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Robert Menasse Austria PWF 2017, 2006, 1997
Always one step ahead—Robert Menasse is always game—turning the hermit kingdom of Vienna into a bowling alley. Never mind social climbing—his delirious fictional narratives, essays, natural hatred of nationalism and love of Brussels leave one gazing at an obelisk saluting his roots in Alexandria.
For Hegel—“the human being dies out of habit.” But Robert Menasse is habit-forming—habitual—a wine testifier of ancient times. Born in 1954 in Vienna, he studied philosophy, taught briefly in Brazil, returning to Vienna to debrief loneliness and alienation.
“It is difficult to change yourself—difficult to change your surroundings—it’s difficult to change the world.”
Visibly the most prominent writer of his generation—Robert Menasse’s work leaves an indelible mark: Wings of Stone; Happy Times, Brittle World; Sensual Certainty; Reverse Thrust; The Expulsion from Hell; Don Juan, Man of La Mancha; Enraged Citizens, European Peace and Democratic Deficits; and The Capital.
In 2017 he was awarded the Deutscher Buchpreis for the novel The Capital.
Robert Menasse resides in Vienna.
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Robert Menasse in conversation with Michael March
04.02.2008 Interviews
I think Robert Menasse lives in Vienna - at least he pretends to live in Vienna - often found in his studio, a transformed bordello with Genet's blessings, near an old market-place.
Robert Menasse: Forever Young
25.01.2008 Readings
My father was horrified when I told him that I wanted to get married and that the date and place had already been fixed. He shook his head with his typical facial expression, a mixture of disgust, incomprehension, and resignation. As long as he put on this face with me, I knew that, in his eyes, I still couldn’t be seen as an adult.
Robert Menasse: Long Time No See
25.01.2008 Readings
When I see an abstract picture, all I see is an abstract picture. A Rorschach test evokes in me nothing more that the recognition of a Rorschach test. When I see a floating maiden, I see a woman who seems to float with the help of a magician’s various hidden technical safety measures. It is for his skill of making these safety measure invisible that the magician is paid so that, here too, I can trust my eyes. And with regard to the lasting plausibility of the small world in which I live, any sense that my eyesight might be impaired couldn’t possibly arise. I don’t know all possibilities. But when I see one, I know it’s real.
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