voices and counter-voices

it's amazing what a nobel prize can do.

until a year ago, not many non-germans knew a woman called elfriede jelinek existed. this state of unknowing underwent a dramatic change with an oracular announcement: the nobel prize in literature for 2004 was awarded to jelinek for 'her musical flow of voices and counter-voices in novels and plays that with extraordinary linguistic zeal reveal the absurdity of society's cliche and their subjugating power.'

i can now picture the germans nodding silently, unsurprised. for many of them, jelinek is one of the most influential contemporary writers around. highly acclaimed abroad, much abused at home in austria, thanks to her critical views and a body of often controversial work.

this isn't her first major award. she has taken home a truckload in the past, ranging from the young austrian culture week poetry and prose prize in 1969 to the austrian state literature stipendium (1972), the west german interior ministry prize for film writing (1979), and the blind war veterans' radio theatre prize, berlin (2004).

jelinek began writing poetry at a young age, debuting with lisas schatten in 1967. fiction next, in the form of highly successful novels like die liebhaberinnen, die ausgesperrten, and the autobiographical die klavierspielerin. the english-speaking world recognises her primarily on account of the piano teacher, translated from die klavierspielerin by joachim neugroschel. it led to an acclaimed movie by michael haneke, and starred isabelle huppert in the role of the repressed pianist. three other novels -- wonderful, wonderful times, lust, and women as lovers -- have also been translated so far. they are, surprisingly, available not far from where i live.

interestingly, jelinek has done a fair bit of translation herself, with the work of thomas pynchon and christopher marlowe. she has also written film scripts and an opera libretto, apart from dramatic works for radio and stage.

when it comes to defining her work, critics have often found the task challenging, given the many shifts between prose and poetry, and the sudden introduction of theatrical scenes and film sequences. in some of her work for radio, for instance, she abandons traditional dialogue and opts for polyphonic monologues. a recurring theme, especially in her later writing, has been the inability of women to come to life fully, with jelinek drawing attention to a world that paints the female form using stereotype.

why does she deserve a nobel?

the answer to that may lie in the role played by 'the author' in our world. roland barthes may have argued that, as an entity, the author is dead. writers in the canon have, however, long seen themselves as seers; prophets acting as voices, hauling up foibles while recreating worlds anew. in this context, jelinek has managed to hold a mirror to the dark side of the place we inhabit. she has been referred to as a "dauntless polemicist" in the past, using her web site to comment on issues that demand her attention. an easily accessible insight into her work, for non-germans, comes from the piano teacher. it follows the life of erika kohut, the 38 year-old teacher-victim of an extremely overbearing mother. the latter wants her child to do all she couldn't, even though it is obviously an uphill task. as a reader, one never knows whether erika is without talent, or whether she insists on sabotaging her career simply to spite her mother.

underlining much of jelinek's writing is the sense of a world without pity, where big entities smother humanity, desensitising individuals to the injustices of class and rampant oppression against women. female sexuality is a highly prevalent topic, and the war of the sexes often crops up. she is also capable of tremendous wit. her satirical 1970 novel wir sind lockvogel, baby! (we are decoy, baby), for example, successfully took aim at popular culture's idea of 'the good life'.

jelinek's home page boasts just three essays in english. they lie hidden in a welter of german words that take in everything from memories of school and her love of austria to franz schubert and marlowe. it is a daunting mix. the 'extraordinary linguistic zeal' may be present, but it's hard to track in another language.

and then, i find the sole pieces in english. there is an essay on the nature of theatre, another on art, a third on why bertolt brecht is out of fashion. yet another, titled bambiland, stands apart. i click: 'we always want to be understood benevolently, or nobody would say anything into the many cameras and microphones,' she writes. 'we hide from what is foreign to us. we only say about ourselves what we want others to think about us, we don't say what we think.'

whether jelinek deserves a nobel or not is something that ought to be argued by others more qualified to do so. i simply read what she has written, quietly. it is a long piece of prose. and it moves me. that ability alone ought to constitute some form of art.