The Prepper Room (Dedalus Europe) - Softcover

Duve, Karen

 
9781910213728: The Prepper Room (Dedalus Europe)

Inhaltsangabe

The year is 2031 and all the dire predictions of environmentalists are coming true: extreme weather bringing storms, floods and intense heat; and the genetically modified 'killer rape' is rampant everywhere. A rejuvenation pill has been developed but no one is going to enjoy eternal youth for long: the experts forecast that the world's ecosystems will collapse in five years' time.Women have taken over power to try and save the world from the mess men have got it in. But there is opposition in the form of the MASCULO movement that is aiming to reassert male power by violent means if necessary. At the same time apocalyptic sects are proliferating.Sebastian, the central figure in this novel, appears to be one of the good guys, a Greenpeace activist in his youth, he now has an important position in the Democracy Centre. But in his private life he is attempting to restore his male pride: for the last two years he has kept his wife locked up in the cellar. But his attempts to do away with her so he can live with his new love lead to disaster

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Über die Autorinnen und Autoren

Born in Hamburg in 1961, Karen Duve is one of Germany's leading contemporary writers. She has won eight literary prizes, the latest being the Kassel Literature Prize for Grotesque Humour. While working on her books about eating responsibly, in which she tried out a number of ethically based forms of eating, she became a committed vegetarian and a well-known figure on German television arguing, for example, with representatives of the agricultural industry. As well as polemics, short stories and children's books, she has written five novels; one of which, Taxi, has been made into a film.

He has published over eighty translations from German and French, including Gustav Meyrink's five novels and The Dedalus Book of Austrian Fantasy. His translation of Rosendorfer's Letters Back to Ancient China won the 1998 Schlegel-Tieck Translation Prize after he had been shortlisted in previous years for his translations of Stephanie by Herbert Rosendorfer and The Golem by Gustav Meyrink.
His translations have been shortlisted four times for The Oxford Weidenfeld Translation Prize.

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’ve just installed the telephone I found up in the loft, a simple,light-grey device with a dial and no technical frippery – nostand-by mode, no screen, no integrated photocopier with inkcartridges that can only be changed following instructionsin pictures, and, above all, no answerphone. Just a big, oldfashionedreceiver on a sturdy base that can be opened andrepaired by any layman with a simple screwdriver.But when there’s a ring, it’s not this epitome of durabilityand recyclability, that connected my parents to the world inthe ‘60s, but the snazzy, slim, sightly concave egosmart in mypocket, of course, that curse on humanity that forces us to beavailable anywhere, anytime, if we still want to be involved inthings. The fact that it emits the same old-fashioned ringtoneas my parents’ phone merely adds insult to injury.I’m worried it might be someone from the CommunityAssociation. I made the mistake of volunteering to join in thelocal campaign to eradicate the invasive ‘killer rape’ that’sgrowing rampant everywhere. But I know the face on thedisplay from somewhere – the profile of a bird of prey withreceding, greying hair and pouches under his unshaven chin –though I can’t at first remember from where.“Hi, Basti,” the face shouts, “it’s time again. You coming?”Hardly anyone gives their name on the telephone any more.The more tedious the person, the more they’re convinced thattheir ugly mug has made an indelible impression everywhere. I shuggle the image over to the eighty-inch compunicatorover the sideboard, hoping that at least the caller’s name willdisplay, but nothing doing.“It’s me – Norbert! Don’t tell me you didn’t recognise me?Norbert Lanschick. Don’t you remember me?”“Yes… of course… but you’ve…”I leave long pauses between the words in the hope thatNorbert Lanschick will fill them.“Ohlstedt School! Graduation 1981. Has the penny droppednow?”It has. Norbert – Nobby – Lanschick, in those days a spindleshanksso skinny the girls all shouted “Biafra” when he wentpast; above average marks in physics, below average, if any atall, in sport; a bit childish as well, never a girlfriend. Today:marathon runner, lawyer, husband, father, drives a BMW,still boring, still thin, balding. Every five years he organises areunion for our year in Gasthof Ehrlich in order to allow thewitnesses of his wretched youth to become witnesses of hiswonderful transformation. Which doesn’t work, of course.

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