jerre's books 03
kathrine kressmann-taylor - adressat unbekannt [address unknown] (1938)
"the german martin schulse and the american jew max eisenstein run a flourishing art-gallery in the usa. in 1932 schulse decides to return to germany with his family and enjoys a prosperous life. meanwhile, eisenstein continues to run the joint gallery in san francisco. the following year, hitler comes to power.
the two men remain in contact through letters. at first, the friendship does not seem to suffer from the spatial separation and the political movement in germany.
however schulse, who was initially critical of the changes in his homecountry, gradually developes into an avowed nazi.
the tables turn, twice."
✉︎ review ✉︎
in just a few pages, the author manages to tell an exciting story that makes the change of the characters' personalities and friendship tangibly clear, as sad as those are.
an unexpecting turn makes the novel unique and memorable. kressmann-taylor reminds the reader, how fast and severe propaganda impacts people. and unfortunately, this topic is still very relevant today.
✉︎ background - spoiler warning ✉︎
the author's husband and editor thought the story was "too strong to appear under a woman's name". therefore, "address unknown" was published solely under her last name, that she remained using for all of her following publications.
when story-press reissued the novel in 1995, it reached it's peak popularity, leading to numerous translations and adaptations in movies and even theatre.
kressmann-taylor's story of "letters as a weapon" was inspired by a news-article about american students in germany, who wrote home some depictions about the nazi atrocities. soon afterwards, their fellow students jokingly send them letters, in which they made fun of adolf hitler. for them, those letters, that were potentially controlled by the government, could lead to life-threatening consequences, like stated in an answer of one of the visiting students:
"stop it. we're in danger. these people don't fool around. you could murder [redacted] by writing letters to him"
the title of the novel is a mistranslation and would have been called "addressee unknown" (indicating they are probably dead) correctly- which makes more sense regarding the plot.
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A Wonderful Meeting
Just wanted to write this lil thing for Tyr and Keir. Not in a writing slump so much as??? I'm just stupid??? Anyway it's really funny how much they hate each other
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He was barely done with breakfast when a private announced themself at his tent. “Leeor, Drake, I have an order from the Archon.”
“Enter,” Tyr said still waking up.
The tent flap opened and the gold and white uniformed private stepped in with a missive. Tyr indicated they leave it on the table. “They said it was to be read, immediately, Leeor,” they said.
“Well I am not going to do it around you,” Tyr glared. The private, who looked barely older than seventeen, stiffened, saluted him, and scurried off.
One handed Tyr picked up the missive while eating his toast. What did the Arbiter have for- With a grin he hopped to his feet. Finally! He and his Flight had been stationed out here in the rear for weeks waiting for something to do. Finally they were making some use of them.
Breakfast forgotten Tyr went and grabbed his red command glove and infused it with what little non summoning magic he had. Despite being the one in command it still sent a needle of attention into the back of his neck. Using the glove he used the one handed sign to tell his Flight that they were for battle, ready themselves and open a portal. It was time to fly! He went and dressed himself as well, thick wool and silk and leather, as much for protection from blades and magic as to keep warm from the biting winds of flight. He used his bare hand and a mirror to paint a garish and intimidating visage on the lower part of his face with thick, richly colored, pigment. Last were his axes and his helmet.
Outside he heard a portal open and the sound of wings.
Little Drake, Tyr calls Tarathu, I? his wyrm whispered across his mind. His sweet Tarathu, her voice hissing across unknown miles and dimensions. Where the wyrms came from no one knew for sure, but come they certainly did.
Yes. There is a portal prepared, come now, Tyr thought back even as he left his tent. Other flighters were leaving their tents as well dressed for war, faces painted. Some already wore their helmets with the goggles to protect their eyes.
Tarathu, I am so excited to see you again Little Drake, Tyr, she purred so wonderfully. Looking up the purple-fire ringed portal had been opened in the sky by two of the better flighters. The first wyrm dropped through, a great beast of wing and spine and razor sharp scales. They caught themselves on wings every color of a sunset, the display a dazzling and sometimes confusing expression of a fully empowered wyrm. Another flew through before the first had even landed. Tyr made his way to the landing field nearby, specifically for this.
