رمال

by Wolfgang Herrndorf, عمرو وجيه (Translator)

"Er aß und trank, bürstete seine Kleider ab, leerte den Sand aus seinen Taschen und überprüfte noch einmal die Innentasche des Blazers. Er wusch sich unter dem Tisch die Hände mit ein wenig Trinkwasser, goß den Rest über seine geplagten Füße und schaute die Straße entlang. Sandfarbene Kinder spielten mit einem sandfarbenen Fußball zwischen sandfarbenen Hütten. Dreck und zerlumpte Gestalten, und ihm fiel ein, wie gefährlich es im Grunde war, eine weiße, blonde, ortsunkundige Frau in einem Auto hierherzubestellen."

Während in München Palästinenser des "Schwarzen September" das Olympische Dorf überfallen, geschehen in der Sahara mysteriöse Dinge. In einer Hippie-Kommune werden vier Menschen ermordet, ein Geldkoffer verschwindet, und ein unterbelichteter Kommissar versucht sich an der Aufklärung des Falles. Ein verwirrter Atomspion, eine platinblonde Amerikanerin, ein Mann ohne Gedächtnis – Nordafrika 1972.

Ein mitreißender Agententhriller – und noch viel mehr: ein literarisches Abenteuer, ein außerordentlicher Roman. (rowohlt)

Genres: Fiction, German Literature, Germany, Thriller, Mystery, Novels, Literature

528 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 2011

About the author

Wolfgang Herrndorf studied painting at the Academy of Fine Arts, Nuremberg. After graduating, he moved to Berlin, where he worked as a magazine illustrator and posted frequently on the Internet forum Wir höflichen Paparazzi (We Polite Paparazzi). In 2001, Herrndorf joined the art and writing collective Zentrale Intelligenz Agentur, eventually contributing to their blog, Riesenmaschine (Giant Machine).

He published his first novel, In Plüschgewittern (Storm of Plush), in 2002. This was followed by a collection of short stories, Diesseits des Van-Allen-Gürtels (This Side of the Van Allen Belt, 2007), which received the Ingeborg Bachmann Prize Audience Award.

In early 2010, he was diagnosed with a brain tumor; his novel Tschick (Why We Took the Car) was published just months later and would eventually be translated into twenty-four languages. Sand was released in 2011; it was short-listed for the German Book Prize and won the Leipzig Book Fair Prize.

Herrndorf committed suicide in the summer of 2013. His posts on Arbeit und Struktur (Work and Structure), the blog he started after receiving his cancer diagnosis, have been published as a book of the same name. An unfinished sequel to Tschick, Bilder einer großen Liebe (Pictures of Your True Love), was released in 2014.

Reviews

[Glenn Russell · Rating 5 out of 5]

Bizarre, wacky, comical, offbeat, eccentric, quizzical, weird are among the ways reviewers have described Wolfgang Herrndorf’s stunning, highly entertaining crime thriller that has been baffling readers ever since its original publication in 2011.

That being said, I’m here to report good news – this New York Review Books (NYRB) edition contains an illuminating Afterward by German literary scholar Michael Maar. Afterward rather than Introduction is most apt since Mr. Maar provides clues to a number of the novel’s puzzles after mentioning that Wolfgang Herrndorf found book reviews written with spoilers highly distasteful.

As a way of respecting the author’s sentiments pertaining to book reviews, other than noting the action takes place in 1972 in and around a North African port city near an oasis where European and American hippies have founded a commune, I will attempt to avoid any spoilers by linking my own comments to quotes taken from Michael Maar’s Afterward.

“Sand has a romanticism of its own, the cool, dark Romanticism of the Gothic tale, but is as sharply contoured as a work by Poe.”

There’s a TV news report of the massacre of athletes from Israel at the Munich Olympics perpetrated by Palestinian terrorists on the heels of the murder of four hippies in a local oasis commune. A sense of danger at every turn contributes to the novel’s tension and suspense. I can picture fans of such authors as Edgar Allan Poe or Heinrich von Kleist relishing each spinning, gyrating twist in Herrndorf’s innovative novel.

“Even the simple question of the identity of the book’s hero turns out to be a knotty one”

A handsome European educated man has completely lost his memory. He takes the name of Carl Gross since a tall, striking blonde by the name of Helen sees Carl Gross is the maker of the suit jacket he’s wearing. But who is he really? In two somewhat humorous scenes we find Carl attempting to determine his past self by walking the streets in a yellow blazer and salmon-colored Bermuda shorts (this is North Africa!) and paying a visit to a psychiatrist on the strength of a flyer promising state-of-the-arts methods and introductory rates. If this sound like a far-out existential tale – bulls-eye.

“Readers of Sand miss something equally important by overlooking the novel’s basic construction, which is as discreet as it is compelling.”

