Herbert Achternbusch

“I am a grave from which life rises. You can think this once, but only once. I love these thoughts. But I also fear them. They scare me. This is my life. Another thought emerges after escaping from the wintery sadness onto the highway to Verona: I look out to the gyrating Padan Plain and feel like it’s Birkenau.
When I was asked after an Italian performance of “Susn” in Turin if there was a Herbert in my new play of 1994, I denied it slightly embarrassed, slightly surprised, slightly disconcerted. Is he confusing me with someone? To let it rest I can say that my uncle Herbert, who died 65 years ago, suffocated at the age of eight from the same illness I nearly suffocated from at the age of six. Whatever could be confused here has more to do with my life than I wanted it to or realised it to be. And again, I had to think of Susn. Didn’t she steal all my vitality? But then Paula came and I thrived again. For the first time, I felt like I didn’t have to give way to life again. (Herbert Achternbusch)