While We Were Dreaming

‘On reading Clemens Meyer’s debut novel, it is impossible not to draw the comparison with another coming-of-age-novel, Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting. It has the same power, the same narrative virtuosity.’ — Santiago Artozqui, La Quinzaine littéraire ‘A beautiful debut on friendship, boredom and hope…. Meyer manages to bring to life a hazy and complex period of history.’ — Pierre Deshusses, Le Monde ‘It is breathtaking in its power, in its harsheness, and tenderness. It reminded me of Jean Genet’s Miracle of the Rose.’ — Marine de Tilly, Transfuge ‘A book like a fist… German literature has not seen such a debut for a long time, a book full of rage, sadness, pathos and superstition.’ — Felicitas von Lovenberg, Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung ‘Meyer has been compared to Salinger, Jean Genet and Dostoevsky – and rightly so.’ — Roberto Brunelli, Il Venerdì/La Repubblica ‘Still a literary revelation fifteen years after its publication. No other book describes the attitude to life of an entire generation in East Germany more authentically and precisely.’ — Esquire ‘[H]ypnotic prose… this suburb is the whole world.’ — Paolo Giordano, Corriere della Sera Praise for Dark Satellites ‘Figures from society’s margins are at the centre of the stories… Dark Satellites throws a perceptive light on circumscribed lives on the edges of Europe.’ — David Mills, The Sunday Times ‘Meyer’s snapshots of urban life — a burger bar, a fairground wheel, a neglected train station — are so vivid they make you see your own surroundings in the light of those faraway buildings.’ — Anna Aslanyan, Spectator ‘Meyer’s writing is brittle, laconic, clear, intense – and once again on top form. Short stories are clearly his forte. He finds memorable images for his themes: a dance without music in an unused Russian canteen; a midnight haircut; a man who slides into another WHILE WE WERE DREAMING CLEMENS MEYER Translated by KATY DERBYSHIRE CONTENTS TITLE PAGE CHILD’S PLAY ALL THE LOVELY LANDMINES PALAST-THEATER RAYS THE BLACK HOLE THE BIG FIGHTS CHIPS AND KETCHUP ALWAYS PREPARED THE RETURN GREEN NIGHTS INJURY TIME ZEITHAIN JUVENILE CUSTODY CENTRE ALL MY WOMEN EASTSIDE STORY IN THE SILVER SLOPE TATTOO-THILO MONGRELS SHOTS RETURN, GOODBYE GREEN PASTURES BIG DIPPER BOY RACER MEETINGS JOB CREATION SCHEME HOUNDDOG HEART ICARUS GOODBYES WHEN WE WERE REPORTERS ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS ABOUT THE AUTHORS COPYRIGHT CHILD’S PLAY There’s this nursery rhyme I know. I hum it to myself when everything starts going crazy in my head. I think we used to sing it when we hopped about on chalk squares, but maybe I thought it up myself or dreamed it. Sometimes I mouth it silently, sometimes I just start humming it and don’t even notice because the memories are dancing in my head, no, not just any memories, the ones of the time after the Wall fell, the years we – made contact? Contact to the brightly coloured cars and Holsten Pilsener and Jägermeister. We were about fifteen back then and Holsten Pilsener was too bitter for us, so we’d usually drink local. Leipzig Premium Pilsener. It was cheaper too, seeing as we sourced it straight from the brewery’s backyard. Mostly at night. The Leipzig Premium Pilsner Brewery was the epicentre of our neighbourhood and our lives. The wellspring of long drunken nights in the suburban cemetery, endless orgies of destruction and dances on car roofs in the Bockbier season. Original Leipzig Pilsener let loose our bottled blond genie, who grabbed us by the hair and lifted us over walls, magicked cars into flying machines and lent us his carpet to float away on, spitting down on the cops’ heads. Usually, though, those strangely dreamlike flying nights ended