The novel is comprised of sixty-eight short chapters that snap back and forth between various players and locales. I initially planned to take my time reading since there are multiple murders and I didn’t want to miss any clues. But the storytelling is totally captivating; I found myself pressing on page after page deep into the night. There’s good reason Sand is called a thriller.

“Herrndorf provides information in a way that is staggered, rhythmicized, slightly delayed, quasi slantwise. But he provides everything we need.”

Each chapter can be viewed as a dot in a connect the dots picture. It might not be apparent on a first reading but every single paragraph is given a distinct purpose. Wolfgang Herrndorf offered any reviewer of his novel one hundred euros for each loose end that reviewer could find. It was a safe bet since the author knew very well there were no loose ends.

“Anyone with a weakness for artfully constructed plots is in for a feast here."

By way of example, the manner in which the character of Helen is presented is remarkable. Before this lady enters the story’s action we learn many things of her background that will ultimately influence unfolding events – as a child she could deal effectively with a dead pet while those around her, even adults, sobbed or became hysterical; she studied theater at Princeton; if she strolled across campus in a tight T-shirt she would have at least three invitations to dinner; she maintained a lifelong friendship with Michelle, a dizzy, idealistic hippie who would eventually join a commune in a North African oasis.

“Herrndorf started off as a painter and carried his ingenuity over into this other discipline: in the shimmering heat of the desert, everything is seen, not merely asserted, and there is nothing without color, sharply drawn shadows, texture.”

How true! Here’s a description from the first chapter: “The eastern walls of the huts blazed pale orange. The hollow, dull rhythm died down as it receded into the alleyways. Shrouded figures, lying in the cool ditches like mummies, awoke, and cracked lips formed words of praise and offering to the one true God. Three dogs dipped their tongues into a dirty puddle. The whole night through the temperature hadn’t sunk below thirty degrees.”

“Epigraphs light the way into each chapter, elusive and misanthropic”

Epigraphs from Herodotus, Nabokov and Basho to Richard Nixon and Scrooge McDuck. One of the fascinating parts of reading each chapter is to go back and reread the epigraph to see how it sets the tone and fits into the unfurling episode almost as if it were a piece in a jigsaw puzzle.

“All bad novels are alike; each great novel is great in its own way.”

There’s no question Michael Maar judges Sand a great novel. The tragedy for the literary world is Wolfgang Herrndorf was diagnosed with a brain tumor in 2010 and took his own life at the young age of forty-eight in 2013. What future great novels we would have had if he was still with us.

Especial thanks goes out to translator Tim Mohr who did a marvelous job rendering Wolfgang Herrndorf’s German into a very readable, vibrant English.

Sand will take its place on my bookshelf in a prominent place awaiting my next reread. I urge you to treat yourself to this New York Review Books edition.


German artist and novelist Wolfgang Herrndorf (1965-2013)

"He tried to remember what he could still remember. It wasn't as if he couldn't remember anything at all. He remembered how the men had talked, how they attacked each other. He remembered a rattan suitcase full of money. And that one man, whom they referred to as Cetrois, had fled into the desert on a moped." - Wolfgang Herrndorf, Sand

[mark monday · Rating 1 out of 5]

soulless, vicious, but very clever, Sand is the perfect book for anyone who wants to read all about how a man who has lost his memory can get humiliated, beaten, stabbed, robbed, gaslit, betrayed, and brutally tortured, and of course learn how his family (who he doesn't remember) have all been kidnapped and will probably be tortured and killed. all of this done repeatedly, again and again and again, chapter after chapter, because that is what constitutes three-quarters of the book's narrative. but it's done with a lightly slapstick and sardonic comic sheen that will allow the reader to convince themselves that this is all "blackly humorous" and not, say, completely repulsive and sadistic.

fortunately, there's an afterword by another author who explains how the clues were there all along regarding the identity of the man with no memory. it was that one character! well, I was surprised and impressed, momentarily. Herrndorf did construct an intricate yet solvable puzzle regarding the identity of this constantly tormented fellow. but does that cleverness somehow counteract the grueling narrative? and was I really supposed to smile at the gloss of black humor that is applied to the otherwise realistic scenes of humiliation, physical and emotional abuse, and endless torture? is Irony somehow supposed to make the horrifically nihilistic 'gotcha' ending enjoyable? the total lack of empathy from this ingenious author towards his protagonist is rather a stunning achievement. kudos?

p.s. I also don't want to see the thought experiment Schrödinger's Cat illustrated using an actual cat. I guess that's just me though! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[Tony · Rating 4 out of 5]

ex-is-ten-tial thrill-er, phrase.tr.from the hoity-toidy: like a noir in that there is typically one or more dead bodies around and also usually a sleuth (though not always a cop) trying to figure things out, but where the mystery to be solved is not culpability but identity, such that the question the novel asks is not whodunit? but, rather, whoamI?

