I think about the feeling I've developed for the former German Democratic Republic. It is a country which no longer exists, but here I am on a train hurtling through it — its tumbledown houses and bewildered people. This feeling needs a sticklebrick word: I can only describe it as horror-romance. It's a dumb feeling, but I don't want to shake it.
Sunday, February 24, 2013
The Horror-Romance of Flint
I'm reading Stasiland: Stories from Behind the Berlin Wall by Anna Funder. This line reminded me of Flint. Not all of Flint, but a part of it, the part where my memories of the place meet the reality of present day.