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Syskonen
Våren 1961 – bara månader innan Berlinmuren byggs – får Elisabeth veta att hennes bror Uli beslutat sig för att lämna Östtyskland. Syskonen har alltid stått varandra ovanligt nära, men nu öppnar sig en avgrund mellan dem. Elisabeth har bara några få dagar på sig att övertala Uli att stanna.
Brigitte Reimanns ”Syskonen” är en berättelse om lojalitet, ideal, frihet och mod, som i skildringen av Elisabeths inre kris fångar det djupt tragiska i det delade landet. Romanen utkom 1963 i Östtyskland, och ges nu för första gången ut på svenska. Översättningen utgår från den nyutgåva som kom 2023, där en rad statskritiska passager som strukits i den första utgåvan införts på nytt. Boken inleds med ett förord av författaren Isabelle Ståhl.
Brigitte Reimanns ”Syskonen” är en berättelse om lojalitet, ideal, frihet och mod, som i skildringen av Elisabeths inre kris fångar det djupt tragiska i det delade landet. Romanen utkom 1963 i Östtyskland, och ges nu för första gången ut på svenska. Översättningen utgår från den nyutgåva som kom 2023, där en rad statskritiska passager som strukits i den första utgåvan införts på nytt. Boken inleds med ett förord av författaren Isabelle Ståhl.
190 pages, Hardcover
First published January 1, 1963
106 people are currently reading
3488 people want to read
About the author
Brigitte Reimann
31 books45 followersBrigitte Reimann (1933 - 1973) was a German writer who is best known for her posthumously published novel, Franziska Linkerhand.
Brigitte Reimann wrote her first amateur play at the age of fifteen. In 1950 she was awarded the first prize in an amateur drama comeptition by the Berlin theater Volksbühne. After graduating, Reimann worked as teacher, bookseller and reporter. After a miscarriage in 1954, she attempted suicide. In 1960, she started to work at the brown coal mine Schwarze Pumpe, where she and her second husband Siegfried Pitschmann headed a circle of writing workers. There, she writes the narrative Ankunft im Alltag, which is regarded as a masterpiece of socialist realism.
When troops of the Warsaw Pact states invaded the ČSSR on August 20, 1968 as a reaction to liberalisations during the Prague Spring, Reimann refused to sign the declaration by the East German Writers' Association approving of the measure.
On February 22, 1973, Reimann died of cancer at the age of 39.
During the last ten years of her life Reimann worked at the novel Franziska Linkerhand. At the time of her death, the last chapter had just been started. In the following year the novel was published in an heavily censored edition. Not until 1998 was the uncensored version published.
Brigitte Reimann wrote her first amateur play at the age of fifteen. In 1950 she was awarded the first prize in an amateur drama comeptition by the Berlin theater Volksbühne. After graduating, Reimann worked as teacher, bookseller and reporter. After a miscarriage in 1954, she attempted suicide. In 1960, she started to work at the brown coal mine Schwarze Pumpe, where she and her second husband Siegfried Pitschmann headed a circle of writing workers. There, she writes the narrative Ankunft im Alltag, which is regarded as a masterpiece of socialist realism.
When troops of the Warsaw Pact states invaded the ČSSR on August 20, 1968 as a reaction to liberalisations during the Prague Spring, Reimann refused to sign the declaration by the East German Writers' Association approving of the measure.
On February 22, 1973, Reimann died of cancer at the age of 39.
During the last ten years of her life Reimann worked at the novel Franziska Linkerhand. At the time of her death, the last chapter had just been started. In the following year the novel was published in an heavily censored edition. Not until 1998 was the uncensored version published.
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December 17, 2022
Brigitte Reimann was an acclaimed East German writer whose career was cut short by cancer, she died aged 39. Her short, Cold War era novel, published in 1963, revolves around “Republikflucht”, the act of deserting the GDR for the West. Told from the perspective of an aspiring artist Elizabeth, it centres on her attempts to persuade her brother Uli not to leave for the West. For Elizabeth the West’s a symbol of decadence and corruption, a place that’s already swallowed up older brother Konrad. From Elizabeth’s perspective Konrad, dubbed the pushy “elbow man” fell for the lure of consumerism and Elizabeth’s determined to stop Uli from following in his footsteps. Reimann was part of a circle of writers that included Christa Wolf but, unlike Wolf, Reimann’s relatively unknown outside Germany. If Siblings is at all representative then Reimann’s work suffers by being less complex and more compromised than authors like Wolf. Her narrative here’s very much a dramatization of then-contemporary anti-defection campaigns, although it’s partly inspired by the loss of her own brother to the West.
Reimann’s narrative’s framed by a dialogue between Uli and Joachim, Elizabeth’s boyfriend, a dedicated Party worker who confronts Uli with the evils of abandoning his homeland. A conversation that also illustrates real-life divisions between advocates of the GDR’s so-called “real existing socialism” and those who, like Uli, took a more personal, less structured, approach to socialism. But although the main thrust of Reimann’s story can seem overly didactic – sometimes reminding me of early Soviet realist fiction - as it unfolds it exposes a surprising element of tension and ambiguity that threatens to undermine its surface certainties. As Uli and Joachim talk, Elizabeth waits in another room recalling her own conflicts with the Party and its systems. Like Reimann, Elizabeth’s part of the Bitterfeld movement, artists and writers embedded in factory communities, working on production lines while practicing their art and teaching cohorts of labourers. But her experiences tussling with older Party members have not been the enlightening ones she’d imagined. Her encounters raises questions about the GDR’s future, its damaging class and generational divides, as well as the need to confront the changes new technologies will make to traditional working practices.
This preoccupation with division runs through the novel - ideological, cultural, generational, geographical. As Elizabeth waits, she’s overwhelmed by memories of her childhood during WW2 and the difficult years that followed. Her brother Konrad was a member of the Hitler Youth a fact that’s clearly bound up in Elizabeth’s mind with her vision of the West, a place too closely bound to the legacies of its National Socialist past, another obstacle intensifying the ideological disconnect between East and West. Reimann’s adept at conveying the emotional weight of living in a fractured Germany and the dilemmas facing people like Elizabeth and Uli who grew up in the shadow of fascism and war. It’s these sections of the book that I found the most striking and powerful, although I was also fascinated by the use of imagery and Reimann’s vivid descriptions of everyday life in the GDR. Not long after it was published Siblings developed a cult following among younger East Germans perhaps because of Reimann’s ability to depict the conflict between Party loyalties and longings for space for self-expression and personal dissent. But I found Elizabeth a sometimes-frustrating character: she shifts between fiercely independent and curiously self-effacing; often describing herself in terms that foreground her emotional volatility and naivety, suddenly caving to the men in her life, as if she’s unable to function without their mentoring and approval. I assume she’s a stand-in for Reimann herself on some level but, if so, she’s a curious choice - Reimann had a reputation for being wild and strongminded. Although, like other aspects of the narrative, it could be the character’s an attempt to portray what’s desirable for an East German woman rather than the reality. Overall, it’s a promising rather than a fully-realised piece, with some wonderful passages, but it’s also an unusual insight into East Germany’s history and culture. Translated by Lucy Jones.
Thanks to Edelweiss and publisher Transit Books for an ARC
Reimann’s narrative’s framed by a dialogue between Uli and Joachim, Elizabeth’s boyfriend, a dedicated Party worker who confronts Uli with the evils of abandoning his homeland. A conversation that also illustrates real-life divisions between advocates of the GDR’s so-called “real existing socialism” and those who, like Uli, took a more personal, less structured, approach to socialism. But although the main thrust of Reimann’s story can seem overly didactic – sometimes reminding me of early Soviet realist fiction - as it unfolds it exposes a surprising element of tension and ambiguity that threatens to undermine its surface certainties. As Uli and Joachim talk, Elizabeth waits in another room recalling her own conflicts with the Party and its systems. Like Reimann, Elizabeth’s part of the Bitterfeld movement, artists and writers embedded in factory communities, working on production lines while practicing their art and teaching cohorts of labourers. But her experiences tussling with older Party members have not been the enlightening ones she’d imagined. Her encounters raises questions about the GDR’s future, its damaging class and generational divides, as well as the need to confront the changes new technologies will make to traditional working practices.
This preoccupation with division runs through the novel - ideological, cultural, generational, geographical. As Elizabeth waits, she’s overwhelmed by memories of her childhood during WW2 and the difficult years that followed. Her brother Konrad was a member of the Hitler Youth a fact that’s clearly bound up in Elizabeth’s mind with her vision of the West, a place too closely bound to the legacies of its National Socialist past, another obstacle intensifying the ideological disconnect between East and West. Reimann’s adept at conveying the emotional weight of living in a fractured Germany and the dilemmas facing people like Elizabeth and Uli who grew up in the shadow of fascism and war. It’s these sections of the book that I found the most striking and powerful, although I was also fascinated by the use of imagery and Reimann’s vivid descriptions of everyday life in the GDR. Not long after it was published Siblings developed a cult following among younger East Germans perhaps because of Reimann’s ability to depict the conflict between Party loyalties and longings for space for self-expression and personal dissent. But I found Elizabeth a sometimes-frustrating character: she shifts between fiercely independent and curiously self-effacing; often describing herself in terms that foreground her emotional volatility and naivety, suddenly caving to the men in her life, as if she’s unable to function without their mentoring and approval. I assume she’s a stand-in for Reimann herself on some level but, if so, she’s a curious choice - Reimann had a reputation for being wild and strongminded. Although, like other aspects of the narrative, it could be the character’s an attempt to portray what’s desirable for an East German woman rather than the reality. Overall, it’s a promising rather than a fully-realised piece, with some wonderful passages, but it’s also an unusual insight into East Germany’s history and culture. Translated by Lucy Jones.
