KINO. The title was the first thing I loved about Jürgen Fauth’s debut novel. Short for Kinematographie (German for cinematography), it’s the nickname of the story’s tragic hero. But more importantly, it embodies the glamour of Berlin between two World Wars – a town of cabarets, never-ending parties, sex, cocaine (Zement), a new and prospering film industry and an economy teetering on a highwire… DAMN! what’s not to love?!
There was one lie that made me seem more interesting than all the others. Everyone wanted to drink with me, get high with me, and sleep with me when we told them I was a movie director. It was a lie that turned me into the center of attention and opened the tightest twat. One night over dinner, Joachim Ringelnatz – the whimsical poet who wore a sailor’s uniform wherever he went – eyed me funny and asked if I wasn’t a bit young to be working for the cinema, “für’s Kino.”
I had my mouth full of lamb stew, so Steffen came to my defense. “Don’t you read the papers? Klaus is a prodigy! The youngest director in Neubabelsberg!”
I put down my fork, swallowed, and pointed a finger. “Joachim,” I said. “I don’t work für’s Kino. I am Kino!”
When two German film canisters appear on Mina “Wilhemina” Koblitz’s doorstep she puts her life on hold to track down where they came from and what they mean. Her grandfather was Klaus Koblitz – the enigmatic German filmmaker of the 1930’s known as Kino. A wunderkind whose entire oeuvre, with the exception of a Hollywood B-Movie, was lost in the war. That missing work attained a legendary/cult status among serious film buffs. And Mina quickly learns that the reels of film in the canisters hold what many believe to be his masterpiece – Tulpendiebe (The Tulip Thief).
Jürgen Fauth has written a wild adventure full of intrigue, conspiracy theories and family history. Who to trust? What is the truth? Whose side are you on? That last question might be the most difficult to answer. As the book progresses we are introduced to the entire Koblitz clan – and a more miserable bunch of Arschlöcher I’ve never encountered. Or a more fascinating. Tolstoy, apparently, was right. Over the top, extreme in every way, the Koblitz’ motivations and responses are always realistic. Fauth has accomplished something which I think can be very difficult for a novelist. His characters hang together like a family. You can read the Koblitz genetic code in each of them. They resemble one another yet retain their individual personalities.
As the convoluted narrative unfolds we see Kino in 3-D. He’s dissected in journal entries, friend’s and family members’ memories and – of course – the films themselves. All interpreted through the 21st Century eyes of Mina.
I don’t know what I expected, honestly. Something ponderous and silent, German expressionism or whatever. It started with a logo I’d already sort of seen in our apartment, holding the film up to the kitchen lights. Then, a pair of huge eyes: a close-up of a little girl, staring straight into the camera. Her father, whose face we don’t see, Peanuts-style, is reading her a bedtime story. The cover of the book he’s reading from supplies the title credit: Tulpendiebe.
Right away, Dr. Hanno started to whisper to me like a real-life DVD commentary track. How back in the twenties, farming devices were all the rage, Dr. Caligari being the most obvious example. He translated all the intertitles, even the one that said “Holland, Anno 1636.”
The main part of the movie is set in a picturesque Dutch seaside town, canals and fields and windmills and so on, but it’s all done in the studio with painted backdrops, making it looked stylized, like a kid’s book, with extras in clogs and bonnets and pantaloons. Fake, but sort of charming. Would have been better in color.
Fauth has created in his portrait of a man something reminiscent of The Real Life of Sebastian Knight. KINO is densely packed with ideas. The story plays out against the backdrop of Mina’s life, the year 2003 and the Iraq war. Obsession, an undeniable part of an artist’s make-up, is a major theme KINO explores. How much is an artist willing to sacrifice for his or her art? And still remain within the bounds of what society deems acceptable? What, as a reader, do you find tolerable?
And then there is the history.
I’d guess there have been thousands, if not tens-of-thousands of books, fiction & non-, written about WWII and the Holocaust. KINO is also a part of that tradition, giving a thoughtful portrait of the toll Nazi Germany took on its own people. The shattered hopes, dreams and lives – broken friendships & communities. There is a hint of it in Daniel Stein, Interpreter. Viktor Frankl touches on it briefly in Mans Search for Meaning. I thought of the musical Cabaret a few times while reading the novel (in a good way that I don’t usually associate with musicals). But KINO hones in – forcing the reader to pause and consider what this man might have become if the rise of Hitler could have been removed from the equation. From there it’s not so hard to make the leap as to how we might behave if the same situation was inserted into our own lives.
Yeah, Fauth has written a novel crowded with ideas.
KINO challenged me all the way to its final, fabulous last sentence. It is absolutely flawless.
Publisher: Atticus Books, Kensington Maryland (2012)
ISBN: 978 0 9832080 7 5