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Rave
»Rave erzählt Geschichten aus dem Leben im Inneren der Nacht. Was machen diese Nachtlebenleute eigentlich, wenn sie da jedes Wochenende irgendwo zum Feiern gehen? Sie hören Musik und tanzen. Sie gehen aus zum Abfeiern, Aufreißen und Ausrasten. Sie betreten finstere Löcher, da, wo über der Türe das Schild hängt: wissen, wer ich bin. -Wer bist du? - Schließlich war das Ding kaputt genug. Ich konnte darüber schreiben. Böse Geschichten von Freundschaft und Liebe als Verrat der Liebe, Abrechnungen, Argumente, Sex. Kaputte Szene. Wohin soll das führen? - Irgendwo schleppt sich zu jeder Stunde ein von einem solchen Wochenende im Exzeß brutal : Zerstörter auf den ganz normalen täglichen Menschenstraßen endfertig dahin. Heimlich hält er Ausschau nach einer Zeitung, um zu erfahren, welcher Tag heute ist. Und er liest da die Worte: ›Komm her, Sternschnuppe !‹ Klingt doch gut."
272 pages, Paperback
First published March 29, 1998
105 people are currently reading
1983 people want to read
About the author
Rainald Goetz
26 books76 followersRainald Maria Goetz is a German author, playwright and essayist.
After studying History and Medicine in Munich and earning a degree (PhD and M.D) in each, he soon concentrated on his writing.
With his first works, especially his novel "Irre" ("Insane"), published in 1983, he became a cult author for the intellectual left. To the delight of his fans and the dismay of some critics he mixed neo-expressionist writing with social realism in the vein of Alfred Döblin and the fast pace of British pop writers like Julie Burchill. During a televised literary tournament in 1983, Goetz slit his own forehead with a razor blade and let the blood run down his face until he finished reading.
Goetz made his name as an enthusiastic observer of media and pop culture. He embraced avant-garde philosophers like Foucault and Luhmann as well as the DJs of the techno movement, especially Sven Väth.
He kept a written a daily diary, or blog, on the web in 1998–99 called Abfall für alle ("trash for everybody"), which eventually was published as a book.
Goetz won numerous literary awards.
After studying History and Medicine in Munich and earning a degree (PhD and M.D) in each, he soon concentrated on his writing.
With his first works, especially his novel "Irre" ("Insane"), published in 1983, he became a cult author for the intellectual left. To the delight of his fans and the dismay of some critics he mixed neo-expressionist writing with social realism in the vein of Alfred Döblin and the fast pace of British pop writers like Julie Burchill. During a televised literary tournament in 1983, Goetz slit his own forehead with a razor blade and let the blood run down his face until he finished reading.
Goetz made his name as an enthusiastic observer of media and pop culture. He embraced avant-garde philosophers like Foucault and Luhmann as well as the DJs of the techno movement, especially Sven Väth.
He kept a written a daily diary, or blog, on the web in 1998–99 called Abfall für alle ("trash for everybody"), which eventually was published as a book.
Goetz won numerous literary awards.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 108 reviews
July 12, 2021
EDIT: Hab meine Meinung zu diesem Machwerk geändert: Ist immer noch nicht mein Buch, sehe aber das innovative Potential. Mehr dazu in unserer neuen Podcastfolge.
Dr. med. Dr. phil. Rainald Maria Goetz ist sicher ein Spitzentyp und weiß Bescheid etc., aber dieses Buch nimmt sich selbst unangenehm wichtig und ist gleichzeitig zum Schreien belanglos, so dass sich der geneigte Leser irgendwann wünscht, sich doch bitte auch ein bisschen mit Drogen vollballern zu dürfen, um den Hirnschmerz zu betäuben. Goetz stolpert durch die Münchner Rave-Szene der 90er und zündet dabei, den Chronisten-Hut auf dem Kopf, ein milieu- und ortsspezifisches Namedropping-Feuerwerk ab, das quasi ausschließt, dass dieses Buch jemals übersetzt wird (wenn Ihr nicht wisst, wer im Goetz-Kosmos z.B. Max und Moritz sind, könnt Ihr das Buch eigentlich eh gleich vergessen, hier wird nämlich ganz sicher nix erklärt, denn Zielgruppe: Bescheidwisser (Auflösung übrigens: Westbam und Moritz von Uslar)).
