830 Literaturen germanischer Sprachen; Deutsche Literatur
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This paper relies on an unedited and unpublished nineteenth century love correspondence of a heterosexual couple from the German speaking area. The aim of this study is to contribute to the knowledge regarding the nineteenth century love experience of ordinary and unknown lovers. In fact, while there are plenty of books on love correspondences of famous personalities, little research has been dedicated to love letters and romantic experiences of 'ordinary and unknown' people. For this reason the main aim of this article is to shed light on love stories and love experiences that otherwise will fall into the abyss of oblivion. A new theory regarding the love experience in the nineteenth will be proposed: in this century love was perceived more in its material than in its abstract nature; I argue that in the nineteenth love was more about what people did, than to what they said. Lovers are in constant need of material and 'seeable' proof in order to perceive the love of their partners as real and authentic. The examples extrapolated from the following correspondence will corroborate this statement. Furthermore, this article has the purpose to underline the great value of love letters not only from an historical perspective (being evidence of past lives and dynamics), but also and more importantly from a cultural and societal one: analyzing love letters means to acquire knowledge not only about cultural and societal dynamics, but also and more importantly to add knowledge to the love discourse. In fact, they say a lot about the way people talked, expressed and materialized love in their daily lives. Correspondences without any publication in view are the most precious ones because they represent an unregulated and more spontaneous expression 'of the language of the heart'.
This chapter proposes the scar as a productive image to conceptualize the relation of speakers to the particular language otherwise called mother tongue, native or first language. Thinking of this relation in terms of a scar avoids the biopolitical implications of concepts derived from the context of family and birth that have, throughout the nineteenth and twentieth century, come to present language as basis of a nation state. The image of the scar also avoids the biographical normalization and linguistic hierarchization implied in the term first language, as both are equally important biopolitical strategies of forming individuals and communities. Thinking of the mother tongue in terms of a scar emphasizes the intensity of lasting formation and identification entailed by acquiring this particular language, and it highlights the violence inherent to these processes that tends to be covered up by the naturalizing and family-related imagery of native or mother tongue as well as by the favour implied in the term first language.
'The Staircase Wit; or, The Poetic Idiomaticity of Herta Müller's Prose' explores idioms and 'Sprachbilder' as poetic views of the mother tongue. This exploration involves a special focus on Müller's Nobel lecture, considered as both a compendium and an enactment of her meditations on language, on the nature of writing, and on the creative process. While Müller frequently employs idioms in her articles, lectures, and novel titles, she never uses them in a superficial way or as a mere reproduction of common or daily speech. Rather, as this essay argues, idioms in Müller's prose are indicative of her attitude toward language and toward the mother tongue in general. In the Nobel lecture as well as elsewhere, idioms serve a dual, occasionally conflicting purpose, combining the need for the 'singularity' of aesthetic experience with the search for a new kind of 'conventionality'.
The mother tongue at school
(2023)
This paper focuses on a key contradiction in nineteenth century nationalist ideology, namely the opposition between the emphasis on the sacred status of the mother tongue, on the one hand, and the use of universal mandatory schooling as a means of homogenization, on the other. The influential philologist Jacob Grimm insisted that only people whose mother tongue was German counted as members of the German nation; the mother tongue was the key criterion of authentic belonging. Yet Grimm also realized that mandatory schooling imposed a uniform language across a wide territory, wiping out local dialects and effectively giving shape to a more linguistically unified people. He thus witnessed how modern mass instruction forged a more standardized culture at the expense of the more natural-seeming transmission of language within families. In Grimm's writings on education, the valorization of the mother is continually disturbed by the presence of a surrogate figure, the school teacher.
Jameson argues that in 'a society bereft of all historicity', 'what used to be the historical novel can no longer set out to represent the historical past'. The 'postmodern fate' of the historical novel is to be forced to come to terms with 'a new and original historical situation in which we are condemned to seek History by way of our own pop images and simulacra of that history, which itself remains forever out of reach. Salman Rushdie's "Midnight's Children" (1981) and Patrick Süskind's "Das Parfum. Die Geschichte eines Mörders" (1984) stand out as two hugely successful novels from this period that raise questions about historical representation within the space of the popular. They might therefore be used as test cases for Jameson's concerns. "Midnight's Children" is a sprawling story of Indian and British imperial and post-imperial history across the twentieth century. "Das Parfum" tells the tightly framed tale of a murderous perfumer in eighteenth-century France. Seemingly very different texts, they bear one curious similarity: both feature a protagonist with an unusually sensitive sense of smell.
