In the chaos of stories reclaiming the debauche and the rush, Berlin-based British-Ugandan writer Musa Okwonga is genuinely using the city setting for a deeply personal search. A resident of Berlin since 2014, he declared in an interview somewhere that this is the city where ´people end up who didn´t feel like they fit in anywhere else´ (and at a certain extent I can relate).
This query is set into the literary language, mixing prose and poetry, relating about living in the city in order to define their own moments. There is a curiosity and an expectation about this search, but all the doubts and questioning do melt into love. Just love.
I´ve read the book in the German translation - Es ging Immer nur um Liebe by Marie Isabel Matthews-Schlinzig - but I usually consulted the original English version.
Berlin may not be a friendly city, and it´s not a place to find love either, but it´s a city where one can find one´s place. A place to love oneself and come at peace with your past - in the case of the author, the circumstances of his father death, in Uganda, in an aparent airplane accident - and evade your present.
Out of the latest books about Berlin I´ve read - and not necessarily enjoying it - this is one of the most genuine rendition of this crazy cold and loveless city, where you don´t have anyone else to love but yourself.
Rating: 5 stars
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