Inhaltlich kreist alles um Sex, Drugs und Techno, und formal dreht sich hier auch alles wie ne Platte auf dem DJ-Teller: Es geht rund, aber eben immer schön im Kreis. Das narrative Set besteht aus Cut-Up, Collage und Montage, aber die Verbindung zwischen Text-DJ Goetz und dieser Leserin - und im Aufbau einer solchen kreativen Verbindung besteht ja die, uiuiui, DJ Culture - kam nicht wirklich zustande: Dieses Buch bespricht das süße Party-Leben im Techno-Club und schafft es, dabei wahnsinnig anstrengend zu sein. Und versteht mich nicht falsch: Ich meine nicht, dass das Buch den Leser arbeiten lässt und dann mit Einsichten oder purer Schönheit entlohnt. Es ist einfach nur anstrengend, und das wars dann so ziemlich (selbst der blanke Infogehalt hält sich stark in Grenzen: Goetz danced, nimmt Drogen, kotzt, bandelt mit Frauen an, seine Freunde dito, Ende). Und dann sind da noch die billigen Provokationen: Pädophilie-Sprüche? Echt jetzt, Goetz? Seriously?
Zwei Sterne für die Intention und die formale Traute, aber "extrem geil" bzw. "geil geil geil geil geil" (ja, das steht so im Buch) ist das nicht.
Dr. med. Dr. phil. Rainald Maria Goetz ist sicher ein Spitzentyp und weiß Bescheid etc., aber dieses Buch nimmt sich selbst unangenehm wichtig und ist gleichzeitig zum Schreien belanglos, so dass sich der geneigte Leser irgendwann wünscht, sich doch bitte auch ein bisschen mit Drogen vollballern zu dürfen, um den Hirnschmerz zu betäuben. Goetz stolpert durch die Münchner Rave-Szene der 90er und zündet dabei, den Chronisten-Hut auf dem Kopf, ein milieu- und ortsspezifisches Namedropping-Feuerwerk ab, das quasi ausschließt, dass dieses Buch jemals übersetzt wird (wenn Ihr nicht wisst, wer im Goetz-Kosmos z.B. Max und Moritz sind, könnt Ihr das Buch eigentlich eh gleich vergessen, hier wird nämlich ganz sicher nix erklärt, denn Zielgruppe: Bescheidwisser (Auflösung übrigens: Westbam und Moritz von Uslar)).
Inhaltlich kreist alles um Sex, Drugs und Techno, und formal dreht sich hier auch alles wie ne Platte auf dem DJ-Teller: Es geht rund, aber eben immer schön im Kreis. Das narrative Set besteht aus Cut-Up, Collage und Montage, aber die Verbindung zwischen Text-DJ Goetz und dieser Leserin - und im Aufbau einer solchen kreativen Verbindung besteht ja die, uiuiui, DJ Culture - kam nicht wirklich zustande: Dieses Buch bespricht das süße Party-Leben im Techno-Club und schafft es, dabei wahnsinnig anstrengend zu sein. Und versteht mich nicht falsch: Ich meine nicht, dass das Buch den Leser arbeiten lässt und dann mit Einsichten oder purer Schönheit entlohnt. Es ist einfach nur anstrengend, und das wars dann so ziemlich (selbst der blanke Infogehalt hält sich stark in Grenzen: Goetz danced, nimmt Drogen, kotzt, bandelt mit Frauen an, seine Freunde dito, Ende). Und dann sind da noch die billigen Provokationen: Pädophilie-Sprüche? Echt jetzt, Goetz? Seriously?
Zwei Sterne für die Intention und die formale Traute, aber "extrem geil" bzw. "geil geil geil geil geil" (ja, das steht so im Buch) ist das nicht.
dnf
August 25, 2020DNF @ 104 pages. I gave this a good shot because it is published by Fitzcarraldo Editions who have never let me down before but this was certainly not lighting my fire.
Maybe it's a case of "you had to be there". I am more cakes and libraries than drugs and nightclubs so it could be that if drugs and nightclubs are/were your thing, you might enjoy this. I found it disjointed, tedious, pretentious and full of casual misogyny. Sample paragraph:
And in this way, amid the immediate experience of the thing, and even in the wake of it, in many isolated conversations, a kind of imaginary, retrospective holistic-apprehension-organ constitutes itself for the reception of the newly born and already irrevocably elapsed artwork.
Reading this was like being the only sober person in a room full of people who are high and think their incoherent and dull ramblings are revelatory and profound. Frankly, I'd rather be at home enjoying a nice cup of tea and a slice of cake, thanks.
