Threads In Dew E-Book

Katja Bohnet

• Herausgeber: Weyward Sisters Publishing
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 38

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2017

Beschreibung

One of the last things you might expect to find coming out of Europe is gritty noir that would give even the best West Coast authors a run for their money. Raw, brittle, dystopian - Katja Bohnet's stories reveal the darkest corners of the human experience, in language that could hardly be more sparse and lethal. A young man, stabbed and wondering why God is living in a room down the hall from him in a third-rate hostel. A couple wandering around an indefinite space between worlds. A woman whose fear of flying escalates sharply in an airplane lavatory. A couple of young adults on an idyllic island in the Pacific, overshadowed by a predatory surfer. With moments of sparkling lyricism, Katja invites us to embrace the rich spaces created by blurring the boundaries between crime, horror, and speculative fiction. But be sure to buckle your seat belt. The ride is a bumpy one that you won't so easily forget.

Leseprobe

About this edition

One of the last things you might expect to find coming out of Europe is gritty noir that would give even the best West Coast authors a run for their money. Raw, brittle, dystopian - Katja Bohnet's stories reveal the darkest corners of the human experience, in language that could hardly be more sparse and lethal.

A young man, stabbed and wondering why God is living in a room down the hall from him in a third-rate hostel. A couple wandering around an indefinite space between worlds. A woman whose fear of flying escalates sharply in an airplane lavatory. A couple of young adults on an idyllic island in the Pacific, overshadowed by a predatory surfer.

With moments of sparkling lyricism, Katja invites us to embrace the rich spaces created by blurring the boundaries between crime, horror, and speculative fiction. But be sure to buckle your seat belt. The ride is a bumpy one that you won't so easily forget.

About the author

Katja Bohnet writes. Born in Mannheim (Germany) in 1971, she pursued film studies and philosophy in college, and now lives somewhere between Frankfurt and Cologne. Travels: a lot. Jobs: a few. Kids: a couple. A former TV writer and moderator with WDR Cologne, she now spends her time making up novels and stories. Her works have appeared in various periodicals and anthologies, including entwürfe, Am Erker, erostepost, und the MDR Literaturwettbewerbs 2013. Her debut thriller novel Messertanz was published in 2015 by Knaur. Katja Bohnets Homepage.

About the translator

With degrees in art history and historic preservation, Rachel Hildebrandt worked as a historical consultant and editor before transitioning to literary translation. She has published both fiction and nonfiction works in translation, including Staying Human by Katharina Stegelmann (Skyhorse) and Herr Faustini Takes a Trip by Wolfgang Hermann (KBR Media). Rachel’s upcoming translations include Fade to Black by Zoë Beck (Weyward Sisters, Winter 2017) and Havarie by Merle Kroeger (Unnamed Press, Spring 2017).

Threads In Dew by Katja Bohnet

translated by Rachel Hildebrandt

THREADS IN DEW

Everyone has to meet their maker someday. It’s just I always thought that was only a joke.

The salt from countless margarita glasses has coated my tongue. I slurp, swallow, but the taste lingers. You never have enough saliva in the morning. I try to stop my thoughts.

San Francisco. California, USA. We got here yesterday. Hitchhiked. Some trucker picked us up. We don’t have much with us by this point. Our backpacks have grown emptier over the past few weeks. We eventually ran out of money to keep them full. My jeans are stiff with dirt, my shirt has spots. I sniff the fabric. Alcohol, sweat and me. That is the extent of me, my shirt, my smell. And that is enough to bring me back to the here and now. I open my eyes: park, grass, tree. The sun in dusty strips, like light trails slipping between the leaves. My backpack is still here, under my head. Fucking uncomfortable. Now my shoulders ache. My back, my ass, my calves are damp. The morning dew crept between the threads. I stand up and look around.

Conny. I still can’t understand why he goes by a girl’s name. You can get used to anything eventually, I guess. He’s still asleep, so I nudge him with my foot. But all Conrad Meyer does is flip over. A sunbeam hits me right in the eye, blinding me momentarily. Here I am, standing in this shitty city, in this shitty park, and I still have no idea where I really am.

“ID?”

Conny and I set our passports on the counter. The guy has insisted that he has to write down our passport numbers himself. Maybe working in a hostel has made him suspicious. We say nothing as we watch him type the numbers into the system, his greasy hair creating a curtain between him and us. Nobody needs pens anymore these days. The counter: wood. The wall behind the guy: wood. The ceiling: wood. It couldn’t get any uglier than this. We only stay in the cheapest dumps.

He hands us a key without looking up again. “Third floor, Room 356. On the left, at the end of the hall.”