As a matter of fiction

“There are two kinds of pity. One, the weak-minded, sentimental sort, is really just the heart’s impatience to rid itself as quickly as possible of the painful experience of being moved by another person’s suffering.(…)The other kind, the only one that counts, is unsentimental but creative. It knows its own mind, and is determined to stand by the sufferer, patiently suffering too, to the last of its strength and even beyond.” (Stefan Zweig, Beware of Pity)

If this performance would be a book, it would be a novel. If this novel would have a title, it would be “As a matter of fiction”. If this title would be accompanied by a picture – on the cover of the book, perhaps – it would be a picture of two hands, the hands of a girl – delicate, bloodless, helpless hands, perhaps strong enough to stroke small animals, pigeons and rabbits, but too weak to hold or grasp anything firmly. If there would be a picture on the backside of the book, it would be another picture of two hands. They would be the hands of a young man – firm, heavy, strong, muscular hands.

I am Anton Hofmiller, the young lieutenant, the clumsy and shy hero in the trenches (or I am not). I am Edith von Kekesfalva, the poor sick girl, crippled by her boundless love (or I am not). If I would have the audacity, I would ask you: “what would you have done?”. If I would be a performer, performing a piece, which is not a novel, but is a novel, and not a picture, but is a picture, and not a story, but is a story, I would ask: “is this something that can be nice to see?”. Or I would not.

In 1939, Austrian writer Stefan Zweig published a book called Beware of Pity, originally titled Ungeduld des Herzens. As a matter of fiction is a performance by Anna Franziska Jäger and Nathan Ooms, offering a theatrical mirror to Zweig's original novel. The play presents their ongoing search for modes of representing, looking and imagining themes touched on by Zweig in his novel and beyond, seeking an answer to the question whether works of fiction can still provide sustainable collective bonds in today's world of abstraction.“There are two kinds of pity. One, the weak-minded, sentimental sort, is really just the heart’s impatience to rid itself as quickly as possible of the painful experience of being moved by another person’s suffering.(…)The other kind, the only one that counts, is unsentimental but creative. It knows its own mind, and is determined to stand by the sufferer, patiently suffering too, to the last of its strength and even beyond.” (Stefan Zweig, Beware of Pity)

If this performance would be a book, it would be a novel. If this novel would have a title, it would be “As a matter of fiction”. If this title would be accompanied by a picture – on the cover of the book, perhaps – it would be a picture of two hands, the hands of a girl – delicate, bloodless, helpless hands, perhaps strong enough to stroke small animals, pigeons and rabbits, but too weak to hold or grasp anything firmly. If there would be a picture on the backside of the book, it would be another picture of two hands. They would be the hands of a young man – firm, heavy, strong, muscular hands.

I am Anton Hofmiller, the young lieutenant, the clumsy and shy hero in the trenches (or I am not). I am Edith von Kekesfalva, the poor sick girl, crippled by her boundless love (or I am not). If I would have the audacity, I would ask you: “what would you have done?”. If I would be a performer, performing a piece, which is not a novel, but is a novel, and not a picture, but is a picture, and not a story, but is a story, I would ask: “is this something that can be nice to see?”. Or I would not.

In 1939, Austrian writer Stefan Zweig published a book called Beware of Pity, originally titled Ungeduld des Herzens. As a matter of fiction is a performance by Anna Franziska Jäger and Nathan Ooms, offering a theatrical mirror to Zweig's original novel. The play presents their ongoing search for modes of representing, looking and imagining themes touched on by Zweig in his novel and beyond, seeking an answer to the question whether works of fiction can still provide sustainable collective bonds in today's world of abstraction.