Maybe it's a case of "you had to be there". I am more cakes and libraries than drugs and nightclubs so it could be that if drugs and nightclubs are/were your thing, you might enjoy this. I found it disjointed, tedious, pretentious and full of casual misogyny. Sample paragraph:
And in this way, amid the immediate experience of the thing, and even in the wake of it, in many isolated conversations, a kind of imaginary, retrospective holistic-apprehension-organ constitutes itself for the reception of the newly born and already irrevocably elapsed artwork.
Reading this was like being the only sober person in a room full of people who are high and think their incoherent and dull ramblings are revelatory and profound. Frankly, I'd rather be at home enjoying a nice cup of tea and a slice of cake, thanks.
May 30, 2023
Rainald Goetz’s ‘Rave’… oooft, this is a tricky one.
As I read it went from initially a 2 star ‘nope, thanks but..’, to 3 stars, then steadily to 4, and by the end I finally loved this book. So 5 stars.
However it is definitely not an easy book, and judging by reviews on here, for many readers it’s a DNF.
It’s technical structure is extremely off-putting at first. It took me several pages at the start just to work out wtf was going on. (Oh, we’re at a rave! Doh!)
But this is not a book about rave culture. Rather it uses rave culture in 90s Germany as it’s vehicle.
There’s no coherent plot, full disclaimer. So let that be the warning. (In fact for the most part all the characters have completely lost their own plot!) As Goetz writes, in real life there is no plot. So, neat.
It’s a tough read. We’re talking Pynchon, possibly with rainbows… though possibly not as accessible. Good luck!
As I read it went from initially a 2 star ‘nope, thanks but..’, to 3 stars, then steadily to 4, and by the end I finally loved this book. So 5 stars.
However it is definitely not an easy book, and judging by reviews on here, for many readers it’s a DNF.
It’s technical structure is extremely off-putting at first. It took me several pages at the start just to work out wtf was going on. (Oh, we’re at a rave! Doh!)
But this is not a book about rave culture. Rather it uses rave culture in 90s Germany as it’s vehicle.
There’s no coherent plot, full disclaimer. So let that be the warning. (In fact for the most part all the characters have completely lost their own plot!) As Goetz writes, in real life there is no plot. So, neat.
It’s a tough read. We’re talking Pynchon, possibly with rainbows… though possibly not as accessible. Good luck!
October 1, 2020
if you wanna understand 90s techno culture don’t read... take pills
February 29, 2024
READING VLOG
*read by someone who actually stays out until the first train in the morning. read this during a Boiler Room weekend.
Proof of when experimental fiction gets too carried away to get to its desired purpose. Or to even be enjoyable.
The whole experience is supposed to follow the very movements of club life. Alcohol flowing. Drugs disrupting. Passing people. All of this movement. But also the lulls. The moments where the brain, out of fatigue, dips into the unconscious. Sloppy sex, sloppy words.
But I said 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰.
Sadly, either in poor translation or Goetz himself, the writing is stiff. It isn't until the last half of the book does the voice carry a momentum with it, a strong sense of self, to carry us to a rather stale end.
I came in expecting 𝘞𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 (2019) directed by Trey Edward Shults. I was expecting movement, to be moved. Sure, I was expecting strangers, people I didn't care about, an isolation. But it's all so cold. Boring. It's leaving the club at 12AM when you came in at 11:57 because you could tell the vibes are off.
Saying it here, saying it now, I'm rewriting this book in the context of Korea clubbing culture now (specifically and respectfully set in contemporary Itaewon for its various and varying clubs) after Hurricane Season by Fernanda Melchor. I came in hoping this would be good research, but all I've learned is what NOT to do!
Thanks Goetz!!!
If you enjoyed this review, please consider purchasing the book through my affiliate link here.
*read by someone who actually stays out until the first train in the morning. read this during a Boiler Room weekend.
Proof of when experimental fiction gets too carried away to get to its desired purpose. Or to even be enjoyable.
The whole experience is supposed to follow the very movements of club life. Alcohol flowing. Drugs disrupting. Passing people. All of this movement. But also the lulls. The moments where the brain, out of fatigue, dips into the unconscious. Sloppy sex, sloppy words.
But I said 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰.
Sadly, either in poor translation or Goetz himself, the writing is stiff. It isn't until the last half of the book does the voice carry a momentum with it, a strong sense of self, to carry us to a rather stale end.
