Reading material to help you join in the conversation

Monday is Literature Day at the sogar theater. Tucked away in the courtyard on Josefstrasse, I make my way through the door. Inside, busy hands are arranging chairs and tables into formation. I ask at the bar where the ‘cold reading’ is taking place. “Right here,” comes the prompt reply.

A few minutes later, I find myself sitting in a circle in the theatre bar, somewhat surprised. The format of the “cold reading” is also unusual. For 80 minutes, the boundary between the auditorium and the stage dissolves. Actors read a new text aloud in the presence of the authors. Costumes and props remain in the box. There are no staging instructions.

Artistic director Ursina Greuel explains the evening’s only rule: “Everyone listening must take part in the discussion afterwards. Because it takes courage to put your text up for discussion in this way, and the author is also showing themselves to be vulnerable. That’s why everyone else should reveal something about themselves too.” The series of events facilitates an intimate exchange, and the feedback can be incorporated into the further development of the text. So less of a reading and more of an interactive working session.

I sit up straight in my chair and look around the room. At the end of the table sits the author, David Hera. He has brought along his monologue entitled “Cydia – Psychonautics in Phase Space”. The text is being read aloud this evening by the actor Ingo Ospelt. I recognise his gentle face from the cinema screen. How strange it feels to be sitting next to him at the table now.

He begins to read. Ingo’s voice alone is enough. It carries us along like a raft in the rapid flow of the narrative. Captivated and almost imperceptibly, we draw closer. The pull of the text draws us right into the heart of a psychiatric clinic, into the depths of Walter’s emotional world.

Walter, who observes and judges everything and everyone in detail, including himself. Walter, who tries to understand the world and finds himself going round in circles in the daily routine of the clinic. Who fears many things, but most of all himself. And yet he is not afraid of the big questions: ‘What if the total amount of soul remains the same, but has to be spread across ever more people? No wonder we are becoming increasingly sensitive and scattered.’

The monologue strikes a chord with the group. It is surprisingly easy to join in the discussion about what we have heard. The rhythm, the wit and the contradictory protagonist are well received. The detailed descriptions and the journey through Walter’s thoughts are captivating. We want to know what happens next – with Walter, his fellow patients and the group therapy. The fragmentary narrative style is reminiscent of our own everyday lives, and someone in the group asks with a wink who the mad ones actually are: ‘them’ in the clinic or ‘them’ out there?

Finally, author David Hera is given the chance to answer the questions posed. He enthusiastically tells us about the various concepts that shaped the text. He skilfully incorporated ideas from chaos theory, Norse mythology and principles from biology and physics into his characters. A sheepish laugh ripples through the room. Rarely does the audience get this close to the creative process. For a brief moment, the otherwise often abstract figure of ‘the author’ has transformed into a real person.

He is sitting at the table with us. And we are in conversation.

The ‘Kaltlesung’ series takes place twice a year, on Mondays.

Admission is free; there is a collection. Accessibility is guaranteed. The event is in High German.