I will go on chasing butterflies forever. Their colors in motion, their vibrant playfulness. Waiting patiently to capture such fleeting moments.
For all the tea and flowers in China: «Il botanico inglese» will be published in Italy on September 26th.
Where yesterday, today and tomorrow meet, time becomes space. That`s where the stories are, waiting to be told.
And to the ends of the world.
Available from tomorrow in German: the beginning of the saga around the four ice barons Katya, Grischa, Christian and Thilo.
My song of ice and snow and the sea. And of Hamburg as it once was.
Home again. Blisters on my feet after having walked for kilometers in my characters’ shoes, mind and heart full of fresh impressions, images and thoughts. With research material, some nostalgia, my favorite coffee and this beautiful Tibetan guy to watch over the new manuscript and new ideas.
This weekend, during a short roadtrip to the Swabian Jura. I not only marveled once more at how the bleeding heart, originating in China and brought to Europe by “my” botanist Robert Fortune around the middle of the nineteenth century, has become so typical for German cottage gardens.
I also thought about how this flower with its tiny tongues or flames (therefore sometimes also called flaming heart in German) corresponds with the spirit of Pentecost, for me the feast of inspiration and creativity, of a fresh wind and new beginnings. Especially this year, on the first pages of the next novel while brooding over new projects.
The power of creation, in every sense.
While summer has finally arrived, my mind is fully occupied with the beauty of snowflakes.
Over the years, I’ve read several novels by Herman Wouk, but this one holds a special place in my heart.
Back when I was a teen, it was a favorite of both my mother’s and mine, countless times we used to borrow this 1983 edition from our local library. Mostly in summer, as it seems in hindsight. Endless and hot summers, at least that’s how I remember them, and sometimes we discussed Marjorie Morningstar well into the night. Without ever reaching common ground, we were like fire and water.
When I was eighteen, my mother died. Not long afterwards, I managed to get hold of this – our – copy at the local library’s sale.
I haven’t read it ever since. But it still is one of my most precious treasures.
Konstanz lies in Westeros: discovered yesterday at Agip gas station