Thanks to Edelweiss and publisher Transit Books for an ARC
January 2, 2023
idk maybe the DDR wasn't all that bad
October 3, 2024
4,5 Sterne
„Ich sagte: »Man darf nicht ausrücken vor Schwierigkeiten. Man muss verändern.«
Ich nahm seine Hand. »Wer, wenn nicht du? Und wann, wenn nicht jetzt?«
...Ich verabscheue Resignation. Uli hatte aufgegeben, statt sich zu prüfen, die Berechtigung jener jungen Leute zu prüfen und sich zur Wehr zu setzen. Ich hätte mich gewehrt. Warum wehrte sich mein Bruder nicht, wenn er, gutwilliger Arbeiter, sich zurückgestoßen fühlte? War er feige, war er müde geworden? Warum war er müde, warum war er feige?….
Brigitte Reimann ist ua. Von Günter de Bruyn vorgeworfen worden, politisch naiv zu sein. In diesem Text eine gewisse Manieriertheit zu zeigen.
„Ein Buch das in der Zeit der Vereinfachungen entstanden ist“, heißt es im Nachwort meiner Ausgabe.
Reimann schrieb das Buch zu einer Zeit, zu der sie, wie auch Christa Wolf, noch an die sozialistische Utopie glaubte. Bereits aber roch, dass hierfür Reformen nötig sind.
Dieses Buch ist keineswegs linientreu und aus einer egoistischen Görensicht verfasst.
Es lebt von ambivalenten Zwischentönen.
Manieriert, im Sinne von künstlicher Selbstinszenierung und übertriebenen Sprachbildern?
Nee, ich empfinde das Buch als sehr authentisch. Eine Frau die lebhaft und lustvoll durchs Leben geht. Die ihren Emotionen und Überzeugungen eine ausdrucksstarke Vehemenz verleiht.
Die Naivität Elisabeth’s, der Icherzählerin, drückt das vorangestellte Zitat aus.
Eine selbstbewusste Naivität, die an etwas glaubt, ins Handeln kommen möchte, die Dynamiken frei setzt, die hinterfragt.
„Wie kann denn einer seine Ruhe haben wollen in dieser unruhigen Welt“
Eine Naivität die ich sehr schätze.
Tja, und der Vorwurf der Vereinfachung? Zur Zeit de Bruyns vielleicht. Ich glaube, dass ihm die Parodie auf dieses leicht verdauliche, emotionale Geplänkel einer jungen Frau im Halse stecken geblieben wäre, müsste er sich an der heutigen Gegenwartsliteratur abarbeiten. Oh Boy!
„Die Geschwister“ liest sich auf der subjektiven Konfliktebene komplex. Ein reflexives Buch, das in einem Zeitraum von 2 Tagen erzählt wird und innerhalb der Situationen in Erinnerungen abdriftet.
Reimann bearbeitet das Leben im Kombinat. Künstler -Elisabeth ist Malerin – die mit der direkten Arbeitswelt verwoben werden. Überwindung der Kluft zwischen Gesellschaft und Künstler und natürlich die Vermittlung der ideologischen Ziele durch die Kunst.
Sie stellt die Ineffizienz dieser Betriebe heraus. Materialmangel, der mit der Arbeitswelt im Westen verglichen wird.
Später folgt ein Disput über die Kunst. Die Forderungen des Realismus, im Konflikt mit der subjektiven Interpretation, die als Formalismus abgewehrt wird.
Des Weiteren werden Machtstrukturen herausgearbeitet. Nicht wer die beste Qualifikation hat, sondern wer in der Partei und braver Genosse ist bekommt den Zuschlag.
Hat man eine Biografie, oder besser noch, haben die Eltern eine Biografie (Verweis auf Christa Wolfs Nachdenken über Christa T., die diesen Aspekt ebenfalls bearbeitet) oder hat man mal mit jemandem aus Versehen irgendwo zusammengehangen, der in Ungnade gefallen ist – AUS die Maus.
Egal ob üble Nachrede, oder man sich als Widerstandskämpfer gegen die Nazis rein gehangen hat. Hat man irgendwann, irgendwo einen fahren lassen, wo sich jemand dachte: Nee, das ist jetzt irgendwie nicht Parteikonform, hinfort mit ihm.
Hier wird niemand an den eigenen Überzeugungen gemessen. „Dunkler Punkt in der Vergangenheit“, ein Unsatz?, an dem Uli zu knabbern hat und der Auslöser für seinen Groll auf die DDR ist. Auch Elisabeth arbeitet sich an dieser Thematik wiederkehrend ab.
Klassismus spielt eine weitere Rolle.
Eindeutig steht die intensive Beziehung der Geschwister Uli und Elisabeth im Vordergrund. Reimann zeichnet eine intensive Nähe und das Ringen der beiden in spektakulären Dialogen. Elisabeth versucht Uli zu überzeugen im Osten zu bleiben.
Und dann gibt es noch Joachim. Joachim ist Elisabeth’s Verlobter. In der Partei, linientreu, immer korrekt.
Wer Reimann jetzt vorwirft eine linientreue Protagonistin zu schreiben, hat bei Joachim nicht aufgepasst. Wie wird er denn gezeichnet, der Vorzeige DDR Bürger?
Joachim ist eine ganz eigenartig entrückte Gestalt. Eine schemenhafte Präsenz im Buch.
Wir bekommen nur seine praktische Ader, seinen mechanischen Umgang mit der Umwelt mit. Und seinen Wagen für die Arbeit.
Die kurzen Sequenzen der Zärtlichkeit sind mit grotesk, absurden Störelementen durchzogen. Joachim ist ein krasser Kontrast zur lebendigen, dynamischen Elisabeth - generell zur Lebhaftigkeit des Buches. Reimann lässt ihn blass, leblos, ruhig, opak, ohne einen einzigen reflexiven Moment durch den Roman geistern. Dass sie diese Figur sich für Kybernetik begeistern lässt, spiegelt Reimanns Sinn für Ironie wieder.
Das emotionalste Zugeständnis bekommt er hier:
"Wenn man von den Bildern und einer blassroten Fuchsie im Fenster absieht, wirkt Joachims Zimmer so nüchtern und kühl und überschaubar wie er selbst. Aber er ist nicht kühl und schon gar nicht überschaubar… Ich würde sagen, er ist ein lauterer Mensch.“
Tja das Ende. Ich denke hier muss ich schon zugeben, schießt mir das Wort „Maulkorb“ in den Kopf. Reimann hat geboxt, um diesen Text so durch zu bekommen. Es wurden wohl doch einige Abstriche gemacht. Der Text bricht für mich leider auf den letzten Seiten ein, weshalb ich keine 5 Sterne vergeben kann.
Die Schlagkraft einer Subjektivierung wie Wolfs „Kassandra“ erreicht „Die Geschwister“ noch nicht. Dennoch arbeitet Reimann sehr anschaulich die Konflikte und Ambivalenzen heraus.
Hier mein Lieblingszitat – emotionale Zerrissenheit, subjektiv, ambivalent, widersprüchlich, verwoben:
Wenn aus offenen Fenstern im Lager Radiomusik brüllt, wenn winters die Kälte durch die Ritzen in den Holzwänden kriecht und wenn Regen die Lagerstraße in einen knöcheltiefen Schlammpfuhl verwandelt, dann wünsche ich die ganze fragwürdige Romantik unseres provisorischen Lebens zum Teufel. Und dennoch: Sobald ich mich ein paar Tage im Schoße der Familie aufgewärmt habe, überfällt mich Heimweh nach diesem Land, dem noch der Ruch von Abenteuer und Kühnheit anhaftet, und nach dem Anblick der Abraumbagger im weiß und gelben, vom Wind launisch gehügelten Gebirge von Sand, unter dem das Flöz liegt, und nach den Raupenfahrern auf ihren friedlichen Panzern, die, Schilde gesenkt, kraftvoll und geduldig Unmassen von Erde bewegen…
„Ich sagte: »Man darf nicht ausrücken vor Schwierigkeiten. Man muss verändern.«
Ich nahm seine Hand. »Wer, wenn nicht du? Und wann, wenn nicht jetzt?«
...Ich verabscheue Resignation. Uli hatte aufgegeben, statt sich zu prüfen, die Berechtigung jener jungen Leute zu prüfen und sich zur Wehr zu setzen. Ich hätte mich gewehrt. Warum wehrte sich mein Bruder nicht, wenn er, gutwilliger Arbeiter, sich zurückgestoßen fühlte? War er feige, war er müde geworden? Warum war er müde, warum war er feige?….
