|
Rebecca Morrison looks back
at Leipzig and its Book Fair
Ask anyone who’s attended the Leipzig Book Fair how it was, be they writer or editor, reviewer or general visitor, and more likely than not their eyes will light up. This year saw the tenth anniversary of the Book Fair’s move to its new ground to the north of Leipzig and its sharp, clean architecture, an easy ride on the number 16 tram from the Hauptbahnhof past villas and housing blocks, each reflecting a particular moment in the town’s history. On the occasion of the anniversary, a collection of experiences and reminiscences were gathered together in an A-Z OF THE BOOK FAIR: what shines through is a deep affection for what is regarded as a book fair for the public, with writers and access to them taking centre stage, and for Leipzig the town itself. Leipzig’s tradition as a fair-town goes back through the centuries, with records as early as the twelfth century, when it traded not yet in books but in goods such as cloth and wine, pepper and herrings. In the eighteenth century the town was widely referred to as ‘the marketplace of Europe’, but long before then, with the arrival of the modern book, the city became the centre of many of its most exciting developments. So what more natural than that the largest printing and book fair should have made its home here? The fair, first established in the early 1600s, went from strength to strength right up until the war years. Some idea of the importance the printed word played in the life of the town is indicated by the statistics listed in Johannes Popp’s excellent article published in Die Zeit in March of this year: in 1930, there were 1096 bookshops, book-binders and printers and 436 publishing houses in Leipzig (among them Baedeker, Brockhaus, Gustav Kiepenheuer and Reclam as well as the leading music publishers Breitkopf & Härtel and Edition Peters). The spark and energy of that time, and of earlier decades, can still be felt on a walk through the old Graphisches Viertel (the printing and publishing district), the ghosts of former times as prevalent here as elsewhere, glimpses of past worlds never far beneath the surface of the Leipzig streets. Those of music and books can be explored in tandem. After a concert at the Gewandhaus, for example (at the congenial hour of 11 am on a Sunday, so time for an invigorating start to the day with some of J. S. Bach’s music played on the organ of his own St Thomas’s Church), the musically inclined visitor can visit the house where Mendelssohn spent his last years, or, closer to the printing buildings, that of Robert and Clara Schumann – imagine Brahms pacing those wooden floors, and Richard Wagner looking in (later Edward Elgar, too, was to treasure his visits to Leipzig). Then – back to books – from here it’s just a stone’s throw to where Kurt Wolff had his splendid eponymous publishing house from 1914 to 1919, promoting such authors as Gottfried Benn, Franz Kafka and Georg Trakl. Round another corner and you’re close to the home of a student by the name of Friedrich Nietzsche. That these streets are quiet now allows the curious visitor to take stock of the ideas, creativity and productivity they once teemed with. It would be wrong, however, to regard Leipzig and its fair through nostalgic eyes and to concentrate only on the past. The fair continued through the years of the GDR times (and here too there are fascinating, bizarre and poignant happenings to be recalled) and seamlessly on after its 1989 demise. So, what can the visitor expect from a typical day’s visit? Well, on this latest occasion and for a start, almost the full cast of our last issue and some elements of this present one. In one day, you might have watched the impressive Saša Stanišić, sparring with György Dalos; a rather exhausted Ingo Schulze, having just been awarded this year’s Leipzig Book Fair Prize, responding to the enthusiam of the crowds with whom he is such a favourite; Feridun Zaimoglu discoursing wittily about his year in the Eternal City and his stay at the Villa Massimo, which provides German writers with the gift of a year there; Thomas Brussig regaling his audience with tales from the Berlin brothels drawn from his latest book; and new-comer Gregor Sander charming his listeners with a reading from his novel. And the evening is still to come. It is not for nothing that the festival of books is called LEIPZIG READS: the city does indeed live and breathe books for those four days, hosting over 1,800 events in a mind-boggling array of locations. One evening that will remain in this visitor’s memory was spent in the Ringcafé, a Stalinist dance-hall – to enter there is to enter a time loop, one where you expect smartly turned-out gentlemen to cross the dance-floor, click their heels and ask the ‘gnädige Frau’ if she would care to dance. All small tables and candles, that evening’s fare was Austrian, three very different authors regaling us with dark tales of Vienna, love stories turned sour, and – a wonderful discovery – the presence and style of Walter Kappacher from Salzburg. Austrian voices in this most East German of cafés, and outside the falling snow caught in the beam of the old street-lights. (The wintry March weather brought its own comedy, as the elegant gazelles of the literary establishment slithered their way through the unexpected snow and thick slush, shivering in their spring attire). Or you might have spent the evening in the beautiful Bibliotheca Albertina, part of the University Library, philosophers and poets holding forth; or at the readings and parties in the labyrinth of vaults that is the Moritzbastei (the largest student bar in Germany); or you might simply have decided to relax over a beer in Auerbachs Keller where Mephisto and Faust once whiled away the hours. The friendliness of the locals, a curiosity and willingness to talk, is also part of the truly heartening Leipzig experience. My thanks to the Goethe-Institut Munich for the invitation to attend.
|
