Shattered by a recent bereavement, Minna and husband Tom retreat to an isolated village on the Dorset coast, seeking the solitude that will allow them to cope with their loss and rebuild their foundering marriage. Walking on the beach one day, they unearth a human skeleton. It is a discovery which will plunge Minna into a mystery which will consume her for months to come. The remains are soon identified as those of Private Lew Campbell, a black American GI who, it seems, drowned during a wartime exercise in the area half a century before. Growing increasingly preoccupied with the dead soldier’s fate, Minna befriends a melancholy elderly woman, Felix, who lived in the village during the war. As Minna coaxes Felix’s story from her, it becomes clear that the old woman knows more about the dead GI than she initially let on. Playing with the Moon is an unforgettable novel about memory and loss, about the legacy of war, and the need to reconcile ourselves to our past in order to live with the present.
Genre: FICTION / HistoricalIn Germany, Playing with the Moon (Weil Du Mich Liebst) has sold over 100,000. At the moment, seven years after its publication in the UK, Playing with the Moon is still ranked 3,020.
1
Minna
Our second wedding anniversary. I’m about to tell Tom our marriage is over when he spots something in the sand.
His brow crinkles. ‘What the hell’s that?’
‘What’s what?’ My heart gives a little jump: half irritation, half relief he’s interrupted the conversation. He springs to his feet and walks towards the rocks through the seaweed and driftwood blown up by last week’s storm. The sun comes out and something glints on the sand below us, now smooth as a linen tablecloth. I screw up my eyes to try and make out the object. Bottle top? Coin? I get up and follow him, feet scrunching over the shingle until I reach the sandy foreshore.
Tom holds out his hand. ‘Stay there.’ The firmness in his voice makes me blink.
‘What’s the matter?’
He crouches, his back to me, and digs with both hands like a dog. ‘Oh God.’ His hands cease their movement.
‘What?’
‘You might not want to see . . .’ I push past his restraining arm and see what he’s dug up: a long white object. A bone. The metallic thing lies about a foot away from it.
‘Is it human?’ I lean closer.
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Translated by Miquenia Litz
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