I came in expecting 𝘞𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘴 (2019) directed by Trey Edward Shults. I was expecting movement, to be moved. Sure, I was expecting strangers, people I didn't care about, an isolation. But it's all so cold. Boring. It's leaving the club at 12AM when you came in at 11:57 because you could tell the vibes are off.
Saying it here, saying it now, I'm rewriting this book in the context of Korea clubbing culture now (specifically and respectfully set in contemporary Itaewon for its various and varying clubs) after Hurricane Season by Fernanda Melchor. I came in hoping this would be good research, but all I've learned is what NOT to do!
Thanks Goetz!!!
If you enjoyed this review, please consider purchasing the book through my affiliate link here.
July 15, 2025
Moest er even inkomen maar wat een woooooordenplezier!!! Lievelingszinnen gaan als volgt; “Samen worden de mensen in de zon zelf zomer, de grote zomersom van veel gelijktijdige jaren.” Ooooof “Wanneer de wegen zich van elkaar onderscheiden en ieder wordt wie hij is en altijd geweest is. Hoe alles scherper en preciezer wordt afgebakend, het verwarde geordend wordt, het ambigue verdwijnt, het buitensporige wordt uitgevaagd en er zich dus een leven, een mensenleven aftekent.”
December 19, 2024
Critical rating would be a 3 stars but enjoyment rating would be a 1 star. This was too disjointed for me to enjoy and I found it hard to follow with there being no plot and it being really fragmentary and lacking in any emotional depth. I understand why this was written the way it was, mirroring the feeling of haze and drunkenness that the characters were experiencing and using the fragmentation to show the loss of time and identity, however this made it difficult for me to read and enjoy.
I’ve not enjoyed many 21st century German books in translation at all which is a shame, hopefully there is one I find and like soon.
I’ve not enjoyed many 21st century German books in translation at all which is a shame, hopefully there is one I find and like soon.
June 25, 2020
And suddenly it occurred to me; right, even here, I was the dude who had written Insane. That's even more horrid, that really is idiotic. What a horrid beginning for the story.
The previous translation by Adrian Nathan-West of a Rainald Goetz novel was for me an odd combination of an interesting, and innovatively written, take on early 1980s music (with the author's beloved punk giving over to bland commercialism) and mental illness, combined with some detailed score-settling with, and allusions to, various cultural figures from early 1980s Germany, which made for an odd read in the late 2010s UK. A sort of punk Thomas Bernhard novel but not as successful.
Rave takes us into the 1990s and the techno / rave scene:
SWEET CONFUSION
You’ve got to imagine so-and-so as a happy person.
Who was that again?
We looked around and laughed. Dope music now.
‘Hey! Look!’
I had the sixteenth notes popping superlight in my fingertips, arms thrown out wide. Them too, teeny tiny glittering forward, up, down, cool.
The glistening jewellery shimmered silver.
Schütte to Wirr: ‘Where?’
When a person said the toilets, they didn’t necessarily mean somewhere else. The searcher was calm, even when speaking, interpreter in the wordlessness of faces or gazes. The searcher is there, searching for signs.
Who’s taking what?
Who’s still got some?
Who can still make something happen?
Who’s there?
Who was there. Not me, that's for sure (the 90s techno rave scene was pretty much the antithesis of my milieu), and I suspect you had to have been there to appreciate the book, with the same bewildering array of characters, some clearly based on real figures.
Aftermath.
Hate and hatehate.
'Once the hate machine is turned on for the first time, you can't turn it back off,' Max said recently to me in a Thomas Bernhard tone, totally hot under the collar.
'Precisely'
And I'm afraid this brought out the (never far from the surface) Thomas Bernhard in me.
Hhere you have it,' I murmured, and walked off
‘You know Walking by Thomas Bernhard?' Or Playing Watten?
I do and I'd much rather read them that this techno-Bernhard.
Not a novel for me I'm afraid.
The previous translation by Adrian Nathan-West of a Rainald Goetz novel was for me an odd combination of an interesting, and innovatively written, take on early 1980s music (with the author's beloved punk giving over to bland commercialism) and mental illness, combined with some detailed score-settling with, and allusions to, various cultural figures from early 1980s Germany, which made for an odd read in the late 2010s UK. A sort of punk Thomas Bernhard novel but not as successful.
Rave takes us into the 1990s and the techno / rave scene:
SWEET CONFUSION
You’ve got to imagine so-and-so as a happy person.
Who was that again?
We looked around and laughed. Dope music now.