Brigitte Reimann ist ua. Von Günter de Bruyn vorgeworfen worden, politisch naiv zu sein. In diesem Text eine gewisse Manieriertheit zu zeigen.
„Ein Buch das in der Zeit der Vereinfachungen entstanden ist“, heißt es im Nachwort meiner Ausgabe.
Reimann schrieb das Buch zu einer Zeit, zu der sie, wie auch Christa Wolf, noch an die sozialistische Utopie glaubte. Bereits aber roch, dass hierfür Reformen nötig sind.
Dieses Buch ist keineswegs linientreu und aus einer egoistischen Görensicht verfasst.
Es lebt von ambivalenten Zwischentönen.
Manieriert, im Sinne von künstlicher Selbstinszenierung und übertriebenen Sprachbildern?
Nee, ich empfinde das Buch als sehr authentisch. Eine Frau die lebhaft und lustvoll durchs Leben geht. Die ihren Emotionen und Überzeugungen eine ausdrucksstarke Vehemenz verleiht.
Die Naivität Elisabeth’s, der Icherzählerin, drückt das vorangestellte Zitat aus.
Eine selbstbewusste Naivität, die an etwas glaubt, ins Handeln kommen möchte, die Dynamiken frei setzt, die hinterfragt.
„Wie kann denn einer seine Ruhe haben wollen in dieser unruhigen Welt“
Eine Naivität die ich sehr schätze.
Tja, und der Vorwurf der Vereinfachung? Zur Zeit de Bruyns vielleicht. Ich glaube, dass ihm die Parodie auf dieses leicht verdauliche, emotionale Geplänkel einer jungen Frau im Halse stecken geblieben wäre, müsste er sich an der heutigen Gegenwartsliteratur abarbeiten. Oh Boy!
„Die Geschwister“ liest sich auf der subjektiven Konfliktebene komplex. Ein reflexives Buch, das in einem Zeitraum von 2 Tagen erzählt wird und innerhalb der Situationen in Erinnerungen abdriftet.
Reimann bearbeitet das Leben im Kombinat. Künstler -Elisabeth ist Malerin – die mit der direkten Arbeitswelt verwoben werden. Überwindung der Kluft zwischen Gesellschaft und Künstler und natürlich die Vermittlung der ideologischen Ziele durch die Kunst.
Sie stellt die Ineffizienz dieser Betriebe heraus. Materialmangel, der mit der Arbeitswelt im Westen verglichen wird.
Später folgt ein Disput über die Kunst. Die Forderungen des Realismus, im Konflikt mit der subjektiven Interpretation, die als Formalismus abgewehrt wird.
Des Weiteren werden Machtstrukturen herausgearbeitet. Nicht wer die beste Qualifikation hat, sondern wer in der Partei und braver Genosse ist bekommt den Zuschlag.
Hat man eine Biografie, oder besser noch, haben die Eltern eine Biografie (Verweis auf Christa Wolfs Nachdenken über Christa T., die diesen Aspekt ebenfalls bearbeitet) oder hat man mal mit jemandem aus Versehen irgendwo zusammengehangen, der in Ungnade gefallen ist – AUS die Maus.
Egal ob üble Nachrede, oder man sich als Widerstandskämpfer gegen die Nazis rein gehangen hat. Hat man irgendwann, irgendwo einen fahren lassen, wo sich jemand dachte: Nee, das ist jetzt irgendwie nicht Parteikonform, hinfort mit ihm.
Hier wird niemand an den eigenen Überzeugungen gemessen. „Dunkler Punkt in der Vergangenheit“, ein Unsatz?, an dem Uli zu knabbern hat und der Auslöser für seinen Groll auf die DDR ist. Auch Elisabeth arbeitet sich an dieser Thematik wiederkehrend ab.
Klassismus spielt eine weitere Rolle.
Eindeutig steht die intensive Beziehung der Geschwister Uli und Elisabeth im Vordergrund. Reimann zeichnet eine intensive Nähe und das Ringen der beiden in spektakulären Dialogen. Elisabeth versucht Uli zu überzeugen im Osten zu bleiben.
Und dann gibt es noch Joachim. Joachim ist Elisabeth’s Verlobter. In der Partei, linientreu, immer korrekt.
Wer Reimann jetzt vorwirft eine linientreue Protagonistin zu schreiben, hat bei Joachim nicht aufgepasst. Wie wird er denn gezeichnet, der Vorzeige DDR Bürger?
Joachim ist eine ganz eigenartig entrückte Gestalt. Eine schemenhafte Präsenz im Buch.
Wir bekommen nur seine praktische Ader, seinen mechanischen Umgang mit der Umwelt mit. Und seinen Wagen für die Arbeit.
Die kurzen Sequenzen der Zärtlichkeit sind mit grotesk, absurden Störelementen durchzogen. Joachim ist ein krasser Kontrast zur lebendigen, dynamischen Elisabeth - generell zur Lebhaftigkeit des Buches. Reimann lässt ihn blass, leblos, ruhig, opak, ohne einen einzigen reflexiven Moment durch den Roman geistern. Dass sie diese Figur sich für Kybernetik begeistern lässt, spiegelt Reimanns Sinn für Ironie wieder.
Das emotionalste Zugeständnis bekommt er hier:
"Wenn man von den Bildern und einer blassroten Fuchsie im Fenster absieht, wirkt Joachims Zimmer so nüchtern und kühl und überschaubar wie er selbst. Aber er ist nicht kühl und schon gar nicht überschaubar… Ich würde sagen, er ist ein lauterer Mensch.“
Tja das Ende. Ich denke hier muss ich schon zugeben, schießt mir das Wort „Maulkorb“ in den Kopf. Reimann hat geboxt, um diesen Text so durch zu bekommen. Es wurden wohl doch einige Abstriche gemacht. Der Text bricht für mich leider auf den letzten Seiten ein, weshalb ich keine 5 Sterne vergeben kann.
Die Schlagkraft einer Subjektivierung wie Wolfs „Kassandra“ erreicht „Die Geschwister“ noch nicht. Dennoch arbeitet Reimann sehr anschaulich die Konflikte und Ambivalenzen heraus.
Hier mein Lieblingszitat – emotionale Zerrissenheit, subjektiv, ambivalent, widersprüchlich, verwoben:
Wenn aus offenen Fenstern im Lager Radiomusik brüllt, wenn winters die Kälte durch die Ritzen in den Holzwänden kriecht und wenn Regen die Lagerstraße in einen knöcheltiefen Schlammpfuhl verwandelt, dann wünsche ich die ganze fragwürdige Romantik unseres provisorischen Lebens zum Teufel. Und dennoch: Sobald ich mich ein paar Tage im Schoße der Familie aufgewärmt habe, überfällt mich Heimweh nach diesem Land, dem noch der Ruch von Abenteuer und Kühnheit anhaftet, und nach dem Anblick der Abraumbagger im weiß und gelben, vom Wind launisch gehügelten Gebirge von Sand, unter dem das Flöz liegt, und nach den Raupenfahrern auf ihren friedlichen Panzern, die, Schilde gesenkt, kraftvoll und geduldig Unmassen von Erde bewegen…
June 28, 2023
There were recently some bad-tempered local elections where I live. As usual, the upshot was an argument with my work colleagues the following day, of those ill-advised, passions-running-high kinds that you regret the next day. I may have finished with shouting at everyone “and I’m so glad my sister is visiting me this week so I can talk politics with someone with a bit of sense!”
Put another way, it was not my finest hour.
But that addendum, that I needed to talk to my sister, is telling in the context of Brigitte Reimann’s book, which I had recently finished. It’s a slim volume about Elisabeth (Lise, or Betsy), who is a young painter in East Germany in 1960. Her eldest brother Konrad has defected to the West, and now her beloved middle brother Uli has now told her he will do so too.
Semi-autobiographical, it’s a story of family and politics. The two things turn out to be inseparable. Although Elisabeth’s family was quite bourgeois and lost property under the new GDR, they are (minus the defector brother) in favour of the republic: her father retrained as an economist, the mother escaped the hearth and works for a district committee, the two boys are shipbuilders and Elisabeth is a painter placed in a project at a factory, where she teaches the workers to paint or at least exposes them to art. All the children have nonetheless run up against Party bureaucracy and single-mindedness: Konrad deflected immediately, Elisabeth remains an idealist, and Uli is in the moment of crisis. If he leaves, Elisabeth will have lost the brother who has best understood her, her best friend through childhood, the young man who approves or disapproves her boyfriends, the boy who she clung to when the Soviets rolled in so that they could die together. Though the scenario may seem removed to many of us now, living in an undivided country without a border, it is of tragic immediacy to her. When I think of having to argue with my work colleagues, without the (sometimes metaphorical) support of a sister, I feel it keenly.
