And perhaps they do exist, these almost historical moments, in which opposites collapse into each other. Such moments are very short. Perhaps they take place during an exchange of glances at the subway platform. And it sometimes happens that someone falls onto the tracks and gets under the wheels of the train and disappears. And so, this monologue forces two voices into one body. There is always one voice too many, a superfluous voice, more than one body can bear. Until the end, when order reigns again, when this brief historical moment has never existed and one has rid itself of the superfluous ones.
The lonely woman, who, like a black, strange ghost, stood in front of a white horizon, barricaded behind a furious, childish, noisy, and hateful world-fear, rages against everything outside her home and safe nest—she seems to be two people. On the one hand, a heartless blabbermouth without any social safeguards or contacts, a sister of Beckett 's Krapp. An old woman who listens to her own last, absurd, long, deadly, disinfected tirade—a woman permeated by a second voice...
Der Standard, 15.10.2011
Nun liegen auf Palmetshofers rhythmisch hübsch schnurrendem Text [...] ein paar Tonnen Sekundärliteratur: von Ulrich Beck aus abwärts immer nur das Beste.
Die gesellschaftliche "ewigliche" Krise schimmert in dem dichten textgewebe durch, und doch verzichtet Palmteshofer nicht auf Ironie und mitunter recht süffisanten Humor.