German is like geometry, says Argentinian-born novelist

When I lived in Argentina, I decided that I wanted to achieve perfection with the German language, no matter what. For me, it even went beyond some crazy dream of learning German - I had fallen victim to the notion that with enough hard work, and after language courses at a German-Argentinian school, I would take on the language as my own. I really thought I'd eventually be able to master it. The idea that German grammar proceeds largely according to clear, logical structures and mechanisms appealed to me. German is a safe bet, practically like math and not some arbitrary mystery. I thought all of that to myself, but really I had no idea. I realized that one thing was missing: perspective. Until that point, I had never left Argentina and had never set foot in Germany.

I remedied that in 1995, half a year after I graduated, thanks to a scholarship from the Goethe Institute. Upon arriving in Munich, a new but still somehow familiar world confronted me; in my excitement, I didn't even know what to do first. I settled on the German Museum, which probably appealed to me in light of the name. It promised to reveal the essence of the culture to which I had completely devoted myself. I pored over the welcome brochure, which seemed like an entry ticket to my second homeland. I couldn't wait to see what the museum's eight floors had in store for me.

German and geometry

Barbetta went from being an Argentinian student to being a German novelist

Since that visit, fourteen years have passed. I now live in Berlin. Last year, my first novel, written in German, was published. A couple of months ago, I traveled to Munich, where I had been invited to read from my debut novel at a literature festival. I used the chance to make a second visit to the German Museum. With a new welcome brochure in hand, I went up the staircase to the fourth floor. The "Mathematical Cabinet" - a particular interest of mine - has been located there since 1999. I forgot the time and delved into a parallel world of tetrahedrons, double tetrahedrons, pyramids and cubes, octahedrons, icosahedrons, and rhombohedrons - all of which cast wonderful shadows on the wall. I was completely happy.

In the Mathematical Cabinet, I reflected on the possibility of a cabinet of the German language. Ever since I've made Germany and Berlin my home, words have lost their one-dimensionality for me and become "idea-polyhedrons." German nouns, verbs and adjectives reveal themselves on a variety of levels, and they consist - like geometric bodies - of two, three, sometimes even four different planes. German words have become moody, unpredictable and playful for me.

Confessions of a non-native speaker

I've been chasing the German language for a long time now, but I've realized in the meantime that I have a confession to make: It is and will always be my second language. I had trouble admitting that for a long time, but, paradoxically, it proved to be my key to understanding German. When I let go of the desire to master the language, it was like the scales fell from my eyes, and I was able to really appreciate the beauty and poetry of the language for the first time. Suddenly words would stand out from the page and take on shapes; I could look at them from every angle and see what kind of linguistic space they occupy.

There's no point grasping at words and trying to catch one, because they know how to escape every time. It's like they're bewitched - but it's also better that way. The fact that the German language doesn't let itself be captured, that it's always on the run, means that the language stays lively. My fervent desire to get as close to the language as I can, to overcome the unbridgeable distance between us, keeps me awake and even keeps me vital.

A change of perspective

Once it became clear to me that German words have me under control much more than I them, I felt the need to think about that perennial theme "German language, identity and multilingualism" from a different perspective. If anything has become clear to me during this long journey, then it's this:

As in English, "Ball" in German can mean a round object or a party

It's not about my identity as a non-native speaker.

It's not about the fact that I'm multilingual.

It is solely about the identity of the words in German and their "multilingual" quality.

German words have a symbolic character, and they have personality. They are both captions and living shapes, they have a body and a soul, and above all else, they have their own heads - one could even say they're hard-headed. In a line of text, they take a rest from all of their acrobatics and show us one of their many faces. Who can know whether it's their one true face or not? After all, other meanings always lie hidden behind a single line of text. That's not a case of indecisiveness - it's the mark of plurality, potential and multilingualism.

Even a short and simple German word like "Ball" - just four little letters - proves rather complicated. Reading it twice won't let you pin it down. Look, it's already rolling away along the sentence, laying flat particles - oh dear! - an interjection. It has to be stopped. Eventually, it rolls to the end of the sentence and bumps into a period. From there, it starts to run out of steam; it doesn't take long before it changes into a line and then into a flat plane; and now people are supposed to dance on it. A masquerade "ball," ladies and gentlemen, a feast for the senses: the German language! And I, the one who has spoken in a foreign tongue this entire time, would like to remind you, dear native speakers, that it's up to you to savor this spectacle.

Maria Cecilia Barbetta was born in 1972 in Buenos Aires, Argentina. She studied German as a foreign language and came to Germany in 1996 on a scholarship. She wrote her first novel, "Aenderungsschneiderei Los Milagros," in German; it has received multiple awards. Maria Cecilia Barbetta lives and works in Berlin.

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Editor: Kate Bowen