This is a slim and beautiful book. I could argue with some of the structure, the choices of what is included and what not, but I would rather dwell on the extreme beauty of its central relationship. [Reading some other reviews, most people seem to think it's just borderline creepy, but I stick to my guns] We meet Uli spoiling for a fight: he’s a slim, dark, angry young man. He an Elisabeth call each other by elaborate pet names and her descriptions of his beauty are almost incestuous, until you remember this is just the gaze of a girl about to lose her best friend:
When I looked into his eyes, I forgot what I wanted to say: I saw only his thick eyelashes that drew a black crescent on his cheek when he lowered his eyes; his exquisitely coloured irises that I couldn’t reproduce on canvas, light brown with rust specks, their colour, texture and moisture, quickened by feeling—
Uli is leaving the day after tomorrow and Elisabeth brings her boyfriend in to argue with him. She can hear their voices from the kitchen and waits on tenterhooks. While she waits, we get flashbacks of other moments of their lives, and are relayed their own arguments. Uli and Elisabeth have talked about everything in their lives, but we hear them argue most about politics.
Uli says:
”I’m just going… from one Germany to another.”
His hand slid from my shoulder, as gently as a tired brown leaf. “From one Germany to another,” he repeated astonishedly, as if it had occurred to him for the first time. He was only swapping landscapes – the Baltic Sea for the North Sea, Rostock for Hamburg, nothing else – and Germany was his justification.
But he couldn’t say that treasured name from long, long ago, without a painful twinge of mistrust. For us, Germany still included “Raise the Flag” and “The Watch on the Rhine” and “Deutschland über alles.” We were once bitten, twice shy.
There is no simplistic depiction of East vs. West (although of course Reimann was writing in the East and her loyalties are there). Nonetheless, she visits West Berlin (this is before the Wall goes up), both to see a boyfriend who tries to get her to stay, and to see her eldest brother and ask him how his Traitor Complex is coming along.
There is complexity too in the depiction of shifting ideals and beliefs in the East:
”Konrad,” Uli said contemptuously. “I hope you’re not seriously comparing me to Konrad. If there was ever a man cut out to be a West German citizen, it’s Konrad. I’m giving up on our people, but not our cause. I’ve never doubted, even in my darkest moments, that the future will be communist. No one who’s understood history’s lessons can think differently.”
“Incredible,” I said, stunned, “and you’re going to march over the border to your capitalist boss with that mission…”
“Exactly,” Uli said. “Before I’m ground to pieces here, he added.”
And Elisabeth is not pure idealism either. She knows there’s a tension to their position:
”Are we in favour of our state? Yes. Would we fight for it? If we had to, yes – although God knows I’d rather hold a palette than a rifle…. That’s one side of it. You know the other as well as I do: our innocent, silly jokes about things that people take deadly seriously. Our knowing smiles when we hear a functionary giving a well-meaning speech in poor German. Our malicious emphasis when we say: they[Party people] made a mistake. How proud we are of our good upbringing but we won’t admit it. The fact that we go to the theatre, read the classics, are familiar with Beethoven’s symphonies… They way we stand discreetly apart form the others, observing that freak show…”
This is a wonderful book about how the world is complex, how a person needs their family, how brain-drain affects a society, how politics can pull rock-solid relationships apart. It is both a historical document and a thought-provoking contemporary read.
Put another way, it was not my finest hour.
But that addendum, that I needed to talk to my sister, is telling in the context of Brigitte Reimann’s book, which I had recently finished. It’s a slim volume about Elisabeth (Lise, or Betsy), who is a young painter in East Germany in 1960. Her eldest brother Konrad has defected to the West, and now her beloved middle brother Uli has now told her he will do so too.
Semi-autobiographical, it’s a story of family and politics. The two things turn out to be inseparable. Although Elisabeth’s family was quite bourgeois and lost property under the new GDR, they are (minus the defector brother) in favour of the republic: her father retrained as an economist, the mother escaped the hearth and works for a district committee, the two boys are shipbuilders and Elisabeth is a painter placed in a project at a factory, where she teaches the workers to paint or at least exposes them to art. All the children have nonetheless run up against Party bureaucracy and single-mindedness: Konrad deflected immediately, Elisabeth remains an idealist, and Uli is in the moment of crisis. If he leaves, Elisabeth will have lost the brother who has best understood her, her best friend through childhood, the young man who approves or disapproves her boyfriends, the boy who she clung to when the Soviets rolled in so that they could die together. Though the scenario may seem removed to many of us now, living in an undivided country without a border, it is of tragic immediacy to her. When I think of having to argue with my work colleagues, without the (sometimes metaphorical) support of a sister, I feel it keenly.
This is a slim and beautiful book. I could argue with some of the structure, the choices of what is included and what not, but I would rather dwell on the extreme beauty of its central relationship. [Reading some other reviews, most people seem to think it's just borderline creepy, but I stick to my guns] We meet Uli spoiling for a fight: he’s a slim, dark, angry young man. He an Elisabeth call each other by elaborate pet names and her descriptions of his beauty are almost incestuous, until you remember this is just the gaze of a girl about to lose her best friend:
When I looked into his eyes, I forgot what I wanted to say: I saw only his thick eyelashes that drew a black crescent on his cheek when he lowered his eyes; his exquisitely coloured irises that I couldn’t reproduce on canvas, light brown with rust specks, their colour, texture and moisture, quickened by feeling—
Uli is leaving the day after tomorrow and Elisabeth brings her boyfriend in to argue with him. She can hear their voices from the kitchen and waits on tenterhooks. While she waits, we get flashbacks of other moments of their lives, and are relayed their own arguments. Uli and Elisabeth have talked about everything in their lives, but we hear them argue most about politics.
Uli says:
”I’m just going… from one Germany to another.”
His hand slid from my shoulder, as gently as a tired brown leaf. “From one Germany to another,” he repeated astonishedly, as if it had occurred to him for the first time. He was only swapping landscapes – the Baltic Sea for the North Sea, Rostock for Hamburg, nothing else – and Germany was his justification.
But he couldn’t say that treasured name from long, long ago, without a painful twinge of mistrust. For us, Germany still included “Raise the Flag” and “The Watch on the Rhine” and “Deutschland über alles.” We were once bitten, twice shy.
There is no simplistic depiction of East vs. West (although of course Reimann was writing in the East and her loyalties are there). Nonetheless, she visits West Berlin (this is before the Wall goes up), both to see a boyfriend who tries to get her to stay, and to see her eldest brother and ask him how his Traitor Complex is coming along.
There is complexity too in the depiction of shifting ideals and beliefs in the East:
”Konrad,” Uli said contemptuously. “I hope you’re not seriously comparing me to Konrad. If there was ever a man cut out to be a West German citizen, it’s Konrad. I’m giving up on our people, but not our cause. I’ve never doubted, even in my darkest moments, that the future will be communist. No one who’s understood history’s lessons can think differently.”
“Incredible,” I said, stunned, “and you’re going to march over the border to your capitalist boss with that mission…”
“Exactly,” Uli said. “Before I’m ground to pieces here, he added.”
And Elisabeth is not pure idealism either. She knows there’s a tension to their position:
”Are we in favour of our state? Yes. Would we fight for it? If we had to, yes – although God knows I’d rather hold a palette than a rifle…. That’s one side of it. You know the other as well as I do: our innocent, silly jokes about things that people take deadly seriously. Our knowing smiles when we hear a functionary giving a well-meaning speech in poor German. Our malicious emphasis when we say: they[Party people] made a mistake. How proud we are of our good upbringing but we won’t admit it. The fact that we go to the theatre, read the classics, are familiar with Beethoven’s symphonies… They way we stand discreetly apart form the others, observing that freak show…”
This is a wonderful book about how the world is complex, how a person needs their family, how brain-drain affects a society, how politics can pull rock-solid relationships apart. It is both a historical document and a thought-provoking contemporary read.
November 14, 2023
My thanks to Transit Editions for a review copy of this book via Edelweiss.
Siblings (1963/2023) is the first of East German author Brigitte Reimann’s works of fiction to be translated to English and was published to mark the 50th anniversary of her death (due to cancer) at just 39. Described as ‘outspoken and realistic’ her works are autobiographical and irreverent, addressing ‘issues and sensibilities otherwise repressed in the GDR’. Unfolding in the early years of the GDR, Siblings is a story of tensions of aspirations and ideology coming between the loving relationship and otherwise deep bond shared by a pair of siblings.
Elisabeth Arendt is a young woman in her twenties in the GDR; an artist, she works in an industrial plant while also pursuing her painting career, playing a role with the other youth of the country in building a GDR of the future. She shares a deep bond with her brother Ulrich/Uli who has trained as an engineer but is unable to get the job he dreams of as he is blacklisted due to his association (not a particularly close one) with a professor who defected. Being close in age and children together at the time of the war when they supported each other, the relationship is particularly special (sometimes seeming uncomfortably so) unlike what Elisabeth shares with her older brother Konrad. In fact, her relationship with Konrad has soured after he and his wife defected a few years ago, and Elisabeth had even stormed out when she and their mother went to meet Konrad, because of their ideological disagreement.
