Obituary for author Joseph von Westphalen: The lettuce of death

It had been quiet around him for a long time. In the 1990s and 2000s we spoke on the phone often, sometimes for hours. He talked about his new discoveries of old jazz and blues pieces, about new novels that he was currently working on and which mostly had to do with a new amour fou that Joseph von Westphalen repeatedly fell for. Especially in his last major novel, “The Love Salad,” which he only wrote in the hope that the book would fall into the hands of an unknown beauty he had seen at one of his readings.

So Westphalen wrote not for reasons of fame and ambition, but for the only motive that made the effort worth writing a book. Without the woman he desired, who exuded an almost mystical aura, he would have “starved, become stupid, and rotted in no time,” he wrote.

He was well aware of the ridiculousness that emerges behind languishing love and often turns out to be sticky self-pity. That is, he also questioned himself, something a Breton would not have been capable of in his woman-worshipping novel “Nadja.” In this respect, Westphalen had more in common with Balzac, who also paid tribute to love in a lavish way.

Born in 1945 in the Upper Palatinate, he studied literature in Munich, was briefly fascinated by the Maoists and soon published with Haffmans Verlag, which published almost the entire squad of the New Frankfurt School. With his Duckwitz novels “In the Diplomatic Service” he achieved great success at Hoffmann & Campe. Westphalen was an obsessive prolific writer who published in several publishers at the same time.

He always caused a stir in the cultural world because he was also a gifted polemicist who didn't mince his words when he noted leanings towards the mainstream and general stupidity. This was particularly the case during the euphoria of reunification. In 1990, not long after the fall of the Wall, a pamphlet was published with the title "On German Bulimia. Diagnosis of a gluttony", although he was of course aware of the futility of his criticism of German unity.

Years after Die Zeit invited Monika Maron and him to a weekly East-West dialogue, he regretted his “inhibition in biting” towards the “mouthy, pug-headed manner of my correspondent,” to whom he tried far too patiently to explain the West, “as if it were to appease a suspicious authority.” He didn't shy away from insults, although he always justified them with captivating verve.

In 1998, the anthology of bestseller reviews “Don’t Worry, Read!” appeared in Edition Tiamat and the joke publishing empire felt its copyright honor regarding the title had been violated because they believed that the guidebook “Don’t worry, live!”, which had been number one on the Spiegel bestseller list for years, was violated. by Dale Carnegie must be protected from inadmissible criticism with an injunction, Joseph von Westphalen insisted, under the title “Don’t worry, pay!” to write a furious accusation in the Süddeutsche Zeitung.

He called on the Scherz publishing house to drop the threatened fine of 10,000 marks for non-compliance; rather, Scherz should apologize and buy up the remaining print run as compensation. In fact, the article caused Westphalen's joke to withdraw the lawsuit for image reasons. The publishing ruin was averted. He knew how to handle his Montblanc pen as elegantly as Errol Flynn did with a sword.

At the beginning of this year, Westphalen wrote an obituary for his friend Ulrich Enzensberger ("it's really terrible with this dying thing") in the Süddeutsche. A reason to get in touch with him again. A long email arrived straight away saying that, as always, he was in the process of writing a novel, but since he didn't want to "impress women anymore" with it, the pressure was missing, but the impulse to follow an admired woman to the ends of the world was still there.

The novel remains unfinished because the literary free spirit and hussar Joseph von Westphalen died in Munich at the age of 81.

Klaus Bittermann is the publisher of Edition Tiamat.