That's my working definition and it works here, especially so because the main protagonist gets amnesia (or not) and the bulk of the novel is his attempts to find out who in the hell he is.

The book is fast-paced, with many twists and turns. It's wonderfully translated. I say this even without having read the original German because it is hilarious. One example: the protagonist is captured by some guys and is being driven in a car to a location where he will be tortured and made to stop the pretense that he has no memory and tell them what they want to know. The guy right on top of him in the car is a Syrian nicknamed "Pliers" conscripted for this singular task. But the sun is about to set so Pliers must say his prayers and insists that they turn around so the car is facing the right way. Slapstick ensues.

There are great characters, great dialogue. I was satisfied who it was that killed the four hippies. But, as I suggested above, that's not the point of the story.

So, at the very end of the book, our protagonist, chained in a cave in a kind of waterboarding challenge, finally screams out one word. We think it's his real name, but we aren't told. It's a word we never hear.

Or did we?

I wasn't dissatisfied when I got to the end, even though there wasn't a palpable answer to the mystery. I can handle vague.

And then I read the Afterword, where everything was explained, even if in a condescending fashion, written like how could you not have solved this, you idiot? Maybe it would have helped if I had been told that there was going to be a test at the end. (Interestingly, the author was going to offer a monetary reward if anyone could prove that he had left a loose end.)

But I felt better knowing.

[Hanneke · Rating 4 out of 5]

An utterly bizarre thriller set near a port city in Morocco in 1972, but one cannot be sure of the location as it could be somewhere else on the North African coast. The fact that the location is unknown is typical of the book, as it is nowhere revealed where the story takes place, in what desert the characters roam around and who anybody is. To know nothing at all about anything is the point of this thriller. The story is told from the viewpoint of a protagonist who suffers from amnesia and can only remember what happened to him from the moment he woke up in the desert after an attack by four guys in djellaba’s. His attempts to find out who he is and what he is supposed to be doing there lead to the strangest and most horrendous adventures, sometimes hilarious but most of the times pretty scary. People get killed, people disappear and emerge again, our protagonist gets attacked several times, but never does find out why or what his name is.

It is quite a daring act that the author managed to be so consistent in deluding his readers as to what’s going on for 400 pages. This must be the strangest thriller I have ever read! To say it was interesting is an understatement.

[Sawsan · Rating 2 out of 5]

رواية تدور في صحراء شمال أفريقيا في بلد غير محدد من المستعمرات الفرنسية السابقة
شخصيات من جنسيات مختلفة, جرائم قتل, ومُطاردات لرجل هارب فاقد للذاكرة
خلال السرد يعرض الكاتب مظاهر الفقر والفساد والعنف في المدينة الصحراوية
واستغلال الدول الكبرى للبلاد الافريقية ونهب المواد الخام على اختلاف أنواعها
الرواية بوليسية فيها إشارات سياسية, السرد متفاوت في العموم والبداية كانت سلسة
لكنها فقدت التشويق بتطويل الأحداث, ومع ذلك الترجمة جيدة للمترجم عمرو وجيه

[Joan · Rating 3 out of 5]

Not until I read the brilliant critique by Michael Maar in the Afterword to the NYRB edition of Sand did I appreciate the giftedness of Wolfgang Herrndorf. Still I’m left wondering about the merit of a book whose plot is so enigmatic I need to read it again.

Although I fail to see the artfulness of the plot, I most certainly appreciate the descriptive detail... whether of the heat of the sand or the sound of Helen’s voice. As Mann says, Herrndorf started out as a painter and his attention to color, shadow, and texture are masterful.

[Jörg · Rating 3 out of 5]

1972 somewhere in North Africa, in the fictitious coastal city of Targat. Weird characters in an absurd story. A police officer worried about his average IQ, a blond dumb attractive woman being neither, a man with amnesia, four Arabs with a bag full of East German money, a spy killed on first appearance, even the 7 year old author. Four hippies get killed in a commune in the oasis Tindirma. The murderer is identified by more than 30 people but denies everything. A spy is waiting in this oasis for his contact and suffers a sunstroke.

