"To be born in this region is like being tattooed against your will with a tattoo that you didn't like from the beginning. (...) You know you'll have it forever, but it's not beautiful." This is how the protagonist Gunnar Bäumer describes his relationship with the Westphalian village where he grew up. In the book "Schützenfest," he writes about how much your own origin shapes you, how to define the concept of home, and why it would be better to leave with a clean slate than to have your past catch up with you and have to fight it for the rest of your life. It's about whether life is better in the countryside or in the big city.

Although the book is set in the Westphalian province, there are parallels with other rural areas that seem surprisingly familiar. To another quote from the book, I added an exclamation mark upon my first reading because it immediately reminded me of my own region, Upper Lusatia: "It would be easy for this area to look ridiculous. On one hand, it's the anger that I've been carrying for years due to the stubbornness of this region and its inhabitants, who simply resist any change. (...) On the other hand, I don't want to constantly see the world in a bad light. Because of this, my character could be dark too. I want to lose this anger, ideally trade it for tranquility."

But how can you achieve this tranquility with the current news situation? Do you really have to have peace in your soul, or is there always something painful at home? I discussed these and other questions with the author of the book, Dirk Bernemann.

In your book, you write: "(...) you're sitting there, your eyes wandering across the meadows, city signs, and buildings you know, but you still don't feel at home. So what does home mean? And what does it want from me?" Yet, despite this, you describe your book as a novel about the homeland. Why?

These thoughts about the region I come from kept occupying my mind time and again. Just like with my protagonist Gunnar Bäumer, where every time he approached his hometown, his thought patterns and emotions would change. He fears that where he grew up, he would be a different person than where he's trying to live now. So, home isn't related to identity, but rather to the search for a place that can be considered a home. A place where you're completely yourself. Gunnar hasn't found this place yet. He subconsciously searches for it and calls it home. In his hometown, he's confronted with the "rural festival," and therefore with many aspects of his biography that he hasn't processed yet. That's why the book was originally called "Landscape of Unresolved Tasks."

Gunnar describes his homeland like this: "Many years after my school days, I still think that the area where I come from is more like a perfectly arranged backdrop for a patriotic film than an actual place to live. It could be a kind of set full of beautiful things and emotionally exhausted actors." Where does this lack of emotions, with which he had to grow up, come from?

People simply don't know how to talk about feelings. The protagonist also experienced this as a child and still carries it with him as an adult. He couldn't talk to anyone about his bad experiences, especially not about an experience that traumatized him deeply. He's a deeply traumatized individual who is, on one hand, traumatized by upbringing and, on the other hand, by the place where he grew up and which influenced him so much. When he finally has to confront his traumas, a lot starts crumbling within him, which is a natural process.

The scene where the "inability to talk together" is described is a reflection of Gunnar's childhood. There, his father got so drunk at the rural festival that he had trouble getting home on his own. But that wasn't talked about in the family.

Many children my age had to experience how their parents escalated things at this festival. They had to see things that were really inappropriate, like people lying on the street so drunk that they couldn't even walk. I don't know if those people are ashamed of it. When the festival ends, normalcy continues without discussing what happened. Once, I named it the "Westphalian silence." I come from this region, and I can only speak for this region. Once, I heard a story about two farmers who had problems between them due to their land. They wanted to go to court, but they didn't because it wasn't considered proper. Then one of them said that their feud would only end when one of them dies. So, we live in a feud, we're angry at each other, and we never speak to each other again.

It seems that even language itself is something that points out that in Gunnar's homeland, people rarely talk about feelings.

Both my parents speak Low German, but each speaks a different dialect, even though they grew up on farms that were only 30, maybe 40 km apart. I understand both, but I can't use it myself because I can't pronounce it correctly. Maybe it's because this language mainly consists of utilitarian words, not emotional ones. It mostly has harsh expressions rather than emotive words. That always annoyed me. Maybe you can trace it back to the need for rural community functioning and the fact that farmers are hard workers who don't use emotional language. Except for those moments, like during the rural festival, when alcohol comes into play. This festival is a clash of two extreme situations. On one hand, relaxation thanks to alcohol, and on the other hand, stubbornness. When these two sides collide, it can lead to explosive emotional outbursts.