In his article "The End of History?", originally published in the journal "The National Interest" in Summer 1989, Frances Fukuyama argued that 'the triumph of the West, of the Western idea, is evident first of all in the total exhaustion of viable systemic alternatives to Western liberalism.' It was in this respect that history had reached its 'end': the course of history in the sense of 'mankind's logical evolution' had arrived at 'the universalization of Western liberal democracy as the final form of human government'. [...] A look at some of the historical fiction written in the 1980s might suggest ways out of this potential imaginative impasse, offering up alternative possibilities, or 'Gegenwelten', in place of the dispiriting spectacle of history-on-repeat. Fukuyama himself does not mention literature. In fact, the historical fiction of the 1980s reveals a space in which the meaning of 'history' is still very much contested and where the threat of the 'end of history' in its more obvious sense - in the form of nuclear war or climate apocalypse - emerges as a force that speaks powerfully to the anxiety of our present moment. Two evocative novels that have much to tell us in these respects are Christa Wolf's "Kassandra" and Jeanette Winterson's "Sexing the Cherry". Published in 1984 and 1989, these two texts challenged the idea of rational progress and 'mankind's logical evolution' by raising the prospect of a distinctive feminist poetics - of 'écriture féminine' and 'what it will do' as Hélène Cixous had put it in her 1975 essay "The Laugh of the Medusa". The 'Gegenwelten' they propose suggest ways out of the macho strait jacket of violence, destruction and impending nuclear war.
The present essay engages with the short story 'The Burrow', written by Franz Kafka between 1923 and 1924, a few months before his death. The ambiguity of the original title, 'Der Bau', which defies translation by pointing at the same time at a construction and an excavation work, anticipates the multilayered image of the burrow itself. While both nature and function of the burrow are hard to pinpoint (is it a dwelling, a shelter, a fortress, a labyrinth, a ruin?), the initially reported success of its construction is revealed as illusory, thus prompting the ongoing first-person narration of the incessant builder's work. Similarly unsuccessful is any attempt of the reader to attain metaphorical closure. In the light of other impossible, i.e., unfinished, bound-to-fail, ruinous, or selfdismantling structures portrayed by Kafka, as well as on the background of coeval texts by Paul Valéry and Georg Simmel, the essay investigates the wide and deep significance of the burrow’s countering the classical ideal of architectural wholeness.
This chapter makes the case for a literary history that accounts for the multilingual nature of medieval Denmark, giving particular attention to Danish, German, and Latin. It relates such a project to current research interests such as crossing the boundaries of national philologies; demonstrates the need for it by reviewing existing surveys of the period; and outlines some lines of enquiry, including the translation and transmission of texts, that it could pursue.
Practices of rewriting and mouvance are central to medieval culture, but have been neglected by contemporary scholarship. This paper highlights how collaborative forms of writing such as religious song engage with complex theological thought, opening up a discourse from which the laity had previously been excluded. Using forms which defy conventional author-based aesthetic norms, these songs explore poetic practices which are both collective and inclusive.
The fall of the Berlin Wall and its literary representations have often been described as a purely (white) German affair, as a discourse regarding (East/West) German identity. Taking on Leerssen's claim for a trans-/postnational imagology, this article provides an analysis of two novels depicting the fall of the Berlin Wall from transnational, not-(only)-German perspectives: Yadé Kara's "Selam Berlin" (2003) and Paul Beatty's "Slumberland" (2008). Comparing images and stereotypes used by both the Turkish-German narrator of Kara's and the African American narrator of Beatty's novel, it aims to undertake an exemplary case study of how imagology may be employed in contexts characterized by complex interferences of national, ethnic/racial, and urban ascriptions of belonging.