At first, the small chapters and the protagonists seem unrelated. Slowly, connections are made and things are getting a bit clearer. At the heart of the action is the guy who cannot remember his name or anything else from his past. The mysterious Cetrois, which the Arabs hunting the amnesiac are looking for, isn't a friend of the amnesiac. Maybe he is it himself or an invention of him. The mine, which is sought, turns out to be a pen mine and, once discovered, is lost again. The amnesiac realizes that Helen Gliese (the blond woman) cannot be a representative of an American cosmetics company and must be a spy. By now, he has been beaten up and hurt in other ways a handful of times. If you are a more perceptive reader than I was, you might know early on who the amnesiac is. It's the averagely intelligent police officer Polidorio who at the end of the first part sets out for Tindirma to investigate the murder in the hippie commune. The second part begins with the hitherto unmentioned amnesiac. As we learn later, coincidentally he is mistaken by the spy Lundgren as his contact who hands him the pen with the mine which contains plans for an ultracentrifuge being able to process weapon-grade uran. Thus, he gets hunted by black market dealers and the CIA represented by Helen Gliese.

Sand kept me entertained and was a comparably quick and pleasant read. Funny details can be discovered, e.g. Helen Gliese stays in bungalow 581d, a reference to a potential exoplanet discovered in 2007 called Gliese 581d. Each chapter starts with a quote barely related ranging from the bible, Herodot, Nixon to Russ Meyer and Bruce Lee movie quotes. One of the Nixon quotes: "You know, it's a funny thing, every one of the bastards that are out for legalizing marijuana is Jewish. What is the matter with them? I suppose it's because most of them are psychiatrists." There is almost no context why this quote should be relevant for Sand except that there also is a psychiatrist in the book.

Not only the quotes, the whole book gives me the impression that Herrndorf tested out what else he could pack into it while keeping the label thriller. His satiric background, among other things as an illustrator for the magazine Titanic, is discernible. Which makes it difficult to say anything plausible about Sand. For a thriller, it is too absurd to build tension. Being set in 1972 is rather another trick to obscure things than a real look at history. As a comment on the political state of the world, the characters are too eclectic. Which leaves the conclusion that Herrndorf, already being aware of his lethal brain tumour while writing Sand, let his imagination run free resulting in a plot of random coincidences, lots of futile efforts to achieve something and ultimately many useless deaths. Much ado about nothing in the Herrndorf version, mirroring his situation.

[Great-O-Khan · Rating 5 out of 5]

"Sand" ist für mich der beste Roman von Wolfgang Herrndorf. Gerade zu Beginn ist er verwirrend und unscharf. Diese Unschärfe ist etwas, das ich üblicherweise nicht mag. Hier hat es mich aber nicht gestört, was vor allem daran lag, dass der Text unglaublich gut und szenisch geschrieben ist. Allein der Entführungs-Abschnitt, der mich an die frühen Tarantino-Filme denken ließ, ist die Lektüre wert. Bald klärt sich die Verwirrung etwas, die Unschärfe nimmt ab, die Konturen nehmen zu, und ich wurde mehr und mehr in den Strudel aus Sand hineingezogen. "Sand" ist eine als Thriller und Abenteuerroman getarnte Identitätssuche, die immer am Abgrund balanciert und dadurch immer spannend ist. "Arbeit und Struktur" ist und bleibt mein Lieblingsbuch von Herrndorf. Von seinen Romanen ist "Sand" am interessantesten und besten.

[Eleanor · Rating 4 out of 5]

Excellent and horrible - parts of it are reminiscent of what James Bond might have been like if Fleming had been a decent writer; parts of it are like desert Le Carré; quite a bit of it is like surreal, blackly-comic Greene. You have no idea what's happening for the first hundred pages and then it all clicks, the characters' relations to each other make sense, and you're off. Gloriously, there are no good guys, except perhaps for our amnesiac protagonist, who takes his name (Carl) from the designer's label inside his suit. The ending laughs majestically in the face of narrative justice. It's incredible.

Full review here: https://ellethinks.wordpress.com/2017...

[Marina Sofia · Rating 2 out of 5]

What on earth have I just read? I thought this would be exactly my kind of book, a mix of thriller, clever post-colonial commentary, sarcastic post-modern deconstruction of a novel... but it's a bit of a confusing mess. At first I thought maybe it was because I was reading it in translation, but it felt like it had the consistency of treacle. It's got some brilliantly funny passages and ideas, but overall it was not tempting me to return to it. I read it more out of a sense of duty, because I had heard this writer being so highly praised. But alas, this is perhaps not his best book.

[James · Rating 3 out of 5]

A German nihilist thriller is a new experience for me. I did spend most of the book either thinking this was probably better in German, or more generally what is actually happening. Amnesia very confusing. But all in all a really good book. Who knew nihilist thrillers would work so well.

