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The Fabric of Night
By one of the most promising novelists in Germany today, The Fabric of Night is a frightening, profound reflection on the nature of illusion and reality.Albin Kranz is a sculptor, haunted by hallucinations and by painful memories of his childhood. At her wit’s end, Livia, a photographer with whom he has lived for five years, suggests that they go to Istanbul to give there love one last chance. There, he witnesses a murder. But like one of Hitchcock’s desperately misunderstood characters, Albin can’t persuade anyone of what he saw, nor find any proof. His quest for truth takes him into the slums of the city and deep into the mysterious, exotic Eastern culture few Western visitors ever penetrate. The Fabric of Night is a psychological drama, a nightmare, and a double tale of disintegrating love.
321 pages, Paperback
First published January 9, 2007
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About the author
Christoph Peters
59 books17 followersChristoph Peters wurde 1966 in Kalkar am Niederrhein geboren. Seine Kindheit verbrachte er in dem Dorf Hönnepel. Von 1977 bis 1986 war er Schüler am bischöflichen Internatsgymnasium Collegium Augustinianum Gaesdonck. Von 1986 bis 1988 leistete er Zivildienst in der katholischen Hochschulgemeinde Mainz. Von 1988 bis 1994 studierte er freie Malerei an der Staatlichen Akademie der Bildenden Künste in Karlsruhe, unter anderem bei Horst Egon Kalinowski, Günter Neusel und Meuser. 1993/94 war er dessen Meisterschüler. Von 1995 bis 2000 arbeitete er als Fluggastkontrolleur am Rhein-Main-Flughafen in Frankfurt. Im Jahr 2000 zog Peters von Mainz nach Berlin. Dort lebt er als Schriftsteller und Zeichner zusammen mit seiner Frau, der Schriftstellerin Veronika Peters, und der gemeinsamen Tochter (*2003). Er ist Mitglied des P.E.N.-Zentrum Deutschland.
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
May 8, 2011
This is one of those books that if you start trying to explain what happens in it to someone else, it sounds kind of interesting and possibly enjoyable. An artist couple from Germany who are vacationing in Istanbul in a last-ditch effort to save their unhealthy relationship when the man (a 28-year-old sculptor) witnesses the apparent murder of an American businessman in an adjacent hotel. However, when he runs over to sound the alarm, the desk clerk insists that no one of that description is staying at the hotel, and thus the sculptor starts sleuthing. Sounds like a classic Hitchcock story, doesn't it?
However, the sculptor is an alcoholic, somewhat manic, an entirely unreliable narrator, and his voice occupies every other chapter, often in rambling stream of consciousness gobbledygook. Meanwhile, the other half of the chapters revolve around a group of German art students who are exploring the city with their professor and end up linking up with the sculptor and his girlfriend. Their perspective is narrated by one of the students, who is recounting the trip's events much later. The result of all this is a story that is constantly shifting underfoot and very hard to settle down with. When done right, that kind of approach can be very enjoyable, however, here it just feels annoying.
The author appears to be toying around with notions of illusion vs. reality, but that theme has been bludgeoned to death in the last ten years of fiction and film, often in far more entertaining and illuminating fashion. In an interview, he also claimed to be making some kind of statement about how the West views Turkey (all the Turkish characters are portrayed as exotic Eastern "types" such as the haggling rug merchant, the crafty and dangerous gypsies, the inscrutable and possibly cunning hotel clerk, etc.) However, it's hard to understand what the point of such games are in the context of an already chaotic story. But the biggest problem is that there is no one to connect to, even peripherally. The sculptor is a self-destructive menace, and the students are generally interchangeable ciphers. Unless you're really interested in unreliable narrators in fiction, this book has little to offer.
However, the sculptor is an alcoholic, somewhat manic, an entirely unreliable narrator, and his voice occupies every other chapter, often in rambling stream of consciousness gobbledygook. Meanwhile, the other half of the chapters revolve around a group of German art students who are exploring the city with their professor and end up linking up with the sculptor and his girlfriend. Their perspective is narrated by one of the students, who is recounting the trip's events much later. The result of all this is a story that is constantly shifting underfoot and very hard to settle down with. When done right, that kind of approach can be very enjoyable, however, here it just feels annoying.
The author appears to be toying around with notions of illusion vs. reality, but that theme has been bludgeoned to death in the last ten years of fiction and film, often in far more entertaining and illuminating fashion. In an interview, he also claimed to be making some kind of statement about how the West views Turkey (all the Turkish characters are portrayed as exotic Eastern "types" such as the haggling rug merchant, the crafty and dangerous gypsies, the inscrutable and possibly cunning hotel clerk, etc.) However, it's hard to understand what the point of such games are in the context of an already chaotic story. But the biggest problem is that there is no one to connect to, even peripherally. The sculptor is a self-destructive menace, and the students are generally interchangeable ciphers. Unless you're really interested in unreliable narrators in fiction, this book has little to offer.
March 6, 2010
This book's premise sounds intriguing: a young German man goes to Istanbul with his girlfriend, and witnesses a murder, but no one will believe him, and the murder was covered up so well that there was no record of the victim ever being in Istanbul. The witness decides to investigate on his own; meanwhile, his girlfriend takes up with a German art student who is also in Istanbul on vacation.
Unfortunately, the book was written in a style that made very little sense. The author employs two different narrators, who narrate alternating chapters. However, at times the narrator gives a first-hand account of things he could not possibly have seen. Also, there are long passages that attempt to wax profound, but generally sound very silly. Finally, the plot is not tied together very well at the end. It seemed like the author didn't know how to write an ending.
Unfortunately, the book was written in a style that made very little sense. The author employs two different narrators, who narrate alternating chapters. However, at times the narrator gives a first-hand account of things he could not possibly have seen. Also, there are long passages that attempt to wax profound, but generally sound very silly. Finally, the plot is not tied together very well at the end. It seemed like the author didn't know how to write an ending.
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews