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Glossen 27
David Colclasure Turn-of-the-millennium New York City is the setting for Angela Krauß's Milliarden neuer Sterne[1], a narrative text reminiscent in at least one central regard of the author's earlier Die Überfliegerin[2]: the first-person narrator leaves a home in East Germany oppressively laden with the past and journeys westward, in search of the dynamism, energy and freedom of spirit traditionally associated with the New World. Less than half the length of its already short 1995 predecessor, the text is rich in complex, associative connections, as Katja Hilbert notes: „51 Seiten bloß, aber der Text zwischen den Zeilen beansprucht ein Vielfaches an Raum für sich und somit ein dickes Quantum Lesezeit. [...] Dahinter kann man eine ausgetüftelte Komposition entdecken, bei der jedes Wort seine Aufgabe im Gesamttext hat."[3] Critics of the text were quick to dismiss Krauß's text as having fallen prey to and advancing age-old clichés of Old World vs. New World and a childish, idealistic enthusiasm for the Manhattan metropolis. Alexandra Kedveš, for example, writes: „Die gefährlich grossen Worte, den gefährlich kleinen-will sagen: pubertären-Rausch scheut die 1950 in Chemnitz geborene Angela Krauss, die Autorin der feinen Beobachtung, des verspielten Details, offenbar nicht."[4] The narrator's account of her urban experiences and reflections on her own psychological transformation in the city are in fact much more nuanced and ambivalent than they might appear at first glance, however. I will argue here that Krauß's text, taken as a whole, presents a highly differentiated and occasionally ironic account of a transatlantic search for spiritual liberation and sensual stimulation. In the end, Krauß's narrator, despite her enthralled embrace of the forward-looking orientation to the future that she discovers in America, is torn between the forgetful "lightness" and energy of youth that she finds in New York City and the downward pull of collective history and subjective memory she knows from her home. The account begins with the narrator's arrival in New York. The premise of the text itself is nothing exceptional, but Krauß's execution is certainly notable, as Heinrich Vormweg states: „die Erzählerin Angela Krauß ist immer für eine Überraschung gut."[5] Only retrospectively does the narrator recount the events leading up to her departure for America. It is in Neu Kynitzsch (NKY), her hometown in East Germany, where the narrator's longing to visit the Manhattan metropolis had first taken hold of her: „Eines Morgens, es war am ersten Oktober, wachte ich auf und vermisste New York."[6] The sudden urge to fly away is the result of an instinctual reflex, the culmination of a dissatisfaction with a life that looks continually to the past. Just as the narrator in Die Überfliegerin, who, in a sudden eruption of activity, tears off the sheets of wallpaper in her apartment, the accreted layers of subjective memory and collective history connected to her surroundings, only to fly off to America, the NKY native feels suddenly drawn to New York, away from her mother, and toward an abstract promise of fulfillment. It is no coincidence that the first of October is also her mother's birthday. This parting from her mother replays (vicariously) the separation of mother and daughter at birth, and the daughter's turn from familial connections to a wish for self-fulfillment in the outside world. The yearning for New York is, however, of a particular sort: „Mein Verlangen nach New York war elementar, so dass es nicht nur meine Überlegungen, sondern auch meine Phantasie auslöschte. Es war die Essenz des Verlangens: es war abstrakt."[7] This desire-as-such which takes hold of the narrator is one and the same as the instinct that motivates her action: not a decision, rather an impulse, her flight from home is portrayed as fundamentally existential: the target of desire-as-such is not New York City, but what New York represents to her. Already here, with the typical motive of leaving the Old World for the New, Kedveš finds the author headed for the banal: „Aber vielleicht sollte die 1988 mit dem Ingeborg Bachmann-Preis ausgezeichnete Prosa-Autorin mit dem Talent fürs Lyrische, fürs Überraschende lieber doch von daheim erzählen, wo Kenntnis das Klischee gar nicht erst aufkommen lässt."[8] But it essential to look beyond the narrative premise and instead to the literary execution to evaluate the originality of the text. As we shall see, Krauß's narrator paints anything but an idyllic picture of life in NYC. At very least, it must be said, the narrator's fascination with NYC is bifurcated, an ambivalent amalgamation of appeal and repulsion. The lights of Manhattan, visible from the narrator's elevated vantage on the arriving airplane, a „Perlenteppich [...] ein längliches, funkelndes Glasperlenornament,"[9] are the obvious object of her reference to the „Milliarden neuer Sterne" discovered by astrophysicists in Munich shortly before her departure from home. And just as the appearance of empty space gives way to a freshly uncovered part of the universe for the scientists, so, too, does the narrator's preconception of New York dissolve in the face of reality: „In der Nacht des ersten Dezember betrat ich New York, die Stadt, von der ich mir jahrzehntelang Vorstellungen gemacht hatte, eine komplette Architektur, aufs sorgfältigste, liebesvollste arrangiert. Sie zerfiel zu Nichts."[10] With the unusual use of the verb betreten -- this is the first sentence of the text-in the context of the narrator's arrival in the city, the reader gets a first sampling of Krauß's novel use of spatial metaphors. Jürgen Kaube, in his severe critique of Krauß, sees in this first sentence the first of many missteps in the text: „[e]s stehen [...] so auffällige Stilblüten und Stilfehler in diesem Text, dass nur eine ganz ungewohnte partielle Sprachfinsternis im Hause Suhrkamp oder eine Blendung durch die Erscheinung der Autorin erklären könnte, wie man darauf kam, einen Separatdruck in dieser Gestalt zu empfehlen."[11] What this type of critique overlooks, at least in its reference to the first sentence of the text, is the fact that the metaphorical use of betreten in describing her arrival in the city reveals the narrator's preoccupation with the relation between subjective experience and the massive scale of the city. The point behind the use of a verb -- betreten-normally reserved for describing entrance into a smaller, enclosed space -- is that trying to „take in" a city of the dimensions of New York involves an impossible geometry, a disproportionality between subject and object that is enormous, but nevertheless attempted in some sense through the narrator's aesthetic account. In this vein, Vormweg notes: „New York wird nicht zum Objekt von Erkundungslust, vielleicht ist die Stadt zu gewaltig. Und doch im unsystematischen Erleben der Erzählerin, in der spontanen, unstillbaren Vibration ihres Staunens, ihrer hingegebenen Wahrnehmungen, Gefühle, und Gedanken ist die Stadt ganz da."[12] The text's central motif of expectation and excitement -- „Erregung, Erwartung"[13] -- has its place in the text from the very beginning of the narration: „Den ersten, der dir begegnet, wirst du zum Manne nehmen! dachte ich."[14] After her first night's sleep the narrator fills her apartment's electrical outlets with the numerous white adapters that she finds in a chest of drawers: „So zugerüstet stand ich vor der Zukunft."[15] Kedveš, in her critique of Krauß, disparages the logic of Krauß's imagery here: „solche Stellen schrammen doch hart an der Grenze des Lächerlichen vorbei."[16] But the androgynous adapters, equipped with both „male" and „female" connectors, are not only a fitting allusion to the libidinous nature of the narrator's expectations of her new environs, but also symbolize her general receptivity to her foreign surroundings: these devices represent the adaptive interface between NYC and NKY. The narrator's accentuation of the motif of expectation and future in her new surroundings is then associated with youth: „Die Erwartung wirft sich allem entgegen, was vorn liegt, kurz: Jugend auf der ganzen Linie."[17] Youth, in turn, is what characterizes the New World for the narrator. With „Change the game"[18] the narrator summarizes the reason for her travel from NKY to NYC. The variety and hectic nature of life in NYC is contrasted to the sluggish pace of life and fixation on the past in NKY. Indeed, to the extent that the text expresses an enthusiasm for what the city represents to the narrator-dynamism, energy, and an optimistic orientation to the future-the characterization given by the writer for the Kölner Stadt-Anzeiger of the text's thematic core is accurate: the text represents „[d]er American Way of Life in die ostdeutsche Seele übersetzt."[19] The pull of NYC for the narrator is precisely its foreignness, its unfamiliarity, and the disorientation it evokes. While taking her first walk through the city, the narrator fears „die Fremde vor mir könnte irgendwann verschwinden, es könnte einmal alles bekannt sein vorn, nichts Unbekanntes mehr, das heißt, keine Zukunft. Ich meine, Tod auf der ganzen Linie."[20] Brought into clear relation to her home in NKY, as opposed to the „youth" that characterizes NYC, the reference to death characterizes the aversion to the unfamiliar and lack of anticipation of the future the narrator finds in her compatriots at home. The „Vorwärtsrollen [...,] Vorwärtsstürmen"[21] in NYC is brought into direct opposition to the languishing stasis in NKY. Just as in Die Überfliegerin, the reader is confronted with the ambivalent stance of the narrator vis-à-vis the physical phenomenon of entropy. The dynamism and energy of the metropolis are embraced here -- „[u]nd so finden wir auch hier den Trost der Entropie"[22] -- but they also disorient, fragment perception, and isolate, as we shall see. The narrator's fascination with the unceasing mobility of the New Yorkers is exemplified in her constant spectatorship of the jogging that takes place on the roof of a neighboring building. The description of the runners here at times borders on the comical, however: „eine Person von gewaltigem Umfang [kletterte] aus der Luke und [arbeitete] sich, von der eigenen Fülle gebremst, zur Außenbahn hin, indem sie ihre Masse nacheinander rechts und links nach vorne riß, diesem Drall sofort mit Armen und Schultern gegensteuerte, was sie, auf der Außenbahn angelangt, mit einem kaum sichtbaren Beschleunigung in unerschütterlichem Rhythmus einfach fortsetzte [...]."[23] This depiction of the portly jogger suggests another side to the narrator's admiration for the seemingly ceaseless, energetic movement of the city's inhabitants: awkwardness, inefficiency and lack of control. But the fragile equilibrium observed in the joggers' course along the rooftop running track corresponds to the disorientation felt by the narrator herself in her movement through the city. A dichotomy of momentum and inertia is mapped onto the division between the subjective and objective worlds: „Entweder rennen in der Menge und die Gedanken bei einem ruhigen Gegenstand verweilen lassen oder stehen bleiben, zwangsläufig ein Hindernis bilden und die Gedanken schießen lassen."[24] In describing her inability to think while moving or move while thinking, the narrator underscores a mutual exclusivity of mental and physical activity. Yet her description also refers back to the earlier association of NYC with dynamic mobility and of NKY with static contemplation. Despite the sensual appeal of the city's bustling activity, the aesthetic experience of the city extends to include the ugly: „In kleinen Formaten ist industrielle Verwahrlosung vertrauter. In so riesigen Abmessungen [ist sie] ein Angriff auf das Nervensystem [...]."[25] Here the ugly side of NYC is brought into contrast with the beauty at home in NKY: „In NKY war immer auch viel Schönes zu entdecken."[26] But more importantly, the stark difference in the aesthetic experience of the two locations has to do with their geometric proportions. The overwhelming dimensions of NYC bring about a kind of agoraphobia in the narrator: „ich [muß] immer wieder kleinere Räume aufsuchen, um mir die Stadt zusammenzusetzen. Wenn ich die Gestalt eines Straßenzugs im Geiste nachgestellt habe, gehe ich wieder hinaus und bewege mich schon etwas sicherer, die Proportionen suchen jetzt schon ein Verhältnis zu mir."[27] What began as an absorption in the „billions of stars" of the New York skyline has become dread of the limitless space they inhabit: „Kein Dach über dem Kopf. Den Elementen des Räumlichen schutzlos ausgesetzt. Verzweifelte Suche nach angemessenem Obdach."[28] As the days pass, the narrator gradually develops a new sense of self, but one uncoupled from memories of her life at home, which begin to fade: „Immer öfter kann ich mich an nichts mehr erinnern. Gelingt es mir doch, so gefällt mir in dieser Stadt nichts mehr."[29] Compared to Rome, where she sought to touch everything, the enormous dimensions and estranging geometry of NYC correspond to the frightful anonymity of the urban visitor: what began as an exhilarating forgetfulness through immersion of oneself in the lights of the metropolis has turned, at least temporarily, into an alienation from oneself, a healthy amnesia gone too far. The forgetting of self is indeed a phenomenon that the narrator observes throughout the city: studying subway passengers, people of diverse races, the narrators notes that they all have in common the fact that they are on the run: „jeder auf seiner eigenen, lang geplanten Flucht, auf der er sich von nichts und niemand würde hindern lassen."[30] The flight from oneself that unites the mass of strangers is further evidenced by their attire: they are in costumes, „denn sie wollten nicht erkannt werden."[31] Herself infected by a swelling desire to disguise herself, the narrator longs to become absorbed into the masquerading, urban masses: „Heute ahnte ich, was mir fehlt: das Kostüm. Eine Verkleidung, mit der ich mich unter die Leute mischen kann, ohne sie mit mir selbst zu erschrecken."[32] Here, for he first time, the narrator falls into the collective orgy of consumption: earlier purchasing nothing, „[v]om Nötigsten abgesehen,"[33] she now submits to the frenzied rituals of holiday shopping, buying a new hat as part of her new costume, avidly gawking at the foods on display at delicatessens, and purchasing expensive foreign soaps and perfumes. Consumption is discovered as her connection to the life of the city, and, moreover, it creates identity via the gaze of and recognition by others: „Ich hatte beschlossen, Geld zu haben, und gleich waren alle Angebote, Blicke, die gesamte Installation aus belebtem und unbelebtem Inventar an mich gerichtet. Ich war gemeint."[34] Manuela Reichart, in her review of Krauß's text, correctly identifies this passage as the point at which the narrator believes to gain genuine access to the community of New York natives: „der sie plötzlich überfallende Kaufrausch [erscheint ihr] als endgültiges Ankommen und Aufgenommenwerden."[35] And to the same extent that it satisfies the fundamental need for identification through others, it serves as an sublimated manifestation of basic libidinal urges: „Kaufen veränder[t] den Hormonspiegel, es [ist] sexuell, es befriedig[t]."[36] The expectation and excitement that the narrator experienced when first arriving in her New York apartment, in part libidinal, as evidenced by the reference to male and female „genitalia" of the electrical adapters awaiting complementary devices, has found some at least temporary gratification. But money is not only the means of psycho-libidinal satisfaction through consumption. Indeed, it is also the key to knowledge of and access to the future: „Ich habe alles ersparte Geld genommen, um in den letzten Tagen dieses Jahrhunderts die Zukunft zu studieren, was mir am ersten Tag des künftigen einen Vorsprung verschaffen wird. Deshalb bin ich hergekommen."[37] And for this lesson the narrator is willing, thanks to a newly found optimism, to endure the annoyances of the everyday in her new surroundings: „[N]ichts, was mich deprimieren kann, ist mir zugänglich, weder die Enge des Dialekts noch der Ausdruck der Routine, die ewige Wiederholung abgestandener Gedanken, die hundert kleinen Zeichen der Geheimnislosigkeit."[38] Her perceived liberation from the strictures of a home fixated on the past comes at a price: the demystification of the unfamiliar and the ubiquity of the banal. This seems to be a price which the narrator is willing to pay, however: „so bedeutungslos war mir die Zeit dort drüben geworden, die nichts als Vergangenheit hervorzubringen schien, seitdem alle vom Jagdfieber auf die Zukunft erfasst worden waren."[39] Yet the flight from home westward and into the „future" in NYC is not a search for comfort in the big city, for a transitory escape in the anonymity of the urban masses: „Man kommt nicht nach New York, um sich wohl zu fühlen, hatten sie mir gesagt, sondern um sein Ziel zu verfolgen."[40] The specific „goal" in changing her orientation from backward-looking to forward-looking is to attain, through the wearying psychic work of the urban experience, a certain weightlessness, an enduring, emancipatory perspective on herself that will allow her to free herself of the baggage of subjective memories and the shared collective history of her homeland: „[u]nentwegt muß man sich verdienen, was man ersehnt. Verdienen durch Erschwernis, Mühe, Leistung, Pein, die ich unentwegt erfinde, um dem einzigen Ersehnten näher zu kommen: Leichtigkeit."[41] As her narration progresses, the narrator indeed seems taken in by her own fantasy of attaining psychic freedom in the Manhattan metropolis. „I like you, I love you!"[42] she calls out to passers-by on the street, and states in all simplicity her growing fondness for the city: „I like New York."[43] For several days an avid spectator of the flurry of joggers and rollerbladers throughout the city, the narrator herself joins the exhibition of physical activity. She joins a health club and herself begins running on a treadmill: „Ich gehöre jetzt dazu!"[44] The others exercising becomes a screen for the projected desires of the narrator's fantasy: the basketball players she observes are „die größten und schönsten jungen Männer aller Rassen, [die] mit einem schwarz-weiß getupften Ball herumalberten,"[45] and the swimmers she glimpses are „ jung, weich, glücklich, gedankenfrei."[46] Her earlier slogan „Jugend auf der ganzen Linie" manifests itself here again, to the extent that youth, expectation and excitement are associated with freedom from mental preoccupations. As with her earlier inability to move through the city and think at the same time, the active again wins out over the contemplative. This time, however, the narrator, herself now part of the public display of bodily exertion, finds her insight into the open-endedness of the future and the cyclical nature of history disconcerting: „die Welt erweist sich hier rücksichtsloser als anderswo als Welt ohne Anfang und Ende. Diese Tatsache ist bei gleichzeitiger körperlicher Bewegung noch schwindelerregender als im Ruhezustand."[47] Complementing the sense of continuous movement and the transitory nature of experience in the urban setting are the considerable number of fleeting personal acquaintances that the narrator makes during her visit to NYC: the lawyer she meets in Central Park who invites her to dinner, only to disappear when she hesitates in her answer; Bob from the health club, with whom she goes out for pizza and who is unprepared to engage in anything other than small talk; the Russian gentleman whom she finds sitting alone on a park bench and who suggests she accompany him on a trip to Bowling Green, offers to be instant friends, and then invites her to the his home in a building filled with Russian immigrants taking languages courses in English; Lena, the daughter of the Russian man, who accompanies the narrator to the subway and sees her off after a brief conversation, never to be seen again. The Russian gentleman is in fact the only figure besides her health club compatriots whom the narrator sees more than once. While in his home, she meets his family, including three daughters who, one of them a trained child psychologist, can find no work in the city besides house-cleaning. The narrator remarks about the celebration of Christmas that is beginning in the home: „Weihnachten gehört in eine andere Welt, ich vermisse es nicht. Ich bin endlich in der Gegenwart angekommen,"[48] again referring to the past-present(future) dualism characterizing the relation between the Old World and the New World in her mind. Yet Lena's remarks in her conversation with the narrator while she waits for the subway reveal the flipside of the exhilarating life in the moment that urban life offers: „[I]ch habe ein neues Leben, das wahre Leben. Im wahren Leben ist jeder fremd. Jeder ist allein, verloren. Jeder ist wie ich."