But now she finds herself entrusted with a rather shocking ‘secret’. Uli, disenchanted and frustrated with a country which is not giving him the opportunity he craves, is planning to defect. Elisabeth naturally horrified tries everything in her power (including eventually bringing in her fiancé) to stop him. As the two talk and Elisabeth thinks back to the past, we learn the stories of their family and childhood, their home and parents, Konrad’s defection, and Elisabeth’s own relationship with the system. She has had to face challenges in pursuing her own dreams (due to outspokenness and a bit of a rebellious streak which both siblings have) but has managed to find a satisfactory solution within the system, something Uli has not.
While ideology and the system are at the centre of their decisions to stay or go, in navigating their reasons for either, we can see how the personal too is intertwined with it. In fact, in arguing with Uli over his decision, she as much relies on relationship to the place as a home, as she does ideology to persuade him.
Siblings is a small book but it brings out the many complexities in the relationship between people, ideology, politics and the state—a ground where personal and political oftentimes blend, and where ‘either/or’ isn’t the only classification. While Elisabeth believes in the GDR and Konrad has defected and built a life for himself in West Germany (having had to go through his own personal problems in the process), Uli’s arguments are not so much against the ideal as against the way it is translating in practice and stifling his dreams and potential. He isn’t seeking wealth or prosperity but freedom. Circumstances (and dare I say fate) too, perhaps are a factor, as while Elisabeth has faced the vendetta of an older artist whose work she criticised at the plant and who has made every attempt to badmouth her, a resolution to the conflict is reached and she finds the space for her style and work.
In a background to these conflicts, dreams and aspirations, we also go back in Elisabeth’s memories to the time of war which brought its own complications—Konrad having had to become a member of the Hitler Youth, and their father, once an art critic for a newspaper, having to don a uniform and even serve time as prisoner of war; the children themselves having to live in difficult circumstances (their grandparents, once wealthy factory owners, wilting away), and the aftermath besides also the stories of those countless others who resisted and paid their own (heavy) price. Elisabeth also realises how ‘easy’ it is for youth like herself and Uli to criticise the decisions of their father, not having faced the same compulsions or situations they did. (This was something that reminded me of a like-situation in Limberlost where Ned West’s daughters literally ‘attack’ him on account of occupying what was once indigenous land, but fail to consider his relationship with it, and the blood, sweat and care put into it).
An interesting and thought-provoking look into the dreams, aspirations, politics and personal relationships of the youth in the GDR, all of whose perceptions of and relationship with the state involved many complexities and nuances, which defy the clear-cut classifications they are/were sought to be placed into. As Elisabeth herself notes at one point:
I had come across these eager types during my studies—people who didn’t understand that scepticism didn’t automatically make you an enemy of the state and that impatience didn’t mean you were unstable.
Much of this remains true across time and space.
Siblings (1963/2023) is the first of East German author Brigitte Reimann’s works of fiction to be translated to English and was published to mark the 50th anniversary of her death (due to cancer) at just 39. Described as ‘outspoken and realistic’ her works are autobiographical and irreverent, addressing ‘issues and sensibilities otherwise repressed in the GDR’. Unfolding in the early years of the GDR, Siblings is a story of tensions of aspirations and ideology coming between the loving relationship and otherwise deep bond shared by a pair of siblings.
Elisabeth Arendt is a young woman in her twenties in the GDR; an artist, she works in an industrial plant while also pursuing her painting career, playing a role with the other youth of the country in building a GDR of the future. She shares a deep bond with her brother Ulrich/Uli who has trained as an engineer but is unable to get the job he dreams of as he is blacklisted due to his association (not a particularly close one) with a professor who defected. Being close in age and children together at the time of the war when they supported each other, the relationship is particularly special (sometimes seeming uncomfortably so) unlike what Elisabeth shares with her older brother Konrad. In fact, her relationship with Konrad has soured after he and his wife defected a few years ago, and Elisabeth had even stormed out when she and their mother went to meet Konrad, because of their ideological disagreement.
But now she finds herself entrusted with a rather shocking ‘secret’. Uli, disenchanted and frustrated with a country which is not giving him the opportunity he craves, is planning to defect. Elisabeth naturally horrified tries everything in her power (including eventually bringing in her fiancé) to stop him. As the two talk and Elisabeth thinks back to the past, we learn the stories of their family and childhood, their home and parents, Konrad’s defection, and Elisabeth’s own relationship with the system. She has had to face challenges in pursuing her own dreams (due to outspokenness and a bit of a rebellious streak which both siblings have) but has managed to find a satisfactory solution within the system, something Uli has not.
While ideology and the system are at the centre of their decisions to stay or go, in navigating their reasons for either, we can see how the personal too is intertwined with it. In fact, in arguing with Uli over his decision, she as much relies on relationship to the place as a home, as she does ideology to persuade him.
Siblings is a small book but it brings out the many complexities in the relationship between people, ideology, politics and the state—a ground where personal and political oftentimes blend, and where ‘either/or’ isn’t the only classification. While Elisabeth believes in the GDR and Konrad has defected and built a life for himself in West Germany (having had to go through his own personal problems in the process), Uli’s arguments are not so much against the ideal as against the way it is translating in practice and stifling his dreams and potential. He isn’t seeking wealth or prosperity but freedom. Circumstances (and dare I say fate) too, perhaps are a factor, as while Elisabeth has faced the vendetta of an older artist whose work she criticised at the plant and who has made every attempt to badmouth her, a resolution to the conflict is reached and she finds the space for her style and work.
In a background to these conflicts, dreams and aspirations, we also go back in Elisabeth’s memories to the time of war which brought its own complications—Konrad having had to become a member of the Hitler Youth, and their father, once an art critic for a newspaper, having to don a uniform and even serve time as prisoner of war; the children themselves having to live in difficult circumstances (their grandparents, once wealthy factory owners, wilting away), and the aftermath besides also the stories of those countless others who resisted and paid their own (heavy) price. Elisabeth also realises how ‘easy’ it is for youth like herself and Uli to criticise the decisions of their father, not having faced the same compulsions or situations they did. (This was something that reminded me of a like-situation in Limberlost where Ned West’s daughters literally ‘attack’ him on account of occupying what was once indigenous land, but fail to consider his relationship with it, and the blood, sweat and care put into it).
An interesting and thought-provoking look into the dreams, aspirations, politics and personal relationships of the youth in the GDR, all of whose perceptions of and relationship with the state involved many complexities and nuances, which defy the clear-cut classifications they are/were sought to be placed into. As Elisabeth herself notes at one point:
I had come across these eager types during my studies—people who didn’t understand that scepticism didn’t automatically make you an enemy of the state and that impatience didn’t mean you were unstable.
Much of this remains true across time and space.
March 6, 2023
Siblings is a fascinating, heart wrenching and passionate story about war, family and trying to create a better world.
I don't often read historical fiction and as much as this book for me, was not perfect, it has absolutely made me want to delve more into the genre. Siblings is an account of brother and sister Elisabeth and Uli, maintaining conflicting ideals about Post War East and West Germany... exploring the means and the lengths that each will go to for their beliefs but equally testing the fine-line of familial loyalty, desire and expectation.
The writing was astounding and I can applaud both Brigitte Reimann and the translator for creating such a beautifully picturesque but equally sombre setting. However, something that I was absolutely NOT expecting in the novel, was Elisabeth's romantic feelings towards her brother Uli. Although this did take me out of the story, it was a fascinating yet uncomfortable narrative to sit through.
I don't often read historical fiction and as much as this book for me, was not perfect, it has absolutely made me want to delve more into the genre. Siblings is an account of brother and sister Elisabeth and Uli, maintaining conflicting ideals about Post War East and West Germany... exploring the means and the lengths that each will go to for their beliefs but equally testing the fine-line of familial loyalty, desire and expectation.
The writing was astounding and I can applaud both Brigitte Reimann and the translator for creating such a beautifully picturesque but equally sombre setting. However, something that I was absolutely NOT expecting in the novel, was Elisabeth's romantic feelings towards her brother Uli. Although this did take me out of the story, it was a fascinating yet uncomfortable narrative to sit through.
February 16, 2023
Ostern 1961 sind die beiden Geschwister Elisabeth und Uli gerade wieder vereint, als die Wiedersehensfreude von Ulis Vorhaben, nach Westdeutschland zu fliehen, getrübt wird. Elisabeth möchte ihren Bruder um keinen Preis gehen lassen - wenige Tage bleiben ihr, um seine Gründe herauszufinden und ihn zum Bleiben zu überreden. Hilfe sucht sie sich bei ihrem Partner Joachim, was für Uli einem Verrat gleichkommt.