[Mike · Rating 2 out of 5]

I should probably clarify- my friend Dan did not recommend this novel to me.  What happened is that we were in a bookstore together, he decided to buy it (the store's only copy), and, because it looked promising (contemporary German author, NYRB, nice cover, the synopsis mentioned the 1972 Munich Olympics), I ordered it when I got home.  We decided we’d read it together and compare notes. Or maybe I decided.  Well, the only problem with that idea was that Dan had a normal week of soul-draining work- by the following weekend he was on page 80- and I had a week off, which not only promoted robustness of soul but meant, as I apologetically explained to him over the phone, that I'd gotten a bit ahead of him.  By which I meant I’d finished.  Which now if anything puts me in the position of being able to recommend the novel to him.  Or not, as the case may be.  

I’m not sure what to say about it.  I have to admit that the atmosphere of the novel- jaunty, at times almost slapstick- really was not what I was expecting. There are blurbs that reference the Cohen Brothers and Tarantino, and that seems generally accurate for a mystery that is half-serious and half-farcical, replete with idiosyncratic characters (I particularly liked a weird psychologist who does the main character more harm than good, but I always like weird psychologist characters) and unexpected explosions of violence. Unlike what I know of Pynchon- which, okay, I admit, is mostly the movie Paul Thomas Anderson made out of Inherent Vice- the story never seemed to be veering into incoherence, I didn't doubt that it was building towards...well, something. I kept turning the pages.

Some of the characters are not only ridiculous but cliched, the kinds of cliches you see only in, well, American movies. The badass woman who knows martial arts and can fix car engines but is also drop dead gorgeous, for example.  Or the seemingly calm and reasonable crime boss whose pulse barely quickens as he suddenly nails the protagonist's hand to his desk with a letter opener, continuing the calm, reasonable discussion of business unabated. And yet the scope of the action narrows in the novel's last act; I was asked to care about the fate of one character in particular, when I had spent most of the novel struggling to believe in any of them. Surprisingly I found that I did care, maybe because that character's fate is so harrowing. I've found it hard to stop thinking about.

But it seems that the novel is most praised for its prestidigitation, the unconventional way the story is told.  It's true that the central mystery went completely over my head- but then again, I'm awful at solving mysteries. Sure enough, as I read Michael Maar's afterword, I reached a passage where Maar wrote, "...by this point in the story, surely even the mildly attentive reader cannot have failed to realize that X", and of course I hadn't had the slightest inkling that X. It’s also true that I don’t think I’ve ever read a novel structured exactly like this, and there’s value in that- who knows how this new form could linger in my mind and subtly alter my perception of the world?  But even Maar, whose afterword is for the most part breathless, seems a bit hesitant when he comes to the question of meaning. Are there any stimulating ideas to take away from this story?  Maybe, he ventures, the novel wants to tell us that "a world that is the scene of the events described cannot be ruled by a god who is both mighty and good”, which means 450 pages for something a lot of us already suspect.
 
Oh, the Munich Olympics? Well, they were mentioned in the synopsis, anyway. I guess I'll watch that One Day in September documentary instead.

[David Ramirer · Rating 3 out of 5]

"sand" ist, zumindest auf meinem radar, das mit abstand verwirrendste und leider auch schwächste buch von herrndorf.
ja, sand holt weit aus und auch ja: es hat ganz famose passagen und im mittleren bereich des buches, als die "carl"-figur ihre identität sucht einen sog der spannung, der wirklich mitreissend ist. daher hat das lesen auch über weite strecken durchaus erbauung und vergnügen bereitet.
zwei dinge jedoch störten mich sehr, und für die gibt es auch die zwei sterne abzug:

ich mag keine bücher, die an den beginn jedes kapitels eine widmung stellen, die zitate aus anderen büchern sind, wodurch der autor einerseits seine unfassbare belesenheit darlegt, andererseits eine wirre metabrücke zwischen anderen werken der literaturgeschichte evoziert wird. bei büchern mit wenigen kapiteln (wie etwa "WATCHMEN") mag das noch hingehen, aber bei einem buch wie sand, das aus 5 büchern und darin insgesamt 68 (!) kapiteln zusammengezimmert ist, da unterbrechen die vielen einleitungszitate den lesefluss doch sehr (so passend und teilweise humorvoll sie auch sein mögen) und wirken eher verwirrend als hilfreich.

das andere ist der ungeschickt aufgebaute beginn, bei dem zu viele personen zu rasch zu farblos eingeführt werden, die miteinander nichts zu tun haben, bzw. wo deren beziehungen zueinander völlig im nebel bleiben. wirklich schön wird es dann erst bei der identitätssuche der einen figur, die den weitaus größten und zentralen teil des buches einnimmt und auch am besten zu herrndorf passt - das ende jedoch, wo es wieder mehr um die anderen figuren geht, die alle kaum ein greifbares gesicht bekommen, lässt mich unbefriedigt zurück.

das alles mag kalkül sein, gewollt - möglich. aber so kommt es leider auch bei mir an. was mich nicht davon abhält, mich an die grandiosen passagen zu erinnern und die 3 sterne mit viel freude zu vergeben, bedeuten diese doch hier "liked it" - und das stimmt bei allen verorteten schwächen wirklich.