“Flight Leader, we’re finally going to be put to use?” Cavin called.
“Finally!” Bassum shouted and they both laughed, the teeth they’d painted on their faces looked bigger and more terrifying for it.
“We’re for the tunnel through the northern expansion,” Tyr said as his flight fell in step around him.
“Feds finally got tired of our tunnel bore huh?” Ranger said with a fierce grin just loud enough for Tyr.
“Something like that,” Tyr said with as grim a smile in return. “The Arbiter there is awaiting us.”
“Oh an Arbiter?” Tyr grunted as his friend Hedrik came up and slung an arm over his shoulder.
“All the wyrms are through?” Tyr asked, he and Cisum had been the ones controlling the portal.
“Counted twelve, unless we got a stow away,” Hedrik said with a smile that made him likeable. Everything about Hedrik was likable, wild blonde hair laced with silver and intense dark blue eyes. Tyr could admit his friend was quite handsome. Not really Tyr’s type though.
“No that’s all of them,” Tyr said as they arrived at the field. The wyrms were milling about, all as big as a house with great long necks and a trapazoid head decorated by unique crowns of horns and spines. Their gray scales shimmered in the morning light, softly iridescent. A group of wyrms was said to be like the ocean at sunset, shimmering in all colors but deadly as the darkest sea. They were quiet, knowing it was time to work, crests and throat sacks expanding and contracting in barely restrained delight. Much like their terrestrial dragon brethren wyrms loved a good fight.
“Eyes here,” Tyr shoved Hedrik off him and raised his gloved hand. An icy prick stuck in the back of Tyr’s neck making even his eyes go to the red glove. Everyone else stopped what they were doing, all conversation ceasing, and their eyes trained on the glove. “I will be brief. Feds have come in over the mountains to the north and are attacking our eastern tunnel bore. They’d amassed enough of a force to harrow an Arbiter troops into calling us in. We will rain storm’s wrath upon them!” There was some repetition of ‘storm’s wrath’, those who hadn’t put their helmets on did so now, tightening the straps to secure them. “We fly!”
“We fight!” his flighters called back to a delighted whoop, next to them on the field the twelve wyrms joined the call for a fight and roared, making Tyr’s ears ring.
His wing took off and with practiced grace of many times before everyone mounted their wyrms. Tarathu, I, am so excited to do battle again. It has been so long.
“Yes it has,” Tyr agreed as he climbed into the saddle of his wyrm and pulled his own helmet over his black hair. Tarathu didn’t even wait for him to strap in his legs, she was far too excited and leaped into the air first, her great wings catching up under her and then they were airborn. Tyr couldn’t help the ‘WHOOP!’ that came out of him. You never got over flying. He gripped the reins and hugged the saddle tightly with his legs as they gained altitude, the rest of the flight behind him. They were almost near the lowest clouds when they leveled out. For such a short flight they wouldn’t go above the clouds, you also needed a full helmet for that. Not enough air to breathe. Only then did Tyr reach down and strap his legs in. Once he was secure he leaned down against Tarathu’s great back.
Hear me, he said.
Tarathu, I, hear you Little Drake, Tyr. Always. Shall Tarathu, Tyr, we, fly quickly now?
Yes. Lets fly fast, Tyr said a smile curling against his lips as Tarathu opened herself to him and his small human mind settled against her alien wyrm consciousness. They acted as one mind then and even though she carried him he gave her strength. Her wing beats became faster, her scales aligning themselves to be more streamlined, the wind rushing over them as their speed almost doubled. And there was such joy in this. Tarathu couldn’t fly this fast without Tyr and she loved to do so as he did with her.
All too soon the mountains that had been not too far were suddenly very close and Tyr disengaged, pulling his mind away from Tarathu’s. He had to remind himself he no longer had wings, or a tail. Down below was the fort and small town that facilitated the tunnel in this part of the mountains. He could see smoke and even at this height the land was scarred by magic.