Brigitte Reimanns Roman "Die Geschwister" erschien erstmals 1963 in der DDR, sorgte für großes Aufsehen und wurde mit dem Heinrich-Mann-Preis der Akademie der Künste ausgezeichnet. Die berühmte DDR-Autorin setzt sich in diesem autofiktionalen Werk mit den menschlichen Konflikten der deutschen Teilung auseinander - doch nicht alles wurde 1963 so gedruckt, wie die Autorin es ursprünglich geschrieben hatte. Politische Aussagen wurden von Zensoren ebenso gestrichen wie zu freizügige Passagen und auch stilistisch setzte man den Rotstift an. Einem spektakulären Zufallsfund der ersten fünf handgeschriebenen Kapitel des Buchs bei Sanierungsarbeiten an einem ehemaligen Wohnhaus Reimanns Anfang 2022 in Hoyerswerda ist es zu verdanken, dass der Aufbau Verlag zum 50. Todestag der DDR-Autorin am 20. Februar 2023 den Roman nun letztlich im Original samt nachträglicher Korrekturen der Autorin herausgeben kann.
Spannend sind aber nicht nur die Umstände, die zu dieser Neuauflage von "Die Geschwister" geführt haben, auch ein Blick auf den Kontext, der die Autorin 1961 zum Schreiben des Romans bewog, lohnt: Brigitte Reimanns kleiner Bruder Ludwig, genannt Lutz, verließ 1960 mit seiner Frau die DDR, ein Jahr später begann sie mit dem Schreiben an "Die Geschwister". Die Autorin verarbeitet in ihrem Buch literarisch den Schmerz der Teilung, verschiedene Ideale, die aufeinander treffen, das Gegeneinander von Bruder und Schwester. Auch den künstlerischen Beruf teilt sie sich mit Elisabeth - Reimann als Schriftstellerin, Elisabeth als Malerin, beide leben und arbeiten in einem "Zirkel" auf dem Grundstück einer Fabrik und folgten damit einem staatlichen Programm namens "Bitterfelder Weg", das eine Nähe zwischen Kunstschaffenden und Arbeiter*innen erzeugen und eine Elitenbildung verhindern sollte.
Ich bin fasziniert, von "Die Geschwister", aber auch von Brigitte Reimann selbst, die sich nicht scheute, ein so konfliktbelastetes Thema wie die deutsche Teilung in den 1960er Jahren literarisch aufzugreifen und Kritik zu üben. Der Aufbau Verlag trägt hier erneut zur Wiederentdeckung einer großen Autorin bei und ich freue mich sehr darauf, weitere der neu aufgelegten Werke Reimanns zu lesen!
Ein Kritikpunkt zum Schluss: Brigitte Reimann nutzt in "Die Geschwister" das I- und Z-Wort. Ich möchte diesen Gebrauch rassistischer Sprache nicht an sich kritisieren, da er der Zeit geschuldet ist, zu der der Roman geschrieben wurde. Sehr wohl problematisch finde ich aber, dass man die Verwendung dieser Begriffe an keiner Stelle im Nachwort oder den Anmerkungen zu dieser Ausgabe besprochen und eingeordnet hat. Hier wurde in meinen Augen eine Gelegenheit verpasst, die hoffentlich in künftigen Auflagen zur Thematisierung der rassistischen Begrifflichkeiten genutzt wird.
Brigitte Reimanns Roman "Die Geschwister" erschien erstmals 1963 in der DDR, sorgte für großes Aufsehen und wurde mit dem Heinrich-Mann-Preis der Akademie der Künste ausgezeichnet. Die berühmte DDR-Autorin setzt sich in diesem autofiktionalen Werk mit den menschlichen Konflikten der deutschen Teilung auseinander - doch nicht alles wurde 1963 so gedruckt, wie die Autorin es ursprünglich geschrieben hatte. Politische Aussagen wurden von Zensoren ebenso gestrichen wie zu freizügige Passagen und auch stilistisch setzte man den Rotstift an. Einem spektakulären Zufallsfund der ersten fünf handgeschriebenen Kapitel des Buchs bei Sanierungsarbeiten an einem ehemaligen Wohnhaus Reimanns Anfang 2022 in Hoyerswerda ist es zu verdanken, dass der Aufbau Verlag zum 50. Todestag der DDR-Autorin am 20. Februar 2023 den Roman nun letztlich im Original samt nachträglicher Korrekturen der Autorin herausgeben kann.
Spannend sind aber nicht nur die Umstände, die zu dieser Neuauflage von "Die Geschwister" geführt haben, auch ein Blick auf den Kontext, der die Autorin 1961 zum Schreiben des Romans bewog, lohnt: Brigitte Reimanns kleiner Bruder Ludwig, genannt Lutz, verließ 1960 mit seiner Frau die DDR, ein Jahr später begann sie mit dem Schreiben an "Die Geschwister". Die Autorin verarbeitet in ihrem Buch literarisch den Schmerz der Teilung, verschiedene Ideale, die aufeinander treffen, das Gegeneinander von Bruder und Schwester. Auch den künstlerischen Beruf teilt sie sich mit Elisabeth - Reimann als Schriftstellerin, Elisabeth als Malerin, beide leben und arbeiten in einem "Zirkel" auf dem Grundstück einer Fabrik und folgten damit einem staatlichen Programm namens "Bitterfelder Weg", das eine Nähe zwischen Kunstschaffenden und Arbeiter*innen erzeugen und eine Elitenbildung verhindern sollte.
Ich bin fasziniert, von "Die Geschwister", aber auch von Brigitte Reimann selbst, die sich nicht scheute, ein so konfliktbelastetes Thema wie die deutsche Teilung in den 1960er Jahren literarisch aufzugreifen und Kritik zu üben. Der Aufbau Verlag trägt hier erneut zur Wiederentdeckung einer großen Autorin bei und ich freue mich sehr darauf, weitere der neu aufgelegten Werke Reimanns zu lesen!
Ein Kritikpunkt zum Schluss: Brigitte Reimann nutzt in "Die Geschwister" das I- und Z-Wort. Ich möchte diesen Gebrauch rassistischer Sprache nicht an sich kritisieren, da er der Zeit geschuldet ist, zu der der Roman geschrieben wurde. Sehr wohl problematisch finde ich aber, dass man die Verwendung dieser Begriffe an keiner Stelle im Nachwort oder den Anmerkungen zu dieser Ausgabe besprochen und eingeordnet hat. Hier wurde in meinen Augen eine Gelegenheit verpasst, die hoffentlich in künftigen Auflagen zur Thematisierung der rassistischen Begrifflichkeiten genutzt wird.
May 7, 2024
In early 1960s Germany, two siblings have conflicting political views: Elisabeth is passionately devoted to the GDR, while her brother Uli means to defect to the West. An argument over this frames the narrative, with plenty of flashbacks filling in the family’s history, including the fact that the siblings’ older brother has already defected. It’s an interesting perspective on this moment in history, but the characters remain flat and the story is disjointed. It doesn’t feel like enough time is devoted to the core dilemma. A long episode in the middle, in which Elisabeth clashes with an older painter, is more engaging than the main plot.
December 2, 2024
Made more interesting by its historical context and made more bizarre by the siblings-or-dating interactions
August 8, 2024
In Siblings (Die Geschwister), Brigitte Reimann explores both emotional and ideological fissures within a family, set against the backdrop of a divided Germany in 1960, a year before the East German government constructed the Berlin Wall. From its opening lines, filled with an explosive argument that resonates with tension and the threat of violence, the novel captures our attention and never lets go, imbued with the stylistic elements of socialist realism prevalent at the time of its writing.
The story revolves around Elisabeth Arendt and her brother Uli. Uli wants to defect to West Germany, while Elisabeth remains a staunch believer in the ideals of the GDR. Their relationship, once close and affectionate, is strained to the breaking point by their conflicting loyalties. This central conflict drives the narrative. As Uli contemplates crossing the border, Elisabeth grapples with her love for him and her commitment to the ideals of East Germany.
Elisabeth’s emotional turmoil mirrors the broader societal conflicts of the time. Her deep connection with Uli, whom she adores even more than her fiancé, Joachim, makes the rift between them all the more painful. The family has already lost one brother, Konrad, to the West—a loss that haunts their interactions and fuels the intensity of their debates. Reimann vividly depicts the charged atmosphere at the family dinner table, where the younger generation blames their parents for Germany’s dark past during the Nazi era under Hitler, adding a layer of generational conflict to the novel.
As in Christa Wolf's They Divided the Sky (Der geteilte Himmel), Siblings explores the tension between personal relationships and ideological commitments. However, where Wolf’s narrative through the character Rita Seidel is more reflective and detached, Reimann’s is immediate and emotionally raw. Elisabeth's struggle is not just ideological but deeply personal. Rita and Elisabeth both face the painful reality of a divided Germany, but their journeys differ. While Rita ultimately decides to remain in East Germany out of a sense of duty to the state and guilt, Elisabeth’s journey is one of fierce emotional conflict, torn between her love for her brother and her belief in the socialist state. The metaphorical significance of the sky in Christa Wolf's novel—where the titular "divided sky" is both a symbol of hope and a reminder of division—finds a parallel in Siblings through the unbridgeable ideological gap between the siblings which signify the two German states.
