The titles of Susan Kreller’s former books point to the award-winning author’s literary preferences and strengths: “Snow Giant”, “You Can’t See Elephants” and “Electric Fish.” They are concrete and paradoxical, metaphors for situations or conflicts that cannot easily be resolved. Despite their vividness, they always leave open questions and along with them a lingering uncertainty. There are no happy endings in Susan Kreller’s novels which is why they exert such a hold on their readers.
Her new novel: Das Herz von Camp-Cornell (“The Heart of Camp-Cornell”) is no exception! Even the opening is unique: a letter that contains only two words turns into the catalyst for four sisters, who have not spoken with each other for years, to move back into their parent’s gigantic home along with their children. Their dying father still lives on the state, but the reasons for his poor health remain seemingly obscure.

The reason the four women have decided to return with their five children is only hinted at. Perhaps it has something to do with their dramatic childhood in that eerie family home. Other mysterious figures and events bewilder the reader and terrify the family: a secret meeting at night with a spiritist, a labyrinthic garden that has no entrance, inscrutable initials that appear on the walls, power failures, an “unused room”, an enigmatic cemetery gardener and a ghost-like figure – all familiar subjects of the horror genre.

While the mothers remain silent, keep their heads down and ignore the strange incidents, the children attempt rather helplessly to shed light on the darkness. The events drag on for months, time seems to stand still, “is stretched out”, and normal everyday life – schools or jobs – is almost completely ignored. The future remains as unclear as the past, and every day feels as if it were the “calm before the storm”. The storm that eventually does arrive reveals a terrible, albeit unrealistic secret that might seem rather harmless to the reader.

In contrast to her previous novels, Susan Kreller narrates the story from the perspective of a seasoned omniscient narrator who consciously directs, questions, comments and reflects on the plot, who anticipates events and portrays her characters, all of whom are somewhat fragile or damaged, in a rather detached manner. Although this narrator takes time for a detailed description of dialogue, situations and emotions, she remains vague, leaving out crucial information for the reader. On the one hand, this creates a stimulating dramatic tension, yet on the other seems a bit contrived. Despite all the vagueness, there is always a subtle, sometimes even wicked humor that adds a spark of light to the complicated, ambiguous plot.

Susan Kreller tells her uncanny story creatively and trenchantly, painting impressive images, finding astonishing comparisons and idiosyncratic metaphors. Time and again, phrases such as “The month of March all across the sky” or “Her voice [...] flickering with sad determination” make for a gripping read. She palpably gets to the heart of emotional and physical states, wordplays take words at their word and shake things up. Susan Kreller’s language is the opposite of smooth, it flickers and somersaults, brushes reading habits against the grain and forces us to pay attention.

This multilayered, suggestive and linguistically complex story will certainly pose a challenge for translators. Situated between thriller, horror, and family drama, it not only transcends genres, but also transcends the language and tone of typical young adult novels. Ambiguities, subtleties and neologisms sometimes give the impression of being somewhat mannered, nonetheless they always are interesting and often even fascinating. Just as the solution to the whole mystery – depending on your taste and reading habits – may seem slightly overconstructed or completely logical, it always remains entertaining.