Sönmez Lovers of Franz K.

1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-1-916788-73-2
Verlag: Open Borders Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 112 Seiten

A thriller of love and revenge, and an imaginative literary obituary for Kafka, bringing the Cold War to life, from Paris and Istanbul to West Berlin and Tel Aviv. 'The novel vaults from interrogation to trial to poetic accounts of Ferdy's youth, rendered in Samî Hêzil's lyrical translation ... Sönmez playfully expands Kafka's world in a literary experiment that encourages readers to reimagine the unfinished work of their heroes' Financial Times 'The dialogue-led approach makes the book punchy and fast-moving, and brings some surprising twists before the end' Guardian 'Did Max Brod commit a crime by not fulfilling Kafka's last will - to burn all his works? Burhan Sönmez is not a judge. He is only a scribe at the Last Judgment, recording the speeches of the parties. And he does his job brilliantly' Mikhail Shishkin 'An inventive literary obituary for Kafka, perfect for both Kafka fans and lovers of historical literary page-turners in the vein of Anne Berest's The Postcard and Colm Toibin's The Magician' SA Examiner ------------ West Berlin, 1968. As a youth uprising sweeps over Europe in the shadow of the Cold War, two men face each other across an interrogation table. One, Ferdy Kaplan, has shot and killed a student. Kommissar Müller, the other is trying to find out why. As his interrogation progresses, Kaplan's background is revealed piece by piece, including the love story between him and his childhood friend Amalya, their shared passion for Kafka, and the radical youth movement they joined. When it transpires that Kaplan's intended target was not the student but Max Brod, Franz Kafka's close friend and the executor of his literary estate, the interrogation of a murderer slowly transforms into a dialogue between a passionate admirer of Kafka's work, who is attempting to protect the author's final wish to have his manuscripts burned, and a police commissioner who is learning more about literature than he ever thought possible from a prisoner in his custody. In this gripping, thought-provoking tribute to Kafka, Burhan Sönmez vividly recreates a key period of history in the 1960s, when the Berlin Wall divided Europe. More than a typical mystery, Lovers of Franz K. is an exploration of the value of books, and the issues of anti-Semitism, immigration, and violence that recur in Kafka's life and writings. ------------ 'A homage to Franz Kafka, framed as the trial (of course) of Ferdy Kaplan ... [Sönmez] queries how far one should go in the pursuit of what is important to us' The Times 'The kind of book that will enthral a student and intrigue an Oxford don, thrill a worker on the factory floor and captivate a lifelong reader of Kafka' Lemn Sissay 'Did Max Brod commit a crime by not fulfilling Kafka's last will - to burn all his works? Burhan Sönmez is not a judge. He is only a scribe at the Last Judgment, recording the speeches of the parties. And he does his job brilliantly' Mikhail Shishkin 'A gripping tale of idealism colliding with history and moral uncertainty' Ava Homa, author of Daughters of Smoke and Fire 'PEN International president Sönmez wrestles with fraught questions of loyalty and legacy in this contemplative literary thriller ... Sönmez's sharp thematic layering and concise worldbuilding impress. This is a good bet for mystery readers seeking something off the beaten path' Publishers Weekly

Burhan Sönmez, now President of PEN International, was born in Turkey in 1965. His mother tongue is Kurdish, which was stigmatised in Turkey during his youth. While practising law and campaigning for human rights in Istanbul, he was seriously injured during a murder attempt by the Turkish police in 1996 and left the country, receiving treatment in Britain and remaining in exile there for several years. He now splits his time between England and Istanbul. Sönmez a Senior Member of Hughes Hall College and Trinity College, University of Cambridge. Lovers of Franz K. is his sixth novel.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Sönmez, Burhan

Weitere Mitwirkende

Hêzil, Semi

Leseproben

2

WEST BERLIN COURTROOM

Fearing there may be unrest as the result of an armed attack on a student, the police announce to the press that this was a crime of passion. In fact, the police are searching for concrete leads, including a link with East Germany or the youth protests in France.

One week later, Ferdy Kaplan is taken from Tegel Prison to the courthouse in Moabit. He is brought before a panel of three judges. The senior judge confirms his identity, then gives the floor to the prosecutor.

Prosecutor: “Herr Richter! The defendant, Ferdy Kaplan, was arrested for the murder of a twenty-year-old student. The brave officers of our police force caught him red-handed, but we still don’t know the reason for the attack. Whether we discover the reason or not, the death of one Ernest Fischer is a fact. The defendant Ferdy Kaplan …”

Judge: “Has the defendant admitted the murder charge?”

Prosecutor: “Yes.”

Ferdy Kaplan: “Yes.”

Judge: “Herr Kaplan, I didn’t ask you. You are the defendant. You will not speak without my permission.”

Ferdy Kaplan: “I wasn’t responding to you, I only … [Ferdy Kaplan turns towards the public gallery and looks at a couple sitting hand in hand, weariness on their faces.] With your permission, I would like to offer my condolences to the family of the young man who died. You must be the Fischer family … [The middle-aged man and woman lift their gaze and give him a sorrowful look.] Frau Fischer! Herr Fischer! I am very sorry about the death of your son. Please accept my sincere apologies.” [Tears fill Frau Fischer’s eyes. Her husband puts his arm around her shoulder.]

Prosecutor: “This is ridiculous … Herr Richter!1 The defendant wants to turn this room into a theatre stage.”