Lets go see how we help, Tyr thought and waved the red glove in a way to indicate to his flight that they were to land.
Tarathu landed as lightly as an eagle in the snow and shook out her neck with a short bugle. He patted her shoulder. “Everyone stay mounted,” he called. “Cisum, Hedrik,” he pointed at them both as he dismounted. “The Arbiter should have our heading on where to hunt these Feds.” There was some whooping.
As Cisum and Hedrik joined him a Rear Shan ran up to them, panting slightly from the full sprint. “Leeor,” she saluted Tyr.
“At ease Rear Shan,” Tyr said and she did so.
“The Arbiter is awaiting you. She has a position she wants you to move on.”
“That’s why we’re here, lead on,” Tyr said. She nodded and walked off quickly, the three of them followed, barely having to lengthen their strides to keep up.
“Female Arbiter? Good for her,” Hedrik said.
“We know one of those,” Cisum said gravely. He was as dark as Hedrik was light, cool brown skin and short kinky black and silver hair under his helmet, eyes completely black.
“There are other female Arbiters,” Tyr waved that off. “Plenty. I bet its Car’en from Kou.”
“Could be,” Cisum said.
“Lets hope so,” Hedrik said forlornly.
They followed the Rear Shan out of the field, through the town, and into the fort where crude buildings had been erected. She led them up a flight of stairs and to the top of a short tower where a tent and covering had been constructed so you could look out across the lands and get a better view of the mountains less than a mile away. “Arbiter Rosalia, Leeor Drake, the Flight Leader, from Fort Rushing Wind, and his seconds.”
“Of course it is,” Hedrik muttered and Tyr only heard Cisum elbow him in the ribs hard enough to make him cough.
Meskeir’m Rosalia stood at the war table with her Forward Shans and other Leeors looking down at the map they’d put together. The Shans, Leeors and the Arbiter herself all looked at Tyr and his friends when they were announced. All the hair on the back of Tyr’s neck stood on end seeing Meskeir’m. She was tall for a woman, poised, dark skin and long dreaded hair she wore up into a practical bun and head wrap. Her two red eyes were sharp as blood covered daggers as their laid themselves on Tyr and his hardened in turn.
Bitch.
“Leeor, you arrive at last,” she said with cool detached professionalism begetting her station, her accent curling around each word like a melody. That was just how the accents along the gut were; pretty, succulent, lyrical even. “The Archon sent word ahead of you,” she beckoned for him to approach.
She was several years his junior but outranked him by several times. Flighters rarely gained high ranks in the Arms so it wasn’t a surprise. Flighters wanted to be in the action, not leading the troops. He never hated being a Leeor until he had to serve under Meskeir’m though. He stepped up to the table, Cisum and Hedrik on either side.
“How many in your flight?” a woman beside her asked, Tyr saw by her medallion on her breast she was also a Leeor.
“Twelve,” he said.
“So many,” the woman said, impressed. There was a bit of well meaning conferring.
“The Archon wants this dealt with properly the first time, so they sent enough,” Tyr said, clearing his throat.
“Then we will ensure its done properly,” Meskeir’m said in a way that was polite but rankled him. She didn’t trust him to not fuck up. Of course she didn’t. She was Rosalia and he was Drake. He couldn’t trust her as far as he could throw her and even given her height he could throw her pretty far. “We’re being hit by coordinated guerrilla attacks on our out port of the bore,” she said, directing everyone’s attention to the map. Tyr listened as she explained the situation, offering what insight he could for his flight, like the other officers were doing. Once a plan had been made Tyr was free to go. Finally.
The three of them left the tent. Tyr winced as one of the Forward Shans asked Meskeir’m, “Tyr Drake? Isn’t that your-
“Shut the fuck up, Hugui,” Meskeir’m snapped before he could finish.
“Wonderful,” Tyr muttered as they grew out of earshot. But in all honestly he felt the same. The last person he’d wanted to see here for this mission was his fucking wife.
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