Arenz One Grand Summer

The achingly beautiful, profound and uplifting new novel by the author of Tasting Sunlight
1. Auflage 2024
ISBN: 978-1-916788-19-0
Verlag: Orenda Books
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 276 Seiten

When he fails his exams, 16-year-old Frieder is forced to stay with his grandparents for the summer, leading to an unforgettable and profound series of experiences that will change him forever. `Ewald Arenz writes with gentle joy´ Iona Gray `A tender and profound coming-of-age story that's also a gripping page-turner. Gorgeously written ... an absolute tour de force´ Louisa Treger `A summer of joys and sadness ... funny, touching, troubling´ Saga magazine **German Independent Booksellers' Book of the Year** **Tasting Sunlight is a BBC World Service WORLD BOOK CLUB PICK** _____ Sixteen-year-old Frieder's plans for the summer are shattered when he fails two subjects. In order to move up to the next school year in the Autumn, he must resit his exams. So, instead of going on holiday with his family, he now faces the daunting and boring prospect of staying at his grandparents' house, studying with his strict and formal step-grandfather. On the bright side, he'll spend time with his grandmother Nana, his sister Alma and his best friend Johann. And he meets Beate, the girl in the beautiful green swimsuit... The next few weeks will bring friendship, fear and first love - one grand summer that will change and shape his entire life. Heartbreaking, poignant and warmly funny, One Grand Summer is an unforgettable, tender novel that captures those exquisite and painful moments that make us who we are. For readers who loved Sarah Winman's When God Was a Rabbit __________ Praise for Ewald Arenz `Profound in its simplicity ... a remarkable, exquisitely written debut´ Irish Times `Hopeful and poignant and lyrically told. A truly compassionate and heartening book´ Culturefly `Poetic in places and highly sensory ... a genuinely hopeful and open-hearted novel´ Irish Times `This reminded me of reading Sally Rooney's Normal People. It takes a writer of immeasurable talent to make you feel that intensely´ Elizabeth Haynes `Powerful, original and engaging´ Susie Boyt `Written with beautiful simplicity´ Doug Johnstone `A triumph. Don't miss it´ Louisa Treger `Powerful, lyrical and profoundly affecting´ Miranda Dickinson `An exquisitely written, heart-warming story´ Gill Paul `Moving and heart-wrenching, but ultimately uplifting´ Carol Lovekin

Ewald Arenz, born in Nürnberg in 1965, studied English and American literature and history. He is a teacher at a secondary school in Nürnberg. His novels and plays have received many awards. Ewald lives near Fürth with his family.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Arenz, Ewald