These emotional outbursts manifest whenever Gunnar meets people he has something in common with from the past and that hasn't been resolved yet – like his childhood love Franziska or the Wortmann brothers. This is in stark contrast to the initial image you perceive and which Gunnar himself points out: "I hear the idyllic, quiet whisper. It says something about safety, stability, and the simple opportunity to be part of a community. Complete absence of problems. Silence and purity."

Can it be said that this area is wealthy, partly due to old farming families and also due to industry? The village I come from has a large textile factory and a large plastic factory. So, there's no basic poverty. However, there were and still are class differences that are given special attention in the community. There are the "asocials" and the good middle class, and within the middle class, there's another layer. Those from the middle class don't want their children to play with the "asocials." In Gunnar's case, his parents didn't want him to have anything to do with the Wortmann brothers who lived in a slightly asocial area. In Berlin, I couldn't tell if my neighbors were rich or poor. In the village, it's easier to judge if you live in a rented apartment or in your own newly built home.

Nevertheless, these people, regardless of their social background, have the opportunity to spend their entire lives in the area where they grew up. In Upper Lusatia, many had to move after reunification and didn't have the opportunity to stay in their homeland.

It's really different in Westphalia. The structure in the countryside hardly changes here. Established shops mostly remain. You can generally count on the fact that the corner store where a hairdresser has been for 30 years will still be there in 30 years, and children will have the opportunity to take over their parents' business. Even people who weren't very good at school could get relatively well-supported apprenticeships, for example at the Rehau company, which produces plastic pellets. This means they had the opportunity and possibility to stay in their hometown.

A large part of the book revolves around the question of whether it's better to live in the city or in the countryside. What do you think?

In my book, I intentionally presented the advantages and disadvantages of each area without making a judgment. The advantage of the village is that everything is much more personal, and you have the opportunity to quickly find someone you need, both among neighbors and in various associations. In a big city, you have to search for this connection much longer, especially when it comes to understanding each other. The disadvantage, of course, is that in the countryside, you're under a certain scrutiny. This is also due to spatial proximity, which can quickly become restrictive. This restriction was also the reason why my protagonist left, because everyone knows everything about everyone there, perhaps even things they don't want to know or that are so insignificant that they're usually suppressed. In a city like Berlin, you can completely immerse yourself in anonymity, which for many people means a certain freedom. Of course, this can also lead to a certain loneliness, as is the case with Gunnar. Many associate moving to Berlin with a romantic idea. But the reality is much harsher. This is reflected in Coco's naive idea, who is a bit younger than Gunnar and wants to get out because she thinks it will make her a complete person.

The book deals with a wide range of topics. However, some things remain open.

As an author, I find it exciting to leave some things open so that the reader can subsequently think about what will happen to the individual characters. I believe it's good to leave certain things only partially explained, and that's essentially what Gunnar does too. He meets people fleetingly, conducts quick internal assessments, examines the psychological profile of his surroundings, acquaintances, and former friends, but he's essentially passing through. He always thinks, "I'll be gone soon anyway." Yet deep down, he knows that he experienced things in his hometown that made him who he is now.

In another interview, you said that someone who leaves should have all things resolved in the place they're leaving.

That's more advice, although I know that in reality, it often looks different. It's better to have resolved all unresolved matters before leaving, rather than having those problems follow you wherever you go. The fewer problems connect a person to a certain place, the easier it is to revisit that place.

I think the book offers many points that people can identify with and discuss, even if they're not directly from Westphalia.

Usually, it's not the big stories that happen in the village, but the small ones that can still be told well. The book is always the first step for me as an author to communicate, and I'm grateful if it leads to discussion, especially about the topic of home.

For more information about the book:
https://www.penguinrandomhouse.de/Buch/Schuetzenfest/Dirk-Bernemann/Heyne-Hardcore/e584280.rhd