[James Murphy · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sand is a wild ride of a novel. It's mostly a literary thriller and a dark comedy. It's inhabited by hippies, police, the agents of foreign governments, criminals, and those who represent terrorist organizations. They all revolve around a hero who suffers from memory loss caused by a knock on the head. He has something they all want, if he could only remember what it is, and why. The prose brims with brio, and the plot is channeled to compel the reader to follow eagerly as it tumbles through intrigue, enigma, violence, social commentary, and a little love till it finally comes to rest on the evil of the world.

I'm having a good summer of reading. This is the 2d book in a month I'm able to report here that I couldn't put it down. When I finished and read Michael Maar's "Afterword," I began to understand why. Maar compares Sand to the work of Georges Perec and Vladimir Nabokov, writers who also wrote novels which are essentially elegant puzzles. I can see the similarities, though Sand still remains unlike anything I've read. I thought that "Afterword" as riveting as the novel itself. As importantly as anything else it answered some questions that lingered for me, like the identity of the hero, a key element I failed to solve. Herrndorf does, Maar writes, answer every question, but it's a demanding read. He cautions that it be read carefully, and he reminds us it's the kind of novel difficult to review without spilling spoilers everywhere, a novel needing an "Afterword" rather than an introduction.

[Petya · Rating 5 out of 5]

EIN MEISTERWERK, unabhängig davon, ob es ganz gefallen hat oder nicht. Da fehlt kein Sandkörnchen in der weiten Textlandschaft, noch ist eins zu viel, auch wenn eins mal hier und da unangenehm im Auge stecken bleibt. Alles hat seinen Platz und alles ist genauso daseinsberechtigt wie es auch sinnlos ist. Die fantastisch präzise, scharfe Wortwahl hat mich komplett mitgerissen, auch wenn ich am Anfang nur sehr schwer und langsam in den Kontext einsteigen konnte. Doch später erschloss sich alles. Ich kam im fremden Land an, ich gewöhnte mich an den Anblick, an den Lärm, an das Chaos. Ich fing an, klarer und selektiver wahrzunehmen, Details zu erkennen, mich auszukennen. Ich war mitten in der Wüste, ich war mitten in der Nacht, in war in der Hitze, im Staub, in der Finsternis und im Sand. Enfach nur meisterhaft, grandios.

Die Geschichte verläuft mehrschichtig und episodisch, die Verbindungen werden stellenweise beiläufig aufgezeigt, aber ohne weitere Bedeutung. Warum auch? Ist das Leben nicht voll von parallelen Ebenen und losen Enden? Wir sehen einen Bruchteil davon und im vermeintlichen Hintergrund spielt sich alles andere ab.

Und so weh es tut, so wirr es bleibt, so leer die Hände danach sind, wenn der Sand durch die Finger gerieselt ist und die letzte Seite gelesen - es hätte wirklich kein besseres Ende geben können.

[Kasa Cotugno · Rating 5 out of 5]

In an afterward, Michael Maar writes "Herrndorf has written the greatest, grisliest, funniest and wisest novel of the past decade." Well put. In search of something completely different, I picked this up and was rewarded, but that reward came with a cost. First, its difference makes it hard to quantify, difficult to categorize. Then, its puzzles hold the reader's attention, but many are left unresolved. Also, its intricacies require close attention, and when clues are presented, they are not always clear.

There is something seductive about safely following people in dire straits, which is why thrillers are so popular, and this one with its north African setting (probably Morocco in 1972) provides that shuddering thrill one gets while safely ensconced in a comfortable chair with an icy drink reading about Europeans getting menaced in the desert.

[Snakes · Rating 5 out of 5]

Never a dull moment. Full of questions and mysteries. Am I supposed to be rooting for any individual here? Are any of these characters redeemable? Is anyone who they say they are? Knocks on religion in all its forms. Grotesque. A love story. Idiots. Crazies. Intrigue. Humor. I have The New York Review of Books Classics Library to thank for the introduction to this book, I would never have even looked at it before that. Thoroughly enjoyed it. Just a really, really good book.

[AC · Rating 3 out of 5]

I didn’t much like this. A postmodern thriller, it has both the strengths (?) and weaknesses of the genre. Complex, clever (cleverer than most, in fact), an intricate labyrinth of non-sequiturs, blinds, “playful“ absurdities and private jokes. A rococo in construction, a postmodern flatness of character, low on affect, the purposelessness of convolution…

Well, it’s me, obviously, not you, Sands.