‘Hey! Look!’
I had the sixteenth notes popping superlight in my fingertips, arms thrown out wide. Them too, teeny tiny glittering forward, up, down, cool.
The glistening jewellery shimmered silver.
Schütte to Wirr: ‘Where?’
When a person said the toilets, they didn’t necessarily mean somewhere else. The searcher was calm, even when speaking, interpreter in the wordlessness of faces or gazes. The searcher is there, searching for signs.
Who’s taking what?
Who’s still got some?
Who can still make something happen?
Who’s there?
Who was there. Not me, that's for sure (the 90s techno rave scene was pretty much the antithesis of my milieu), and I suspect you had to have been there to appreciate the book, with the same bewildering array of characters, some clearly based on real figures.
Aftermath.
Hate and hatehate.
'Once the hate machine is turned on for the first time, you can't turn it back off,' Max said recently to me in a Thomas Bernhard tone, totally hot under the collar.
'Precisely'
And I'm afraid this brought out the (never far from the surface) Thomas Bernhard in me.
Hhere you have it,' I murmured, and walked off
‘You know Walking by Thomas Bernhard?' Or Playing Watten?
I do and I'd much rather read them that this techno-Bernhard.
Not a novel for me I'm afraid.
December 21, 2021
These kinds of books are hard to review. Rave falls somewhere between experimental fiction and stream-of-consciousness ramblings and because it is so different than most fiction, you can't really finish and have the same kind of conversations about it. There is no plot, except when there are a random few pages of plot, but never enough plot to make the book feel like it's "about" anything. Because it's "about" rave culture in the 90s, it's "about" people you probably wouldn't want to spend a lot of time with, it's "about" drugs, it's "about" music & the culture surrounding it, it's "about" writing (mostly for magazines but also novels & diaries) & it's "about" relationships of all kinds (friendships, romantic, between dealers, between DJs & ravers). It is about all of that stuff but for most readers it would be simpler to say it's not about anything & oddly, they would also be right.
I didn't love this book but I didn't hate it & I always felt compelled to keep reading. I did find many lines that I loved & high-lighted & went back to re-read.
I wouldn't blame someone for not liking this book... I would probably expect most readers to dislike it. And while I do think there are books like this that could be written off and dismissed as self-important ramblings that no one needs to read, I don't think this falls into that category. There is something special about the way Goetz strings words, ideas and non-coherent paragraphs together (even in translation) that is worth the time & effort, in my opinion.
"But we're not here to have a good time, we're here to party" was one of my favorite lines and I think is a great example of clarifying intentions - for both the characters in the book and Goetz himself.
I didn't love this book but I didn't hate it & I always felt compelled to keep reading. I did find many lines that I loved & high-lighted & went back to re-read.
I wouldn't blame someone for not liking this book... I would probably expect most readers to dislike it. And while I do think there are books like this that could be written off and dismissed as self-important ramblings that no one needs to read, I don't think this falls into that category. There is something special about the way Goetz strings words, ideas and non-coherent paragraphs together (even in translation) that is worth the time & effort, in my opinion.
"But we're not here to have a good time, we're here to party" was one of my favorite lines and I think is a great example of clarifying intentions - for both the characters in the book and Goetz himself.
August 20, 2025
Hoewel dit boek echt fantastisch taal gebruikt, is het verhaal vaak zòdanig moeilijk te volgen dat het me volledig uit het boek haalde. De manier waarop het boek geschreven is, wil de chaos en de snelheid van het feesten en gebruik weergeven maar daardoor wordt het vaak redelijk onleesbaar. Heel fragmentair geschreven en heel moeilijk om te volgen. Denk dat ik ook wat kennis mis van de Duitse cultuur en politiek om sommige uiteenzettingen goed te kunnen volgen... Ziekelijke verheerlijking van druggebruik die pas in de laatste 60 pagina's genuanceerder wordt. De verhaallijn zou ik een 1 geven, maar then again heb ik 10 ezelsoren gemaakt en 3 foto's van passages dus....... 2,5/3/ikweethetniet.
January 3, 2021
Misogynistic, pretentious and quite boring. I love club culture, techno and all things associated but this book really didn’t do it for me. I found myself having to look up what so many different words meant and the writing was very disjointed. Maybe it was lost in translation. A shame as this is the first Fitzcarraldo Edition that didn’t live up to my expectations/meet the standards of their other imprints.
January 17, 2025
Een heerlijke dreun, deze Goetz.