Reimann’s portrayal of East Germany is nuanced and deeply humane. Elisabeth, a painter, believes in the "austere beauty of industrial landscapes" and the ideals of socialism, yet she is not blind to the regime’s flaws. Her art, which is denounced by the Stasi – East German Ministry for State Security – as "anti-realist" and "dabbling in abstract aesthetics”, becomes a battleground for the conflicting values of personal expression and state control. Reimann’s depiction of Elisabeth’s internal struggle reflects the broader societal tensions of the time, as she questions whether it is possible to remain true to both her egalitarian ideals and her love for the "elite" arts, exemplifying the question of writers who found it difficult to comply with state control of the time.
The new translation by Lucy Jones brings Siblings to life for an English-speaking audience for the first time, complete with context-setting endnotes that enhance with understanding of the novel’s historical and cultural background, which I truly find useful given the lack of contexts that I often encountered during my reading. The final pages, which circle back to the explosive opening scene, offer an unexpected twist that reminds us that, regardless of the ideological divide, there is nothing as complex or surprising as family.
The story revolves around Elisabeth Arendt and her brother Uli. Uli wants to defect to West Germany, while Elisabeth remains a staunch believer in the ideals of the GDR. Their relationship, once close and affectionate, is strained to the breaking point by their conflicting loyalties. This central conflict drives the narrative. As Uli contemplates crossing the border, Elisabeth grapples with her love for him and her commitment to the ideals of East Germany.
Elisabeth’s emotional turmoil mirrors the broader societal conflicts of the time. Her deep connection with Uli, whom she adores even more than her fiancé, Joachim, makes the rift between them all the more painful. The family has already lost one brother, Konrad, to the West—a loss that haunts their interactions and fuels the intensity of their debates. Reimann vividly depicts the charged atmosphere at the family dinner table, where the younger generation blames their parents for Germany’s dark past during the Nazi era under Hitler, adding a layer of generational conflict to the novel.
As in Christa Wolf's They Divided the Sky (Der geteilte Himmel), Siblings explores the tension between personal relationships and ideological commitments. However, where Wolf’s narrative through the character Rita Seidel is more reflective and detached, Reimann’s is immediate and emotionally raw. Elisabeth's struggle is not just ideological but deeply personal. Rita and Elisabeth both face the painful reality of a divided Germany, but their journeys differ. While Rita ultimately decides to remain in East Germany out of a sense of duty to the state and guilt, Elisabeth’s journey is one of fierce emotional conflict, torn between her love for her brother and her belief in the socialist state. The metaphorical significance of the sky in Christa Wolf's novel—where the titular "divided sky" is both a symbol of hope and a reminder of division—finds a parallel in Siblings through the unbridgeable ideological gap between the siblings which signify the two German states.
Reimann’s portrayal of East Germany is nuanced and deeply humane. Elisabeth, a painter, believes in the "austere beauty of industrial landscapes" and the ideals of socialism, yet she is not blind to the regime’s flaws. Her art, which is denounced by the Stasi – East German Ministry for State Security – as "anti-realist" and "dabbling in abstract aesthetics”, becomes a battleground for the conflicting values of personal expression and state control. Reimann’s depiction of Elisabeth’s internal struggle reflects the broader societal tensions of the time, as she questions whether it is possible to remain true to both her egalitarian ideals and her love for the "elite" arts, exemplifying the question of writers who found it difficult to comply with state control of the time.
The new translation by Lucy Jones brings Siblings to life for an English-speaking audience for the first time, complete with context-setting endnotes that enhance with understanding of the novel’s historical and cultural background, which I truly find useful given the lack of contexts that I often encountered during my reading. The final pages, which circle back to the explosive opening scene, offer an unexpected twist that reminds us that, regardless of the ideological divide, there is nothing as complex or surprising as family.
January 8, 2024
Gitmek ya da kalmak, işte bütün mesele bu..
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Sistemlerin ve toplumsal krizlerin aileler üzerindeki dönüştürücü/ yıkıcı veya yapıcı etkisi hep sorgulandı. Çoğu zaman şunu duymuşsunuzdur örneğin: kardeş kardeşi vurdu. Çünkü bizi en çok bunun etkilemesi beklenir. İnandığınız/uğruna düştüğünüz yol diğer her şeyi yok saymaya değer mi- değmez mi? Kardeşinizi karşınıza alabilir misiniz dünyaya sizin gözlerinizle bakmıyorsa? Brigitte Reimann, Demokratik Alman Cumhuriyeti’nde yaşayan bir aileyi anlatıyor, savaştan öncesini ve sonrasını.
Tek ülkeden bölünmüş ülkeye, bir arada olan ailelerden parçalanmış ailelere..
Birbirini çok seven iki kardeş Uli ve Elisabeth. Aynı ideallere sahip, aynı ilkeler doğrultusunda hayatlarını kuran iki kardeş. Ta ki Uli’nin bir şeylerin eksikliğini çekmeye başlamasına kadar. Yaşadığı ülkenin, inandığı her şeyin çözüldüğünü düşünmesine kadar. İşte Elisabeth de yol ayrımına gelir. Bir yanda ağabeyi bir yanda ülkesi ve aslında kendisi..
.
Kardeşler yer yer Brigitte Reimann’ın nükteli diliyle, ikiye bölünmüş Almanya’nın bir aile üzerinden anlatılmasıyla, 152 sayfada pek çok gözlem barındırmasıyla çok sevdiğim bir eser oldu.
Uli’nin içsel hesaplaşmalarını da pek çoğumuzun (günümüz şartları göz önünde bulundurulduğunda) anlayacağını düşünüyorum.
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İlknur İgan çevirisiyle~
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Sistemlerin ve toplumsal krizlerin aileler üzerindeki dönüştürücü/ yıkıcı veya yapıcı etkisi hep sorgulandı. Çoğu zaman şunu duymuşsunuzdur örneğin: kardeş kardeşi vurdu. Çünkü bizi en çok bunun etkilemesi beklenir. İnandığınız/uğruna düştüğünüz yol diğer her şeyi yok saymaya değer mi- değmez mi? Kardeşinizi karşınıza alabilir misiniz dünyaya sizin gözlerinizle bakmıyorsa? Brigitte Reimann, Demokratik Alman Cumhuriyeti’nde yaşayan bir aileyi anlatıyor, savaştan öncesini ve sonrasını.
Tek ülkeden bölünmüş ülkeye, bir arada olan ailelerden parçalanmış ailelere..
Birbirini çok seven iki kardeş Uli ve Elisabeth. Aynı ideallere sahip, aynı ilkeler doğrultusunda hayatlarını kuran iki kardeş. Ta ki Uli’nin bir şeylerin eksikliğini çekmeye başlamasına kadar. Yaşadığı ülkenin, inandığı her şeyin çözüldüğünü düşünmesine kadar. İşte Elisabeth de yol ayrımına gelir. Bir yanda ağabeyi bir yanda ülkesi ve aslında kendisi..
.
Kardeşler yer yer Brigitte Reimann’ın nükteli diliyle, ikiye bölünmüş Almanya’nın bir aile üzerinden anlatılmasıyla, 152 sayfada pek çok gözlem barındırmasıyla çok sevdiğim bir eser oldu.
Uli’nin içsel hesaplaşmalarını da pek çoğumuzun (günümüz şartları göz önünde bulundurulduğunda) anlayacağını düşünüyorum.
.
İlknur İgan çevirisiyle~
August 24, 2023
Ein interessantes Buch über die Zeit während der Teilung Deutschlands. Für mich ist das Ganze aber einfach zu lange her, um wirklich einen Nutzen daraus zu ziehen, aber gut geschrieben ist es allemal.
June 15, 2023
Ach schade, ich wollte es so gerne mögen. Aber ich kam überhaupt nicht rein, ich habe den Erzählstrang nicht verstanden (es gab Zeitsprünge und für mich war total unklar, wo ich mich gerade innerhalb der Geschichte befinde), ich hatte das Gefühl, die Personen gar nicht zu kennen, meiner Meinung nach wurde sehr viel über (für die Story) Unnötiges und Langweiliges geschrieben, und das Ende habe ich ehrlich gesagt auch nicht verstanden. Vielleicht bin ich aber auch einfach zu doof 😅 Schade!
June 21, 2023
It’s a compelling exploration of how ideology and politics and borders can damage relationships, even irrevocably.
And it’s a unique look into life in East Germany, but as it was written and published in the 1960s I couldn’t help but wonder how much of the narrative was watered down or censored, even if just by the writer’s own carefulness.
And it’s a unique look into life in East Germany, but as it was written and published in the 1960s I couldn’t help but wonder how much of the narrative was watered down or censored, even if just by the writer’s own carefulness.
August 5, 2023
Drei Geschwister und das Für und Wider der Republikflucht, vor dem Mauerbau.
Elisabeth linientreu, naiv, manchmal auch selbstherrlich und auch egoistisch will Ihren geliebten Bruder nicht an den Westen verlieren.
Intensiv, bewegend, klug, lebensnah und spannend
Elisabeth linientreu, naiv, manchmal auch selbstherrlich und auch egoistisch will Ihren geliebten Bruder nicht an den Westen verlieren.
