For what has now turned out to be German Nobel Laureate Gunter Grass’s last public reading, I arrived two hours early. It was by sheer chance that I noted that Grass would be reading on March 15 at the Leipzig Book Fair in Germany, which I was visiting at the invitation of The Goethe Institute.
The reason that spotting-the-author is difficult is that Leipzig has the largest number of readings for any book fair (more than 200), several of them going on simulataneously, spread over various halls in a cavernous, glass-top tunnel-like auditorium though the sides of which smaller tubular entrances lead away to another array of halls and auditoriums.
So it was a clear case of finding a spot of great Grass amid a sprawl of literary turf. Though readings were taking place in every hall, with huge crowds moving between them, by sheer chance I saw the name of Amoz Oz, the Israeli writer, scrolling across the bottom of a closed-circuit TV screen. Amidst the melee, I suddenly realised I was just a few feet away from Oz ( the theme of the Fair this year was Israel-German cooperation). He was at the stage of the “Bleu Sofa”, the largest reading venue of the fair, which is sponsored by German television channels. Walking away from the Oz interview at the Bleu Sofa, I saw the programme list painted on the side. Grass was on the next day, at 1.30 p.m.
Although huge crowds were walking past the open stage situated at the very entrance of the hall, not as many Germans as I would have expected had even stopped by to see their Nobel Prize winner talking. My heart jumped in joy as I saw Grass being led by two people from a side hall towards the Bleu Sofa stage. I was within hand-shaking distance of a Nobel winner.
Grass sat slouched on the Bleu Sofa with two interviewers while magical comic figures (thousands of youngsters dressed up as characters from Manga comics, a speciality event at the Fair) walked up and down past both sides of the open stage, in what could be a scene from one of his own novels.
Grass was a picture of serenity, wisdom and humility. He talked about his hatred for Facebook and how a person who claimed to have 500 friends could not have even one real friend. He talked about his early and unknowing work with the SS, and why Israel’s nuclear arsenal was the biggest danger to West Asian peace.
Grass was slumped on the Bleu Sofa most of the time, holding the receiver of the mike in his right hand, since it was too much trouble bstrap it on his back. Often he perked up to answer. Only once did a smile crease his face, but not once did he lose his temper. He waved his hand, sometimes in desperation, often to make a point, moving easily between his two interviewers. He seemed happy, like a man who had run his race.
The photographs I took seem surreal today, trying to keep alive a man whose immortality is assured.
The reason that spotting-the-author is difficult is that Leipzig has the largest number of readings for any book fair (more than 200), several of them going on simulataneously, spread over various halls in a cavernous, glass-top tunnel-like auditorium though the sides of which smaller tubular entrances lead away to another array of halls and auditoriums.
So it was a clear case of finding a spot of great Grass amid a sprawl of literary turf. Though readings were taking place in every hall, with huge crowds moving between them, by sheer chance I saw the name of Amoz Oz, the Israeli writer, scrolling across the bottom of a closed-circuit TV screen. Amidst the melee, I suddenly realised I was just a few feet away from Oz ( the theme of the Fair this year was Israel-German cooperation). He was at the stage of the “Bleu Sofa”, the largest reading venue of the fair, which is sponsored by German television channels. Walking away from the Oz interview at the Bleu Sofa, I saw the programme list painted on the side. Grass was on the next day, at 1.30 p.m.
Although huge crowds were walking past the open stage situated at the very entrance of the hall, not as many Germans as I would have expected had even stopped by to see their Nobel Prize winner talking. My heart jumped in joy as I saw Grass being led by two people from a side hall towards the Bleu Sofa stage. I was within hand-shaking distance of a Nobel winner.
Grass sat slouched on the Bleu Sofa with two interviewers while magical comic figures (thousands of youngsters dressed up as characters from Manga comics, a speciality event at the Fair) walked up and down past both sides of the open stage, in what could be a scene from one of his own novels.
Grass was a picture of serenity, wisdom and humility. He talked about his hatred for Facebook and how a person who claimed to have 500 friends could not have even one real friend. He talked about his early and unknowing work with the SS, and why Israel’s nuclear arsenal was the biggest danger to West Asian peace.
Grass was slumped on the Bleu Sofa most of the time, holding the receiver of the mike in his right hand, since it was too much trouble bstrap it on his back. Often he perked up to answer. Only once did a smile crease his face, but not once did he lose his temper. He waved his hand, sometimes in desperation, often to make a point, moving easily between his two interviewers. He seemed happy, like a man who had run his race.
The photographs I took seem surreal today, trying to keep alive a man whose immortality is assured.
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