Every Sunday, and every day between 22:00 and 6:00, Berlin is peacefully quiet, or is at least supposed to be, yet sounds remain. Some recklessly, and some with permission. Construction halts, but the birds step in to fill the empty sonic space. Trams hum. Outside my window voices carry on. I wake up many a
I only ever knew Clare Wigfall’s work on paper, so seeing my former creative writing professor read a story, microphone in hand, lit up in the far corner of the lowered stage, I was struck by the realization that creating a story could exist outside of just writing one. “What makes a story?” I thought,
Berlin is fondly known for its thriving international culture amid traditional German establishments. Moving here two years ago, I knew I would be able to find books in English, but it took me a while to feel out Berlin’s literary scene well enough to know where to wander for a book that would interest me.
“We walk in the shadows in giants,” I tell my friend Laila, before realizing that this isn’t the phrase. It’s ‘stand on the shoulders of giants,’ isn’t it? I don’t think they noticed. Either way, the accidental adaptation is a fitting one for what we’ve just witnessed—a multi-media spoken word event in which the two
During a niveous day of winter break, my friend from BCB, experienced racism at a bar in Berlin. Let’s pseudonymously call my friend Sam. Sam told me that they were out with a friend touring the city when they decided to stop by a bar for a beer. So stop they did, in a bar
I walked into the Pierre Boulez Saal on a chilly Saturday night, I found my music class among the crowd and exclaimed to them, “Everything around here looks so new!” I’d just walked over from the U2 stop at Hausvogteiplatz and was surprised by the tall, modern buildings, smooth concrete, and shops that seemed to
I have often wondered if places hold traces of the past beyond the past’s material inscription. If the pain or joy of a family who has moved out of a house still resides there in some ineffable way. If tragedy stays somewhere in those walls. If memories float through the hallways. Or maybe, the presence
A photographer ventures into the woods to capture the façade of a sweet little white house. The house belongs to a friend, and it’s his first visit and he’s immediately attracted to its postcard geometry, and how, in some strange way, the posture confirms something about his friend’s character. Turning back to the house, his