That’s part of my job: reading and answering letters. I get a lot of letters, mostly beautiful, sometimes ugly, and very rarely even threatening. But what I like most are the letters from young people who (have to) read my books at school. Not because they are the friendliest, on the contrary. But because they don’t mince their words. An astonishing number of them go something like this: “Dear Ms. Moser, I have to give a lecture about your book for school. Unfortunately I cannot find a summary on the internet. So what if you would briefly describe the content to me? What is the central conflict in the story? Which are the most important characters? » And, my favorite: “Which literary period would you assign your work to?”
I admit that I get a bit strict then. “Read first, then ask,” I reply. But if someone has read a book of mine and asks specific questions about it, then I answer too. Always, and gladly. Unfortunately, mostly not as expected of me. Because writing a book and interpreting it are two activities so different that you could almost say they don’t have much to do with each other. While I am often impressed and irrationally proud of the subtle connections that are discovered in my lines, I can hardly ever explain them – because I was not aware of them. I think precious little when I write. I let myself go, I follow the figures. Did Irma kill her ex-boyfriend, the professor, or was it really just an unfortunate accident with an iron? I dont know. Really not! Sometimes I think … and then again … In any case, Irma never showed me clearly. Otherwise I would have described it.
My favorite question, however, is: “Ms. Moser, why are there no normal people in your books?”
At first I reacted indignantly. My characters are like my children, I don’t take it when they are misunderstood or criticized. And they also seem quite normal to me. After all, my stories reflect the world as I experience it. They are populated by people who are familiar to me. And that’s why I soon found it more interesting to ask. “What does normal mean, what do you mean by that?”
However, I never got a clear answer to that. Apparently nobody really knows what is normal.
“Okay, what is wrong with my characters?”
“Well, they are …” They are old, young, unemployed, single parents, employed, divorced, homosexual, they have incurable diseases and unfulfilled wishes, are passionate, loyal, lonely, quarreled, non-conformist, marginalized … Here comes quite a bit together. These lists strike me strangely. Isn’t that the roller coaster of life? Don’t we all sometimes stand on the sidelines and watch the others? Isn’t that … normal? My characters are perfect, colorful patchworks of contradicting individual parts, like all of us, like me.
When I listen to this list, it hardly seems possible that anyone could live up to the demands of normalcy. Who is as smooth as a mirror, so without cracks and scratches? I definitely don’t. However, I often hear, with a slight undertone of astonishment, that when you get to know me, I’m actually quite normal.