Intensiv, bewegend, klug, lebensnah und spannend
February 16, 2025
Noch vor fünf Jahren hätte ich es wahrscheinlich nach den ersten Kapiteln weggelegt, es enthält schon viel unelegante DDR-Werbung. Jetzt kann ich die Erzählung so weit ernst nehmen, dass ich das Buch zu Ende gelesen habe. Zumindest den Punkt, dass man nicht in den Westen gehen sollte, um dort unpolitisch einfach nur Schiffe zu bauen, kann ich jetzt nachvollziehen: Das geht langfristig nicht gut aus, und dann tut es einem leid. Der Rest war ein interessanter Einblick in ein Paralleluniversum. Außerdem hatte ich noch nie darüber nachgedacht, dass ja auch die alte, graue, starre DDR einmal ein junger Staat gewesen sein musste. (Falls die DDR wirklich irgendwie feministischer war als die BRD, ist das zumindest diesem Buch aber nicht anzumerken, die Erzählerin macht sich die ganze Zeit klein, dumm und harmlos.)
February 3, 2023
Liked how the history that this book goes through, but man is the sibling relationship weird.
January 7, 2025
Politics tearing families apart - sounds terribly familiar. Set in post WW2 Eastern Germany, a sister is waiting while her fiancée ( a Party member) talks to her beloved brother Uli, who means to flee to Western Germany.
I found the narration compelling, the nuance impressive. This book was written and published under strict Party censorship, a tight rope to balance. I understand a draft of some chapters was found in her apartment when she died (of cancer, only 39 years old) and these were used for this translation.
Reimann, like her protagonist, was a believer in a better world through socialism, and she did have a brother who fled to the West. She manages to paint what it must have been like to live there and then, and how some chose to believe and some tried to leave.
I found the narration compelling, the nuance impressive. This book was written and published under strict Party censorship, a tight rope to balance. I understand a draft of some chapters was found in her apartment when she died (of cancer, only 39 years old) and these were used for this translation.
Reimann, like her protagonist, was a believer in a better world through socialism, and she did have a brother who fled to the West. She manages to paint what it must have been like to live there and then, and how some chose to believe and some tried to leave.
May 6, 2023
Prickly, interesting look at East Germany in 1960, just before the wall goes up. An artist in residence at a factory loses one brother to the West, and might lose another. The Party will intervene. What should a good communist do?
June 6, 2023
I don’t think I fully understood this 😂
May 17, 2025
Another amazing recommendation from my sister. I loved this book. I feel like the narative really dosen't try to tell you what's right or wrong. instead, it lays out arguments and creates a conversation. It's full of nuance and personal perspective. If all that wasn't enough, it's heartbreaking too. It's my favourite read of the year so far, I really hope more of Brigitte Reimann's work is translated into English.
July 1, 2023
I absolutely loved this. I haven't read enough novels from East Germany. So insightful and timely.
July 22, 2023
Short and not that sweet
April 6, 2024
I've had my eye on GDR-era cult author Brigitte Reimann's Siblings since I began seeing reviews and interviews with translator Lucy Jones when its first-ever translation into English was published last February. The New Yorker and Guardian reviews are wonderful ("Jones’s translation excellently captures the dry wit, expressionistic boldness and seductively odd rhythms that make the original German so charismatic"), as are Jones' interviews at Exberliner and Asymptote.
It's a short novel, but so brimming with culture and references, charisma, voice that I felt I could only read it in small bursts to properly soak everything in. Reimann wrote the semi-autobiographic work about an artist and her brothers in 1963 and set it in the East Germany of 1960. I don't know if I've ever felt so submerged into the cultural detail and mentality of the GDR as I did reading Siblings, in an emotional but also documentary-like way. (I felt more understanding of the society & its complexity, more connected here, I think, than while reading Erpenbeck's Kairos, Schneider's The Wall Jumper, or Brussig's comic Short End of the Sonnenallee.)
There's also so much to be said about the novel's relationships: Elisabeth's charged and passionate sisterly love toward her brother Uli (which at times nearly transforms into a submissiveness that complicates her otherwise outspoken character); her unwavering yet softer love for her fiance, Party-member Joachim; memories of brief, light romance with Gregory in the West; her parents (and their pasts); her brigade members. A must-read for those interested in German literature and post-war history!
For more on Reimann, read my interview with translator Lucy Jones at New Books in German: https://www.new-books-in-german.com/t...
It's a short novel, but so brimming with culture and references, charisma, voice that I felt I could only read it in small bursts to properly soak everything in. Reimann wrote the semi-autobiographic work about an artist and her brothers in 1963 and set it in the East Germany of 1960. I don't know if I've ever felt so submerged into the cultural detail and mentality of the GDR as I did reading Siblings, in an emotional but also documentary-like way. (I felt more understanding of the society & its complexity, more connected here, I think, than while reading Erpenbeck's Kairos, Schneider's The Wall Jumper, or Brussig's comic Short End of the Sonnenallee.)
There's also so much to be said about the novel's relationships: Elisabeth's charged and passionate sisterly love toward her brother Uli (which at times nearly transforms into a submissiveness that complicates her otherwise outspoken character); her unwavering yet softer love for her fiance, Party-member Joachim; memories of brief, light romance with Gregory in the West; her parents (and their pasts); her brigade members. A must-read for those interested in German literature and post-war history!
For more on Reimann, read my interview with translator Lucy Jones at New Books in German: https://www.new-books-in-german.com/t...
December 4, 2023
1.5 stars. 1 star for the story (hilariously didactic and overblown), characters (deeply annoying and absurdly flat, more caricatures than people), and general plot development (plodding and heavy-handed) and 2 for moderately professional narrative competence. Why the publisher and translator chose to lift this out of obscurity is beyond my comprehension. It's a curiosity at best, an historical remnant, but most definitely not a great piece of literature. Actually makes Gladkov's frequently referenced 'Cement' look like a good novel. And that should tell you all you really need to know about this little book.
January 18, 2022
Honestly, it’s a cute novella if you’re used to Reimann’s style. She does romantically love her brother, so there is some awkward “exchanges of warmth” and “holding his hand to her face” and even “jealous of all of his girlfriends.” Quite strange, but she romantically loved her brother her entire life, so it’s just a sort of personality trait of hers. She only married her third husband because he looked like her brother and her second because he treated her like a little sister, so it’s not that hard to believe it’s a romance between the two mixed with some soviet politics.
October 7, 2024
Full of energy and intelligence; the moment here where art criticism becomes a pretext for being shopped to the Stasi - and how the protagonist successfully wields the system in response - is one of the best short descriptions of how cultural politics worked under 'real socialism' that I've ever come across. (reading this at the same time as for the first time reading Sally Rooney was quite funny - here, too, earnest, middle class young people have sex and discuss being communists and feel very uncertain about themselves).
June 22, 2024
Spent a lot of college researching and consuming literature/media on post-war Germany. Reimann’s novel stands out. Siblings isn’t complex, but it’s not mundane either (as I’ve found some literary portrayals of the GDR to be). I feel like I could trust Reimann because she found a balance between showing an appreciation for socialism and life in the GDR while weaving in its drawbacks.
December 27, 2024
Less a novel, more a tract on the virtues of criticism of all kinds: art critics who chose a flimsy political neutrality during the Nazi regime to protect their career, and are subsequently punished under GDR rule for not directing their critical purview towards the former Nazi government; politicians and party officials who ‘play art critic’ in building a national identity and culture; and artists who are emboldened to challenge and question and criticise the burgeoning socialist state they are beholden to, newly aware that one doesn’t need to defect to the West to voice discontent, but rather that to criticise untroubled is to highlight the health of that state.
A lot about the cowardice of retreating into the communal populace (safety in numbers, disguising one’s opinions as those of ‘the brigade’ or ‘the party) but also the simultaneous-mirror cowardice of retreating into individualism (the apparent martyr-complexes of defectors). An interesting novel
A lot about the cowardice of retreating into the communal populace (safety in numbers, disguising one’s opinions as those of ‘the brigade’ or ‘the party) but also the simultaneous-mirror cowardice of retreating into individualism (the apparent martyr-complexes of defectors). An interesting novel
April 16, 2024
‘“From one Germany to another,” he repeated astonishedly, as of it had occurred to him for the first time. He was only swapping landscapes-the Baltic Sea for the North Sea, Rostock for Hamburg, nothing else-and Germany was his justification.
But he couldn’t say that treasured name from long, long ago without a painful twinge of mistrust. For us, Germany still included “Raise the Flag” and “The Watch on the Rhine” and Deutschland über alles”. We were once bitten and twice shy.’
Since going to Berlin earlier this year, I’ve been really fascinated with the history of postwar & divided Germany, and this was completely on the money. I learnt a lot whilst reading this book, and Reimann is a fascinating writer!
But he couldn’t say that treasured name from long, long ago without a painful twinge of mistrust. For us, Germany still included “Raise the Flag” and “The Watch on the Rhine” and Deutschland über alles”. We were once bitten and twice shy.’
Since going to Berlin earlier this year, I’ve been really fascinated with the history of postwar & divided Germany, and this was completely on the money. I learnt a lot whilst reading this book, and Reimann is a fascinating writer!
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