[49] The atomization of community, the disjointedness of individuals in the urban setting, in "real life" as Lena describes it, is the result of precisely the dynamic energy, forward-orientation, closure of history and parting from burdensome memory that the narrator sought in her visit to NYC. She sees this on the one hand as a kind of liberation: Die Ereignisse, in die ich normalerweise durch Sehnsucht, Erregung und Erwartung verwickelt werde, bleiben neuerdings selbständig, und ich bleibe es auch. [...] Ich bin frei von etwas, das ich mein bisheriges Leben lang für meinen Charakter hielt. Ich bin frei von der Welt der anderen. Ich fordere keine Gemeinsamkeit mehr. Ich erwarte nichts Passendes. Ich respektiere das Andere. Ich verfalle nicht in Mitgefühl. Ich ersehne endlich nicht mehr die Einheit der Teile. Ich habe das Ganze aufgegeben. Leichtigkeit hat von mir Besitz ergriffen: At the same time the narrator describes her attainment of „freedom", her autonomy as an agent unbound from the constraints imposed by personal history („Charakter") and collective history („Gemeinsamkeit"), she also begins to perceive this newfound independence through the palpable energy and momentum of the city as giving rise to a kind of isolation, a detachment and dissociation from others that induces giddiness and frightens her intensely. It is precisely the flipside of the enthusiasm for the „freedom" from community and one's past self, the much-praised „ freedom" of the American Way of Life as lived in NYC that Frauke Gosau sees as bringing Krauß's portrait full circle, to a critique of the blindness of the ideal: „Und könnte sie, volle Kraft voraus, gleich mitten hinein segeln ins Klischee: New York! Die Neue Welt! Alle Wetter! Wie leicht könnte das passieren, hätte Angela Krauß nicht so arglistig naiv schon von Anfang an alle Muster ausgebreitet, über die Ottilie Normalverbraucherin ihrer Desillusionierung durch die selbst in New York normal dreckige, widerspenstige Wirklichkeit entgegenstolpern würde. Aber nicht hier."[51] In this sense, even the above passage, seemingly infused with passion, must be read as conveying a certain degree of irony. The flipside of this passionate embrace of freedom in the entropic existence of urban life, the sense of panic and psychic entrapment mentioned above, is illustrated exemplarily in the penultimate scene of the text, which takes place in the subway on New Year's Eve 1999, shortly before midnight. On her way to meet her new friends in order to watch the fireworks near the Brooklyn Bridge herald the start of the new millennium, she becomes quite literally trapped in the subway tunnel. Suffering what can only be described as an anxiety attack, the narrator, after waiting too long in the train which she had taken to her intended destination, ends up at the wrong station, must quickly take other trains, and, in a disoriented flurry of activity -- midnight is quickly approaching -- runs from locked exit to ticket booth to locked exit and back. In the faces of the other passengers and the police and train personnel working at the subway station whom she asks for help she encounters only silent, blank stares. Isolated and alone she is prepared to admit defeat: „Ich hatte verloren. Ich sah meine neuen Freunde irgendwo weit oben rennen, durch ein Lichtermeer, unter einem Sternenregen, mit sieghaft hochgeworfenen Armen in das neue Jahrtausend hinein und immer von mir weg."[52] But at last she finds one sympathetic face in the crowd, and follows her new guide up the long stairway and finds her way in the right direction toward the bridge, where she manages to join the crowd just in time for the start of the firework display, a spectacular display of light. After having rung in the New Year and the new millennium in grand style, the narrator heads back to her New York apartment. In a state of simultaneous tiredness and alertness, she pronounces one last time her enthralled passion for what the city represents to her: „Ich ging durch die Nacht, [...] abwesend und hellwach zugleich und mit allen Gedanken das Ungreifbare umfangend: Zukunft."