Hopelijk vertaalt Sebastian Roth nog wat werk van een van mijn favoriete Duitsers allertijden.
Bang-bang-bang///bonk-bonk-bonk///
Hopelijk vertaalt Sebastian Roth nog wat werk van een van mijn favoriete Duitsers allertijden.
Bang-bang-bang///bonk-bonk-bonk///
February 1, 2024
for mye bla bla, ikke nok untz untz
June 24, 2025
Good for performative reading in Berlin. Apart from that, worst book i've ever read
February 10, 2021
I read Rainald Goetz’s novel Rave at the speed of 154 BPM and I was better off for it. It’s all about rhythm, and by that I mean, that is all there is to it. You can’t blame the writer when the intent was to capture and imitate the immediacy and style of a counterculture-turned-mass industry that by the nineties, had lost its plot and what was left was devoid of substance, only drugs and music.
The first section was exciting and sexy, like hearing new music for the first time, however by the second section, the beat got repetitive, the bass drop became predictable, the sexism got tedious and by the third and last, you feel exhausted from the non-stop music and you just want to go home. Your mind’s fatigued but the body keeps going, you start to feel the comedown and the onset of an existential crisis, realising that the empty feeling is no longer a moment but a firmly set reality because you’ve lost yourself too many times on the dance floor.
That said, I found the little moments of drug-fuelled, pseudo-intellectual talk amusingly funny and appreciated their profundity at times (i.e. “...you couldn’t get the text by just starting with the meaning, it had to be conceived differently, through prayer, through the endless iterative pronunciation of the words oneself by speaking. ‘What?’ - p.31)
The first section was exciting and sexy, like hearing new music for the first time, however by the second section, the beat got repetitive, the bass drop became predictable, the sexism got tedious and by the third and last, you feel exhausted from the non-stop music and you just want to go home. Your mind’s fatigued but the body keeps going, you start to feel the comedown and the onset of an existential crisis, realising that the empty feeling is no longer a moment but a firmly set reality because you’ve lost yourself too many times on the dance floor.
That said, I found the little moments of drug-fuelled, pseudo-intellectual talk amusingly funny and appreciated their profundity at times (i.e. “...you couldn’t get the text by just starting with the meaning, it had to be conceived differently, through prayer, through the endless iterative pronunciation of the words oneself by speaking. ‘What?’ - p.31)
March 20, 2024
Best illustration of club culture, funny how little has changed.
September 13, 2023
Der Freund steigt ins Taxi und sagt zum Abschied den berühmten letzten Satz. Und wir erzählen uns später, wie das der Moment war, der uns in dieser Stunde der Not und Zerrüttung ein letztes Restchen an Würde zurückgegeben hat, ja. Nein, wir hören nicht auf, so zu leben.
November 27, 2020
Read the Fitzcarraldo Edition, translation partly funded by Goethe Institut. One would have imagined this to have been published in English at some point much earlier in the two decades since its original publication, but I guess it never was. Some seem put off by a lack of personal connection to the club scene, others by the fragmented narrative, and yet more by the social mores of the 1990s. I don't really accept any of these reasons for a poor review, but at the same time I was interested but not excited by this. A better book than a 2 or 3-star review, but far from a favourite.
February 27, 2025
I did not finish this and am leaving this review as a warning that this is a collection of snippets of nonsense. The literary version of fat boy slim’s eat sleep rave repeat. I’m sure it was doing something very arty but not for me at all
dnf
June 30, 2020Not a book for me. I read to the halfway point and realised I have better things to do with my time.
August 3, 2020
Bordering on unreadable. No story at all, weak characters and fails to even live up to capturing rave culture as I know it
April 5, 2024
What is bro waffling about
December 24, 2024
reading about drugs and nightclubs is never as fun as drugs and nightclubs
Read
March 20, 2025Aua, also dieses Buch war absolut ein Kampf zum lesen. Ich hab es gelesen, weil ich männliche Perspektive auf eigene Suchterfahrung spannend finde. Weil ich dachte über dieses Buch mehr über die männlich sozialisierte Reflexion des Konsum/ der Sucht bzw. Abstinenz oder Suchtbewältigung eventuell aus einem autodidaktischem, autonomen Zugang heraus, lernen zu können.
Zu allererst: Das Buch ist streckenweise sehr mitreißend, hat zeitweise einen Flow und auch teilweise eine rührende Authentizität.