[Gary Homewood · Rating 5 out of 5]

Clever and intricately plotted noir-ish thriller in pacey chapters with varied cryptic epigraphs, set in 70s Africa. None of the vivid detail is superfluous. Spys, amnesia, loss of identity and violence. A gripping read, occasionally nihilistic, strange, sometimes funny, with interesting complex characters. Like a unique, filmic, post-modernist systems novel without the pretence.

Get the NYRB edition, it has a great afterword essay.

[Daniel Polansky]

An amnesiac finds himself at the heart of international political intrigue in the Sahara. An anti-genre novel which utilizes classical tropes as aesthetic weapons, basically, forcing the reader to confront the absurdity of the format. I found the essential nihilism – this is the sort of book where every success is immediately followed by a reversal, and no one ever, for instance, enjoys a sandwich – exhausting. Not that I disagree with it on principal, particularly, but it’s limiting for a narrative of this length.

[André Spiegel · Rating 4 out of 5]

Disclaimer: Das hier ist das erste, was ich von Wolfgang Herrndorf, abgesehen von seinem Tagebuch-Blog, gelesen habe.

Was ich in diesem Buch nicht verstehe, ist die action. Da wird gekonnt und über hunderte von Seiten ein Agententhriller inszeniert, dessen Struktur und Effekte freilich mindestens seit Hitchcocks »Der unsichtbare Dritte« bekannt sind. Wenn Literatur Schreiben ist, das aufs Ganze geht, ein Schreiben, das Dinge sagbar macht, die vorher nicht sagbar waren — dann ist mir nicht klar, was die action in diesem Buch literarisch leistet. Das Argument »Darf denn Literatur nicht unterhaltend sein?« ist mir zu schwach. Klar darf sie das, soll sie das — solange sie noch mit jeder Faser Literatur ist. Hier scheint es mir, als würde die Literatur über weite Strecken an der Garderobe abgegeben, um die action voranzutreiben. Oder steckt darin erzählerische Absicht? Soll eine kalkulierte Fallhöhe erreicht werden, damit das Abwürgen der Figuren am Schluss die gewünschte Wirkung entfaltet? Nun ja: Wenn's eine Rechnung ist, scheinen mir die Faktoren etwas unverhältnismässig dimensioniert.

Dessen eingedenk muss ich gestehen, dass das Buch einen enormen Nachhall erzeugt. Die Figuren, die Szenen, die Details gehen mir nach — auch wenn es vor allem der Schluss ist, der diesen Nachhall bewirkt.

[Nienke · Rating 2 out of 5]

If I could make a review curve for this book it would start with 2 stars - the start of was slow and I put it away several times since the different parts seemed a bit to disconnected at the start.

Second phase: 4 stars! Wow, all the parts came together and I got so curious to know what really went on, well written, great Coen brothers like indeed!

Last phase / ending: 1 star, what a dreadful ending!!! Not only for Carl, but more clarity on how the different people really connected, what is the background of Carl really? Left with many questions, very unsatisfactory! Almost to the point I regret having read this book.

Last note, the intros are too far fetched, the links between the quotes / references did not add much for me and started to feel like a trick.

Shame because the writing is good! So much more could have been possible!

[Eric · Rating 5 out of 5]

Not sure if this book is brilliantly plotted or brilliantly structured, maybe both? I think both. It is just about the most airtight thing I've read...but the menace of it is that, until the last 60 pages or so, as the reader's memory begins to fit one Thing to Another--and memory is paramount here, the protagonist loses his, and the central mystery, out of which two dozen others unfurl, is who exactly he is--the menacing thing about Sand is that it wants you to think it's a mess, that no order underlies it, but how wrong I was--or was I? Reading this book forces one into reversal after reversal, the most profound and impactful of which, bearing the load of the 440 pages preceding it, the most treacherous, most menacing, comes in the very last sentence....

[Cedric · Rating 4 out of 5]

Ein-Satz-Review

Ein bisschen wie Thomas Pynchons "Inherent Vice" -- oder anders gesagt: die etwas dümmliche Verfasstheit des Protagonisten aus "Kiss Kiss Bang Bang", verschmolzen mit dem überhöhten Plot und den Perspektivwechseln aus "Burn After Reading" -- oder anders gesagt: ein perfides Spiel mit Gattungen, Klischees und etwas, was vielleicht das Ende der Postmoderne darstellt -- oder anders gesagt: klare Sprache trifft übermässig durchdachten, verehrungswürdigen Plot -- anders gesagt: Folterung trifft auf Witz, und -- kurz gesagt -- ein wegweisender Eindruck für die zeitgenössische deutschsprachige Literatur.