[53] The text's final description of NYC is ambivalent, however. Vormweg observes this in his positive review of Krauß's text: „[das ist ein s]chönes Bild der Zukunft. Doch es hat seine Ambivalenz."[54] This ambivalence evidences itself as the tenuousness of the city's allure becomes clear to the narrator one final time, when an after-party sobriety and somberness set in: „New York war klein, vertraut, ziemlich schäbig, vom Größenwahn erschöpft und sehr tröstlich. Es hatte sich für ein paar Stunden völlig verausgabt."[55] In this personification of the city one finds all the ingredients of Krauß's ambivalent presentation of NYC, and, more generally, of the ideal of life in the New World, which is the actual object of her exploration: what had been massively grand has become small, what was unfathomable is now knowable, what gleamed as would a billion stars is now lackluster, what had (over)stimulated is now soothing, and what seemed to possess inexhaustible dynamism is now spent. But it is not only at the end of her text that Krauß's narrator reveals the split character of her fascination with the Manhattan metropolis. Throughout the text, the reader finds instances of commentary on the effects of immersion in the life of the city: what is a healthy forgetfulness, an invigorating release from personal and collective history, is also a disoriented amnesia; what is an energizing autonomy, an independence from the demands of others, is simultaneously an impoverishment of interpersonal relations, a go-it-alone mentality, an isolation and solitude, to whatever extent is may reflect „real life", as Lena puts it. Reichart discerns this underside of the ideal of the „free" life, the life of limitless opportunity, in the New World: „Krauß entwirft [...] das Porträt eines Orts, dem unendlich viele Sehnsüchte gelten, und der doch den wenigsten Neuankömmlingen mehr bietet als das pure Überlebenstraining und den Selbstbetrug."[56] Indeed, this critic goes so far as to equate Krauß's representation of the narrator's visit to NYC with an factually accurate and unqualified condemnation of the „free" life in NYC: „am Ende ist es eine Schreckensvision, eine, deren Wahrheitsgehalt man keine Sekunde bezweifelt, denn die Autorin ist -- durch Stil und Genauigkeit der Beobachtungen -- eine beglaubigte Zeugin der viel besungenen Stadt."[57] Given the narrator's depth of affirmation and energetic engagement with the city and its inhabitants, however, it is difficult to support this latter assertion. But recognizing the textual basis for this claim, the numerous instances of ambivalence and, occasionally, of irony, in the narrator's account, is essential for understanding the rich and multifaceted makeup of Krauß's representation of the scintillating visage of New York City: a supernova, a single star, possesses a luminosity on the order of a billion suns, outshining for a short time an entire galaxy, but its brilliance quickly fades as it exhausts its energy in its spectacular display of light.
Notes
Bibliography ceg. „Angela Krauß sieht Sterne." Kölner-Stadt-Anzeiger. Beilage. 13 October 1999. Nr. 240. Gosau, Frauke Meyer. „Alle Wetter: die Neue Welt. " 11/12 December 1999. Nr. 6014: 26. Hilbert, Katja. „Versprechen in der Luft: auf den Text zwischen den Zeilen kommt es an: Angela Kraus' 'Milliarden neuer Sterne'." Saarbrücker Zeitung. 1 February 2000. Nr. 26: 16. Kaube, Jürgen. „Perlenteppich der Dunkelheit: Betreten: Angela Krauss bestaunt instinktiv die Adapter." Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung. 28 December 1999. Nr. 302: 447. Kedveš, Alexandra M. „Sternschnuppen." Schweizer Monatshefte. 80.6: 45. Krauß, Angela. Milliarden neuer Sterne. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp, 1999. ---. Die Überfliegerin. Frankfurt a.M.: Suhrkamp, 1995. Reichart, Manuela. „Von Neu Kynitzsch nach New York." Berliner Zeitung. 2/3 October 1999. Nr. 230: 9. Schütz, Erhard. „Ich verlange Glück." Freitag. 8 October 1999. Nr. 41: VII. Vormweg, Heinrich. „New York, die Zukunft." Süddeutsche Zeitung. Beilage. 13 October 1999. Nr. 237: V1/2.
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