Hinter dem Bahnhof

"Protocol, says my brother. By the time we’ve walked through the whole village, we’ve counted twenty-five houses, eight barns, a car garage, a motorcycle garage, the train station with the post office, two wells with dates, the Halla and the Buda from Tat, a phone booth, Mena’s kiosk, and four waste containers. When we reach the other edge of the village, we walk through it again and count the people who live there. We must not count the Marionna from the village shop, who does not live in the village, nor the Tonimaissen, who stands at the train station counter but also does not live in the village. There are forty-one or forty-two inhabitants. We don’t know if Tini Blutt is one person or two. We still need to find that out." It is a small place that Arno Camenisch focuses on in his successful book Sez Ner, a small village in a narrow valley between high mountains – and yet the hardware store and the hair salon, the train station and the regulars' table at the Helvezia encompass the whole world, where everyone and everything has its place and name. It’s about the knocking of teeth and the trains that run down the valley once an hour, about Jass cannons and village trumpets, about the pig from Adolfdallamaria and the egg liqueur from the poet, about the grandmother who stands crooked, and about the grandfather's coffins. It is a child who sees this familiar yet strangely skewed world of adults, his direct gaze creates closeness, and his carefree attitude masks the abysses that open up here. Camenisch’s second book also captivates with the music of his language, where humor and seriousness, tenderness and robustness intertwine, creating lasting and touching images. Arno Camenisch describes loss and decline in his own distinctive way, with atmospheric depth.