I have a dream which I shall probably never realize. Still, I’ve been playing with it for more than thirty years, nearly forty years, it’s come back to me over and over, particularly each time I’ve begun to see my next novel. It is to write a picaresque novel, a long story without head or tail, with stops, as in the course of a stroll, with characters who rise up and disappear without reason, secondary stories which, in turn, introduce others. I don’t think I’m capable of it. In spite of myself, by instinct much more than by dogma or conviction, I tighten. I cut short. I restrict myself, each time, to a precise, limited universe.
Wild boar became extinct in England at least three hundred years ago but in recent years escapees and releases from wild-boar farms have re-established wild populations. A large population near the coast in East Sussex provides Rye’s annual Wild Boar …
There was Hörspiel, a singular German tradition of radio plays in which artists like Rolf Dieter Brinkmann delivered savage sound poetry such as Immer mit dem Scheissgeld (1973), during the course of which he assaulted the microphone in an art …
He hardly realised that he was going down, falling, the green water rocking him and the sharp edges of the rocks had already torn him apart. Fossil lances. I AM THE BROTHER OF XX, Fleur Jaeggy trans. Gini Alhadeff