Ferdy Kaplan: “I would act much better if that was my intention. I was expressing my genuine sadness. I have no expectation that the court will approve my feelings. If Herr and Frau Fischer believe me even a little, then that will be enough for me. I am a man of truth, not a man of tricks.”

Prosecutor: “A man of truth, you?”

Ferdy Kaplan: “Yes, me …”

Judge: “That’s enough. Herr Kaplan! I warn you. I don’t want any theatricals in my court. The case will proceed by the rules.”

Ferdy Kaplan: “Herr Richter, I am not trying to cause trouble. But I would like it recorded that I bow my head in respect for the young soul of Ernest Fischer.”

[Ferdy Kaplan looks at the court clerk sitting across from him. The court clerk stops writing for a moment, waiting for confirmation from the judge.]

Judge: “Have no fear. Whatever you say will be recorded.” [The clatter of the typewriter starts up again.]

Ferdy Kaplan: “Also …”

Judge: “Yes?”

Ferdy Kaplan: “I have been incarcerated for a week. When I asked for a cigarette my request was ignored.”

Judge: “During a break in the hearing you may smoke a cigarette. [The judge turns to the usher and gives him the instruction.] Now, Herr Kaplan, you are hereby being tried for murder, this is a serious case. Be quiet and await your turn.”

Ferdy Kaplan: “Of course. I can assure you that it will be a proper hearing.”

Judge: “Herr Staatsanwalt,2 please continue, you were speaking about the student …”

Prosecutor: “Ernest Fischer, he was a student at the Free University of Berlin, studying at the Institute of Biology.”

Judge: “On the day of the event there was no student protest, am I right?”

Prosecutor: “That is correct, Herr Richter. Although it was the holidays, almost every day there were protests, but on the day of the incident it was quiet. Ernest Fischer went to the library in the morning and remained there until the evening. When he left, he went to the bus stop opposite the library and waited for his bus.”

Judge: “Was he alone? Any friends …”

Prosecutor: “He was alone, but there were two assailants. As well as the defendant Ferdy Kaplan, there was a woman. We have not yet been able to ascertain her identity. She took advantage of the darkness and escaped. She was in her thirties, had short hair …”

Ferdy Kaplan: “Herr Staatsanwalt …”

Prosecutor: “Yes?”

Ferdy Kaplan: “I wish you would focus on what matters rather than pay attention to the hair of someone who has no connection with me. You are being neglectful by looking towards the assailant instead of towards the victim.”

Prosecutor: “We are not here to play with words. Either you confess your accomplice, or you will feel the full weight of the law.”

Ferdy Kaplan: “Justice …”

Prosecutor: “Are you belittling it? Killing a student and injuring an old man are not crimes that we belittle at the court of justice.”

Ferdy Kaplan: “No, I would never make light of justice. I believe in it at all times.”

Prosecutor: “We are giving you the opportunity to be speak openly here. Tell us, in the presence of the court and the victim’s family, why you committed this murder, who were your collaborators, and who was the woman with you during the assault.”

Ferdy Kaplan: “You keep circling around the same narrow spot. Anything I say will not count, in your view.”

Prosecutor: “Try if you will, try to tell us something we do not know.”

Ferdy Kaplan: “Well, then, I will tell you, if you are so keen to hear.”

Prosecutor: “Please, if you could …”

Ferdy Kaplan: “Someone was wounded at the scene, right?”

Prosecutor: “An elderly man.”

Ferdy Kaplan: “Yes, him.”

Prosecutor: “Well, what has that to do with it?”

Ferdy Kaplan: “Do you have a description of him in your notes?”

Prosecutor: “A description?”

Ferdy Kaplan: “Yes, such as his having a humped back?”

Prosecutor: “Humped back?” [The prosecutor glances at the papers in front of him.] “What is the significance of that?”

Ferdy Kaplan: “But you are assuming that the short hair of a woman who panicked and ran away in the dark is significant, is that not so?”

For research relating to her PhD. in urban architecture at the Sorbonne, Amalya returned to Istanbul, the city of her childhood. As soon as she arrived, instead of visiting the shores of the Bosphorus, she went to her old neighbourhood. She saw that Kumkapi was demolished and torn apart from right to left. The fisherman’s market on the waterfront had been erased and an asphalt road laid out in its place. The vegetable gardens under the city walls had been filled with newly constructed buildings. The colour of the city had changed, the shade of the trees had vanished. “What have they done to my neighbourhood?” Amalya came across some old acquaintances among the concrete buildings that had replaced the ornate wooden houses. She discovered that Ferdy’s grandmother had died and that Ferdy had left the neighbourhood. What makes cities change faster, the demolishment of buildings, or departure of friends? Amalya wandered around for a few days, seeking the familiar smells of her childhood. She boarded the suburban train and travelled back and forth along the thousand-year-old city walls of Istanbul. Visiting Sirkeci, Samatya and Bakirköy, she thought that the new developments not only erased memories of the city, but also annihilated its beauty. She sent a letter to her mother. “Eliz,” she wrote, addressing her by her first name as always, “if you want to die happy, never see the new face of Istanbul; rely on your memories.”

On the day she posted the letter she ran into a protest march. Young and old, men and women, all were advancing towards a square, and on the way their number was swelled by newcomers. Amalya joined the crowd and chanted anti-government slogans, polishing her rusty Turkish by shouting along with the people. The Istanbul she had left behind and the one she had returned to were two entirely different places. When the crowd flowed into Beyazit Square, it resembled...