A Gloom of Her Own
Inteview by DEBORAH SOLOMON
Were you surprised when you won the Nobel Prize?
Of course. I was convinced that, if Austria was to get it, it would go to Peter Handke, and rightly so.
Why are you skipping the award ceremony in Stockholm on Dec. 10?
I would attend the ceremony if I were able to. But unfortunately I'm mentally ill with agoraphobia. I'm unable to be in crowds, and I can't bear to be looked at.
That seems surprising for a writer known for her socially pointed works, including your new play, ''Bambiland,'' with its references to Abu Ghraib.
I consider the current presidency to be dangerous to the world. I am really afraid of Bush, actually less of him than of the deputies standing in the shadows behind him. Compared to their activities, even Thomas Pynchon's paranoid conspiracy theories are just children's books.
Why do you suppose European artists are so much more politically engaged than American ones?
The smaller a group, the easier it is for more people to argue and enter into discussions. The U.S. is vast. It's too large. The intellectuals hide out in enclaves, in big cities or universities, like a bunch of chickens hiding from a fox.
Much of your criticism has been aimed at your native Austria and its ''criminal'' Nazi past.
In Austria, a rather authoritarian Catholic country, the role of the social admonisher traditionally fell to artists because there were no great political thinkers.
Yet your novels, like ''Lust'' and ''Women as Lovers,'' focus on sexual politics.
I describe the relationship between man and woman as a Hegelian relationship between master and slave. As long as men are able to increase their sexual value through work, fame or wealth, while women are only powerful through their body, beauty and youth, nothing will change.
How can you cling to such dated stereotypes when you yourself are acclaimed internationally for your intellect?
A woman who becomes famous through her work reduces her erotic value. A woman is permitted to chat or babble, but speaking in public with authority is still the greatest transgression.
You're suggesting that your achievements, like winning the Nobel Prize in Literature, detract from your overall appeal.
Certainly! A woman's artistic output makes her monstrous to men if she does not know to make herself small at the same time and present herself as a commodity. At best people are afraid of her.
Is there any point in life when a woman grows too old to care about attracting male attention?
Yes, of course. But the tragedy begins when a distinguished older woman becomes a slave to a younger man.
This is the story you tell in ''The Piano Teacher,'' which was based on your own life. You trained as a musician and lived with your hypercritical mother in a house in Vienna.
I still live in that house, but my mother died four years ago. I used to commute back and forth between Vienna, where we lived, and Munich, where my husband lives. I still do it that way. A tale of two cities.
Why doesn't your husband move to Vienna to be with you?
Because I need to have a second home in another city. I have to be able to escape from Vienna as often as I like. That's why the home in Munich is almost more important to me than it is to my husband, who is fond of Munich because he grew up there.
Would you like your work to be more widely read in the United States?
Yes, that would be very nice. Americans would understand my irony and wit because, well, there is still a Jewish culture. Here, and especially in Germany, people hardly understand me because this Jewish world was destroyed by the Nazis. So I'm falling between all stools, as we would say here. People here no longer understand wit, and people in America don't understand the language in which I'm writing.
Have you ever visited the United States?
No, never. It's very difficult for me to travel and particularly to fly. Perhaps I'll take a boat to New York City one day. I'm just afraid that the speed and noise would make me mad as soon as I set foot on land.
Post je objavljen 26.11.2004. u 18:57 sati.