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Ein abendlicher Trunk, ein harmloses Gespräch, mehr hatte dem leutseligen Clarin nicht vorgeschwebt, als er sich dem Fremden auf der Terrasse des Bellavista-Hotels vorstellte. Doch sollte sich bald herausstellen, dass Loos nicht der Partner für den erwartet netten Plausch war.

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Clarin dämmerte - diesen innerlich Zerrissenen würde er so schnell nicht mehr loswerden! Get A Copy. Hardcover , pages.

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View 2 comments. Modern Swiss literature often seems to revolve around business flights, five-star hotels, misdemeanours among C-suite executives and what — to summarise crudely — you might dismiss as first-world problems. In the best cases something like Max Frisch's Homo Faber , we see how fragile this lifestyle really is, but in other cases one is uncomfortably aware of a sort of haze of affluence that somehow keeps Swiss lit out of the first rank although there's no intrinsic reason why it should. There is Modern Swiss literature often seems to revolve around business flights, five-star hotels, misdemeanours among C-suite executives and what — to summarise crudely — you might dismiss as first-world problems.

There is nothing wrong with this book, but it did have me thinking about these things. Taking place within the space of a single weekend, on the terrace of a luxury hotel in the Ticino, it takes the form of an intense interpersonal thriller, in which everyone has their secrets and the drama emerges from conversational manoeuvres and unspoken assumptions. Two men who appear to meet by chance; a discussion that appears to flow at random; suspicions and wild surmises that build to a crescendo.

It has a nice mood and a good line in cynical philosophising, although the big twist at the end was something I guessed halfway through, and I am usually pretty dense about such things.

View all 5 comments. Mind games What a joy, when the visitors have all left, to be able to ensconce yourself on the sofa with a good book and no interruptions and read straight through in one take. Thanks for making the dinner luv.

No surprise then, that this tale wheels around the vexatious question of who to trust, who to believe, who is leading us a merry dance and, more vexatious still, to what purpose? Clarin, a young lawyer, has retreated to his shared holiday h Mind games What a joy, when the visitors have all left, to be able to ensconce yourself on the sofa with a good book and no interruptions and read straight through in one take. Clarin, a young lawyer, has retreated to his shared holiday home in Tessin over Whitsun to write up a piece for a legal publication on the history of divorce law in the different Cantons of Switzerland.

On his first evening he goes down to Montagnola for dinner at the Belle Vue and meets there on the terrace an older gentleman, a curmudgeonly type who is still working through the tragic loss of his wife. Clarin likes to see himself as a bit of a rake, cynical about the chances of any marriage lasting longer than it takes for the bridal bouquet to wilt. They lock horns over the state of the world and modern life, over communications and capitalism, over loyalty, harmony, forgiveness and Windows They meet again the next evening.

Now their conversations turn to the anecdotal. To women. And sex. And death. Two men, talking. Sounds dire, especially as they never even get on to football. But the text is as intoxicating as the Merlot bianco the men consume in no small quantity. There is an ease and breadth in their talk, as wide and open as the vista of the Collina D'Oro and Lake Lugano that surrounds them. Velvety and rich like wine, clean and bracing like the landscape.

They are good company. Ironically combative, courteous and expansive. Until the next night, when Clarin's hangover has made for a lost day of work and accompanying dissatisfaction and resentment at the older man's invasion of his time. But unable to resist all the same. There is something uncanny about the man. He can read Clarin like an open book. And knows precisely how to tease out what he wants to know. Maybe because Dr. Faustus haunts my dreams at the moment, I see devilish characters wherever I turn.

However this is a reversal of the Faustian myth, even if the conversations remind me of the meeting between Leverkühn and Lucifer, the deal is quite a different one. Here the devil has not conferred anything. On the contrary, he has been robbed. He is not offering knowledge or talent in exchange for Clarin's soul. He is taking revenge.

This is not Faust, this is the second circle of hell, where those who lust will be tossed back and forth by winds forever. A true circle, the end takes us to the beginning again. Clarin will not escape from this torture. It will go on, and on. And on. View all 6 comments. Aug 26, Michael rated it did not like it Shelves: abandoned. Nur wenige Bücher bereiten mir solch regelrecht körperliches Unbehange wie dieses. Ich habe jeden einzelnen Satz dieser Dummschwätzerei gehasst. Warum ich meine Schelte auf eine ganze Nation ausdehne?

Ganz einfach, sonst würde ich üble Gewaltphantasien gegen den armen Kerl von Autor entwickeln. View all 20 comments. We had to read Am Hang. Our edition was the cheapest because the book was tiny. The itty-bitty hardcover book was intriguing to me because of its size and the slight shimmer of the front cover. But the most interesting part was when our teacher, Mrs.

That peaked my interest. I knew her well enough to know that there was a reason for NOT to finish the novel during summer holidays so she probably meant it as an experiment based on the content of the novel. I was not prepared for what came.

One sunny day I decided to start reading the novel. I put on shorts and a bikini top, prepared my iced tea, some fruits, and water for my reading arrangement on the balcony, lay on the sunlounger and began the most exciting ride of my life! Dare I say, it was boring? Yes, I do dare.

So there he was, the womanizing Clarin, sitting on the terrace of the Bellavista Hotel drinking and reminiscing about his life and success with women. His ego was enormous, the story apparently nonexistent, and my confusion big.

Öffentliche Träger von SchweizMobil

What is this novel about? Loos, an older man, soon engaged him in a conversation and the two men talked about everything and nothing. Lots of trivial things, some personal things, accounts on women, life, and other mundane peculiarities. Loos tells the story of a woman who got struck by lightning while she was in the park because of the metal underwire in her bra. Was this a joke? A big ruse from the author?

Or was he trying to evoke depth and fail miserably like Martin Suter does? What time is it?

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