Weitere Mitwirkende

Ward, Rachel

Leseproben

6
It would probably have been sensible to start revising even before the holidays. Then I might not have had as much to do over those six weeks, and might have had a real chance of passing the resits. But I couldn’t do it. Somehow, I felt like those last few days of term had suddenly become my real holiday. The last days before I’d have to knuckle down for a month and a half. I kept pushing the thought aside. And trying to squeeze as much into this time as possible. Sports day was in the last week of term. Alma and I had made a banner, and now we were outside our block of flats, waiting for Johann. Alma was sitting on her saddle, no hands, one foot on the crossbar, resting her back against a lamppost and keeping the bike balanced as she rolled a cigarette. The sun stood in the sky above the silhouette of the city. It was as though the TV aerials had been carved out of light in the sky over the rooftops. The crown of the chestnut tree in the front garden towered over Alma. ‘Sometimes I wish I could paint,’ I said. ‘Why?’ Alma had dropped her cigarette papers and was trying to pick the packet up again without getting off the bike. It looked way less elegant than if she’d just got down. ‘Because then I could paint the things that I see.’ Alma lurched and hastily caught herself. But she did now dismount to pick up the papers. ‘But it’s there either way,’ she said simply. ‘You don’t have to paint it.’ That was true. But what you saw wasn’t all there was. I didn’t know how to express it. ‘Well in that case, nobody has to write any books or paint any pictures or make any music. It’s just …’ I thought for a moment. Alma had sat back up on her bike and lit the cigarette. The smoke wafted over to me. I didn’t smoke, but just then, that waft was like a wistful invitation to a wonderful, distant land, and I suddenly knew what I wanted to say. ‘Everything is there. But all this, this summer morning, and the leaves above you, and you, sitting casually on your bike and smoking and looking cool, it’s … it’s like you have to paint it all first so that you can take it in for a moment. So that you can feel what it is that makes this moment special.’ ‘You don’t have to paint,’ Alma repeated. ‘You can say it. Here comes Johann.’ She pointed up the hill. He was hurtling down towards us, past the abandoned petrol station, his hair flying and his jacket flapping. He braked right at the last minute. ‘What ho, chaps,’ he said. ‘What’s that thing?’ He was pointing at our banner. ‘You’ll see when we get it onto the track. You’ll have to hold one of the poles.’ Johann twitched the fabric. Alma raised the sticks. He grinned. ‘Something like “This Sportsground Is Being Refurbished”?’ Alma sighed. ‘The impatience of impetuous youth. You’ll find out soon enough.’ She pushed off from the lamppost and slowly started to freewheel down the pavement. Johann and I followed.   It was already hot at the sportsground. We chained our bikes together and strolled over to the stands, to Fritsch, who was watching the whole thing, clipboard in hand. Once a year, PE teachers were kings. The rest of the time, nobody took them seriously, least of all at our school. Latin and Greek teachers ruled there, by miles. Modern languages, maths, chemistry, biology – they ranked in the middle. They were necessary, and might even have something to tell us. At the bottom were art and ethics and social studies and economics and PE … Who needed those? ‘Red Front, Mr Fritsch,’ I greeted him, raising my left fist. ‘We’re here.’ Fritsch barely looked up as he ticked off our names. ‘Spare me your juvenile politics, Büchner. The hundred metres starts at ten forty-five.’ ‘Aye aye, cap’n,’ Alma replied briskly. Fritsch became unexpectedly worked up. ‘Think the summer holidays have begun already, don’t you? Nobody has any respect for anybody unless it affects their grades, and that’s a fact. If you don’t like it here, you can go somewhere else.’ ‘Right you are,’ Alma said promptly, pointing over to the lime trees across the track, forming the boundary between the sportsground and the park. ‘How about over there in the shade?’ Johann gave Fritsch a sympathetic nod. ‘Yeah. Must be hell up here on the stand, in the full sun.’ But he wasn’t in the mood to dilly-dally with us anymore. ‘Beat it. Ten forty-five, Büchner, ten forty-five.’ There were rumours that Fritsch was a repressed Nazi. Must have been in the Hitler Youth or something. Who else would be a PE teacher? But I didn’t believe it. I thought he was just trying to be brisk but couldn’t quite pull it off. Alma had already made him sweat. Mind you, she could run rings around anybody. Sometimes I thought she was way braver than me. I bet Alma would have dived off the seven-point-five without batting an eyelid. Either that or she’d never have climbed up in the first place. There was an air of confidence about most things she did. In all the time we were in the same class, I’d never had to make a note of what homework we were given. I could always rely on Alma to have done it. But she wasn’t a swot. It was just that she was better at balancing work and fun than me. I was always banging my head against the wall. My old class were sitting on the grass in the shade of the trees. Alma and I joined them. Johann stayed standing, smoking thoughtfully. Above us, the leaves sifted the light. There were patches of sunlight on Alma’s back. I liked what the wind could do to the leaves. But that was really an autumnal picture and the summer was only just starting. ‘Hey, Büchner, what’s that banner?’ It was Max who called out. The smallest boy in my old class. He was a walking cliché. Small. Cheeky. Up for a fight. Did I fit a cliché too? Everyone always thought I was on drugs, just because I had long hair. Or that I was some kind of freak because I liked to wear black. Even I didn’t know why I did it. That was just how things were. Maybe that was the whole point. To make other people see things in me that weren’t there. Disguise and deception. ‘Fundraising for the Baader-Meinhof gang,’ I replied. Max was fundamentally square. He’d never go to a demo, maybe because his dad owned a block of flats. He always sided with the capitalists in political debates. ‘You’re so funny, Büchner. We’re dying of laughter here.’ ‘Don’t ask if you don’t want to know.’ Incomprehensible loudspeaker announcements echoed around the sportsground. Class seven were doing the long jump. A couple of final-years were practising for the high jump. Most people were hanging around on the benches that had been carried out from the changing rooms. The teachers were clustered on the stands, in the shade of the loudspeakers. They were almost all smoking. All in all, it was a very sloppy sports day. I was sure I was right. Fritsch was no Nazi. He was useless. ‘Hey, Frieder, what’s with all the coins?’ Alma had been hunting through my PE bag for a lighter and found the ten-pfennig pieces I’d rounded up from all over the flat yesterday. She held up a handful. I just shrugged. I felt awkward. I didn’t want to tell Alma that I … Hmm, was I even in love? Not a clue. How could you fall in love with a person you’d seen for precisely half an hour? But on the other hand … maybe it was destiny or something. Maybe it had to be that way. I sometimes got this feeling that things just turned out right if you let them. If you waited, nothing happened. But if that were the case, I wouldn’t have collected the coins, would I… ‘Tell you later. Is it us now?’ Johann nodded and stubbed his cigarette out in the grass. ‘How you can smoke but still run so fast will forever remain one of the mysteries of the cosmos,’ I said, as Johann took off his shirt and stood there just in his PE shorts; slim, almost skinny. He picked up the furled banner. ‘Morituri te salutant, Alma!’ he declared, striking a comic pose. ‘Will I get expelled if I unroll this thing?’ ‘Blame it on Frieder,’ Alma mocked. ‘He’s got nothing to lose.’ ‘It’s wonderful to be surrounded by such loving friends,’ I said. That was what I liked about us. Only we could talk this way. It was like all the zeros. Something the others didn’t understand. The loudspeaker was coughing something about the hundred metres. Johann and I strolled over the lawn...