[Gitte · Rating 2 out of 5]

Hat meine Erwartungen nicht erfüllt. Der schnelle, flüssige Rhythmus von "Tschick" ist weg. Dafür ein hochkonstruierter Krimi aus dem Maghreb in den 1970ern... Der Plot hängt an seidenen, zufälligen Fäden. Die Figuren erscheinen unecht, man kommt ihnen nicht nahe, sie sind Konstrukte. In den Kritiken wurde von diesem Roman als einem "post-kolonialen" Roman geschwärmt, was ich nicht nachvollziehen kann, denn das ist zwar das Setting, aber es spielt keine große Rolle. Vielleicht ist das "Konstruierte" das, was den Roman ausmacht. Mich hat er nicht überzeugt.

[Iamthesword · Rating 4 out of 5]

Partly thriller, partly (post-)colonial satire, partly take on old spy movies, Herrendorf's final (finished) novel is a wild ride. It is very precisely crafted and full of intelligent ideas (like the woman everyone would identify in a crowd with the descripton "pretty and dumb"...who is neither pretty nor dumb). It was a fast paced read and I enjoyed it. Herrendorf has an ear for dialogues and enough ideas to fill the 476 pages easily. I love how he mimics the structure of old spy movies while mocking them by using absurd twists and simple chance (to a degree that doesn't break the immersion). I love many aspects of the colonial satire, the ruthless ridiculing of everyone involved and everything that happens - to a certain point. There are a few scences of intense suffering throughout the story, but Herrendorf doesn't change the tone in any way so it feels like the suffering of the characters doesn't get acknoledged. This is also true for a lot of things that happen to the main character. It gets better in the last act, but overall this felt wrong to me - a friend of mine has an interesting interpretation seein it basically as a book version of Michael Haneke's film FUNNY GAMES, and I think there is some truth to that at least in Herrendorf's intention, but it didn't fully work for me. It is still a bold book by a very good writer and if the themes sound interesting to you, you should give it a try.

[Andy Weston · Rating 3 out of 5]

Herrndorf’s second translated novel (from German) is very different to his first, and less my cup of tea. This is a spy thriller set in the North African desert in the 1970s. At first there appear to be two story lines. The first being that of a man accused of killing 4 foreigners from a hippy commune with the local police investigating, seeming like it will be a police based crime story. The second being a man suffering from amnesia who may well be a spy (he isn’t sure), encountering some unpleasant factions, being aided by a female James Bond type figure, who may well be a spy herself. For a while the two storylines alternate chapters, but after less than a half the book, the first story stops.
It is jumbled and often difficult to follow, but the desert setting and the characters just about held enough interest for me to finish it.
Herrndorf published this in 2011, a year after he was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tomour. He committed suicide the year after. A tragic loss.
His earlier novel, Tschik or, Why We Took The Car is a tremendous story about two 14 year olds and highly recommended by me. One of those novels that is probably written for adults, but could be read by 13+ age group.

[Christopher · Rating 2 out of 5]

DNF @ page 279. Just a total jerk off. Unfollow anyone who gives this higher than 3 stars because they are a sadist and will lead you down the wrong path (including that Tony guy with his smugface.jpg who always has a review at the top for literally every g-d book). This is a lesson on how not to write a book. The episodes just go on way too long, too much thinking over every insufferable detail, passages that go on way too long. The meeting with the doctor that comes halfway through - spread over 3 chapters?! The story never advances and whenever something momentous happens the camera goes somewhere else for 50 pages. It's an exercise in actively trying to shake the reader. Thriller? I couldn't give less of a shit about whatever the mystery is or was or where it was going. Book 1 was well-paced and got it off to a good start and then, 200 pages after, I haven't had even the slightest pleasure I got from those first 80 pages. Plus wtf is up with these epigrams? They're as beside the point as everything that happens in the chapter proper.

[Jannis · Rating 5 out of 5]

Die ersten ~50~ Seiten über hab ich überlegt, das Buch abzubrechen. Irgendwie war mir das alles zu verklausuliert und distanziert gehalten. Hätte ich das getan wäre das eine dumme Entscheidung gewesen, denn Herrendorfs ,,Sand" gehört zu den besten Romanen die ich bisher lesen durfte. Die Handlung ist zwar ausufernd und verwirrend, aber in sich extrem stimmig und mündet in einer genialen und ernüchternden Auflösung. Ich mochte auch den absurden Humor und die vielen philosophischen Anklänge, sie größte Stärke des Romans liegt aber zweifelsfrei in den virtuos geschriebenen Dialogen (Das Gespräch mit dem Therapeuten!!!). Große Empfehlung, ich hoffe derweil noch auf eine Verfilmung durch die Coens...

[Rick Seery · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5

Entertaining for sure. Coensy meets Bolano in thriller mode? I could have done without the quotes or epigraphs beginning each chapter...

Pynchon-lite plot-wise, but warrants no comparison to William Gaddis as Eileen Battersby suggests at the back.