Ich wünschte ich könnte so unverhohlen wie Benjamin von Stuckrad-Barre Männer idealisieren, die ohne Unterlass misogyne, ableistische, rassistische narrative füttern, während sie fast nebenbei ihre Biografie schildern. Das kann man jetzt gut oder schlecht finden, laut Fauser soll dies ein Zeugnis der Zeit sein und ein Abbild der damaligen Realität. N-Wort und rassistisches sowie misogynies Wording wurden in der damaligen Gesellschaft deutlich weniger kritisch betrachtet. Harry Gelbs Beziehungen sind schließlich nur so möglich, in der Dynamik, weil Harry Gelb eben ist, wie er ist. Er denkt in diesen Kategorien und handelt auch danach. Die Darstellung der Frauen ist eine absolute Peinlichkeit. Ich glaube jedoch, dass Fauser Frauen tatsächlich nicht anders begriffen hat.
Jedoch möchte ich wirklich ein für alle mal festhalten, dass es sich bei diesem Buch nicht um ein Buch über Sucht handelt. Es geht nicht um eine Sucht- oder Konsum Biografie. Es geht um die Biographie eines (undiagnostizierten, non-compliant) Narzissten. Die Sucht ist nebensächlich und wie in den Zeitzeugnissen am Ende der Ausgabe herauskommt: es gab nie eine Abstinenz, nie eine wirkliche Reflexion über Konsum, über Abhängigkeit, über Beweggründe des Substanz(ab)Usus.
Das wäre ok, wenn Fauser sich dafür entschieden hätte, um eine spannende Biographie zu schildern aber das Buch ist nach der Hälfte ermüdend. Gelb verliert sich in seiner Eintönigkeit, er verliert sich in Trott, seiner Selbstzentrierung. Floskeln und vermeintlich kultige Charaktere werden zu Nebendarsteller:innen (wobei, hier ist kein gendern notwendig - Frauen sind entweder Zentrum aktueller Begierde, oder wertlos, da sie nicht attraktiv sind) einer verklärten Milieu-Studie. Fauser wurde vorgeworfen zu romantisieren und in dem Interview mit Karasek versucht er dies zu entkräften. Bei dem Punkt möchte ich Fauser recht geben. Dieses Dasein wird für mich nicht romantisiert, weil diese Biographie so ins Leere führt, dass ich keinerlei Romantik ausmachen kann. Das Ende ist enttäuschend und Endet in einer ähnlich bemühteren Motivation wie der WhatsApp-Status einiger Mütter: Aufstehen, Krone richten, weiter gehen.
Au Schwarte, wie peinlich.
Bei Gott, wenn es wirklich jemanden gibt, der das Buch lustig findet, laut lacht, ich möchte dieser Person nicht über den Weg reden.
Zu allererst: Das Buch ist streckenweise sehr mitreißend, hat zeitweise einen Flow und auch teilweise eine rührende Authentizität.
Ich wünschte ich könnte so unverhohlen wie Benjamin von Stuckrad-Barre Männer idealisieren, die ohne Unterlass misogyne, ableistische, rassistische narrative füttern, während sie fast nebenbei ihre Biografie schildern. Das kann man jetzt gut oder schlecht finden, laut Fauser soll dies ein Zeugnis der Zeit sein und ein Abbild der damaligen Realität. N-Wort und rassistisches sowie misogynies Wording wurden in der damaligen Gesellschaft deutlich weniger kritisch betrachtet. Harry Gelbs Beziehungen sind schließlich nur so möglich, in der Dynamik, weil Harry Gelb eben ist, wie er ist. Er denkt in diesen Kategorien und handelt auch danach. Die Darstellung der Frauen ist eine absolute Peinlichkeit. Ich glaube jedoch, dass Fauser Frauen tatsächlich nicht anders begriffen hat.
Jedoch möchte ich wirklich ein für alle mal festhalten, dass es sich bei diesem Buch nicht um ein Buch über Sucht handelt. Es geht nicht um eine Sucht- oder Konsum Biografie. Es geht um die Biographie eines (undiagnostizierten, non-compliant) Narzissten. Die Sucht ist nebensächlich und wie in den Zeitzeugnissen am Ende der Ausgabe herauskommt: es gab nie eine Abstinenz, nie eine wirkliche Reflexion über Konsum, über Abhängigkeit, über Beweggründe des Substanz(ab)Usus.
