"my grandmother has a high, rapid way of speaking, a child’s voice, and for a long time i was convinced that every one of the little curls clinging tightly to her head was one of her words."

~   jenny erpenbeck, the book of words
jenny erpenbeckthe book of wordsvoicegrandmotherchild's mindnaivecurl
17th Aug 2010✧22:30

"only from the outside, from the street, do i hear something like the roiling of water in which there are a great many fish packed in so tightly they keep bumping together and the water is bubbling and seething with fish and brown from the mud stirred up by them, the water keeps rearing up in countless silvery bodies as if the water itself were a body nipping at itself and breathing with a thousand wide-open mouths, and in this way, i assume, it is making this sound i have never before heard, that today is striking our house from the outside."

~   jenny erpenbeck, the book of words
jenny erpenbeckthe book of wordsgermantranslationwaterfishseethingsoundoceanbody of waterthousandsfear
17th Aug 2010✧22:09

"my father takes me on his lap. he rocks me back and forth, softly singing the song of our homeland, a song in a minor key, my and my father’s song, we often sit together like this, but while he is really singing, i release my breath only on certain notes, as the desire strike me, very softly…this too pleases him and me. i sing him my notes quietly against his skin from the outside, into his throat, while at the same time i am listening through his shirt and shoulder to the blood circulating inside my father. again."

~   jenny erpenbeck, the book of words
jenny erpenbeckthe book of wordsgermantranslationfatherdaughterrockingsinginglullabyone
17th Aug 2010✧22:06

"my grandfather seems to be staring right through the wall of the church and grinding something massive with his iron jaws, perhaps he’s clearing land in his thoughts."

~   jenny erpenbeck, the book of words
the book of wordsjenny erpenbeckgermantranslationnaivegrandfatherclearinggrinding
17th Aug 2010✧22:03

"the sea, she says, carries off everything you throw in it, quicker than you can imagine. my father knows all about current, i say. i see, the woman says."

~   jenny erpenbeck, the book of words
jenny erpenbeckthe book of wordsoceancurrentchild's mind
16th Aug 2010✧19:58

"am i made of paper, i ask my mother. [she] laughs, of course not. if i were made of paper, first my dress would catch fire, then my legs, then my arms, then my head, basically all the parts farthest from the center, and only then would my stomach start to burn, and the little pink buttons above my heart, and finally the heart itself, the most interior part of me. all these things would turn black and keep flying up into the night as long as they continued to smolder, and only after the air had cooled them down would they return to earth in a rain of ashes. but i am not made of paper, my mother repeats. nonetheless she pulls me away any time i want to touch fire."

~   jenny erpenbeck, the book of words
jenny erpenbeckthe book of wordsfirepapermade of paperheartburningchildrenbook
16th Aug 2010✧19:55

"and then all the horses ran over my mother. with their hooves. my mother was an indian, anna says to me. i don’t say anything. she climbed over the fence to feed her horses, she says, and then he very own horses trampled her to death. just imagine, anna says to me. i imagine this, and then say to my friend: i think that’s a good way for an indian to die. i think so too, anna says."

~   jenny erpenbeck, the book of words
jenny erpenbeckthe book of wordsbookquotehorsesindianfriendtrampledchildrentranslationgerman
16th Aug 2010✧10:30

"my father says these words behind a closed door in our house, at the time the door still looks huge to me, i imagine what would happen if it were to fall on me while i am pressed against it, listening, wonder whether i’d be crushes flat, through the door the smell of tobacco is filtering into the hall- everyone- and whether it would make a noise when it fell on me, or whether a door like that falls quietly upon a body made of flesh."

~   jenny erpenbeck, the book of words
bookgermanjenny erpenbeckthe book of wordstranslationdoorfleshcrushed
16th Aug 2010✧10:24

"with lilies o’erspread, she sings. but lilies are for funerals. not these lilies, she’d say if she saw the words were making me cry again, they aren’t real lilies at all, they’re just lilies-of-the-valley for faeries to sleep under. but tonight it’s already too late for crying, i’ve traveled too far into the land of sleep to turn around, and they aren’t lilies-of-the-valley, they’re real lilies that someone i don’t know is going to lay on my coffin and nail it shut as i sleep. lay thee down now and rest, she sings. she pulls the blanket up to my chin and turns out the light. the coffin nails scrape my skin, lots of little bloody wounds. may thy slumbers be blessed. and what if they aren’t blessed? then i’ll remain lying here in my coffin-bed forever. may thy slumbers be blessed. and the drops of blood will turn to stone."

~   jenny erpenbeck, the book of words, translated from the original german in 2007
bedtimecoffinjenny erpenbecklilieslittle girlmorbidprayersthe book of wordsthoughtsgerman
15th Aug 2010✧00:29
Opaque  by  andbamnan