Das wäre ok, wenn Fauser sich dafür entschieden hätte, um eine spannende Biographie zu schildern aber das Buch ist nach der Hälfte ermüdend. Gelb verliert sich in seiner Eintönigkeit, er verliert sich in Trott, seiner Selbstzentrierung. Floskeln und vermeintlich kultige Charaktere werden zu Nebendarsteller:innen (wobei, hier ist kein gendern notwendig - Frauen sind entweder Zentrum aktueller Begierde, oder wertlos, da sie nicht attraktiv sind) einer verklärten Milieu-Studie. Fauser wurde vorgeworfen zu romantisieren und in dem Interview mit Karasek versucht er dies zu entkräften. Bei dem Punkt möchte ich Fauser recht geben. Dieses Dasein wird für mich nicht romantisiert, weil diese Biographie so ins Leere führt, dass ich keinerlei Romantik ausmachen kann. Das Ende ist enttäuschend und Endet in einer ähnlich bemühteren Motivation wie der WhatsApp-Status einiger Mütter: Aufstehen, Krone richten, weiter gehen.
Au Schwarte, wie peinlich.
Bei Gott, wenn es wirklich jemanden gibt, der das Buch lustig findet, laut lacht, ich möchte dieser Person nicht über den Weg reden.
February 22, 2025
Reading this book is an experience which throws you deep into the rave scene of the 80s/90s. Snippets of conversations, brief investments in people’s stories, lives, drugs, sex; only small tangible moments of clarity.
This book was a difficult read, I found myself letting the words wash over me and I internalized some ideas and recognition of the culture. I feel that it would be possible to examine each section in high detail, picking apart every paragraph, seeing how to relates to others and deriving a deeper meaning. However, this, for one would be incredibly laborious, I gained the most out of this book by taking in sections which captured my attention most.
The book felt incredibly personal, with references and personal opinion of events and people at the time which we simply cannot ever understand as the reader. This dragged you deeper into the scene, feeling disoriented, as if you’re just along for the ride. “We’re not here for a good time, we’re here to party!”
This book was a difficult read, I found myself letting the words wash over me and I internalized some ideas and recognition of the culture. I feel that it would be possible to examine each section in high detail, picking apart every paragraph, seeing how to relates to others and deriving a deeper meaning. However, this, for one would be incredibly laborious, I gained the most out of this book by taking in sections which captured my attention most.
The book felt incredibly personal, with references and personal opinion of events and people at the time which we simply cannot ever understand as the reader. This dragged you deeper into the scene, feeling disoriented, as if you’re just along for the ride. “We’re not here for a good time, we’re here to party!”
July 14, 2021
this book succeeded most in its experimental form, it being extremely reminiscent of pumping rave tracks and spoken word-y rave tracks like the orb’s pink fluffy clouds. The rhythm of the read very much has the disjointed in-and-out feel of dialogue in a club space, trying to listen out for a glimpse of story which is ultimately denied by the loudness of everything else. I think without a plot and without focus on character, the image of nightlife/rave culture should’ve been fleshed out more successfully to warrant any more than three *s.I think he got the temporality of club/drugged experience pretty convincing, but I would’ve liked something a bit *more*. Also some parts were quite cringe - like leaving a section on the line ‘and love?’ is just like blegh okay! THREE stars
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September 11, 2025Deze kan ik niet raten. Ik voel wel dat het ergens geniaal is, maar ik weet ook niet of ik het leuk vond. Weet ook niet of ik het seksistisch vind of niet, het is alleszins zo gender man en wat narcistisch ook, stoort me wel. Heb het met weinig brein gelezen en denk ergens ook wel dat dat de bedoeling is maar ik merk ook wel dat ik tegelijkertijd niet de moeite deed om de intertekstualiteit of politieke stellingen te onderzoeken (wat het wss wel genialer maakt). Wel echt een origineel en leuk idee en de cover is ongelooooflijk goed.
May 9, 2025
Fragmentary, plotless, coked-up ramblings. I know it's the point, but it's still too much.
July 22, 2025
Ik dacht ik probeer eens wat anders maar dit was iets te experimenteel. Er mist totaal een plot, het zijn eerder allerlei losse fragmenten met soms af en toe heel mooi, maar vooral toch heel vaag taalgebruik, waardoor ik me de enige nuchtere persoon voelde op een after waar iedereen de weg kwijt is 😂 Is deze auteur geniaal en snap ik het niet, of is hij gewoon de weg kwijt? Idk. Ook te veel Duitse referenties die ik niet ken I guess.
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