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Back The Hiding Game
Chapters (64)
  1. Cover
  2. Naomi Wood
  3. Dedication page
  4. Epigraph page
  5. 1
  6. WEIMAR, 1922
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
  15. 10
  16. 11
  17. 12
  18. 13
  19. 14
  20. 15
  21. 16
  22. 17
  23. 18
  24. 19
  25. 20
  26. 21
  27. 22
  28. 23
  29. DESSAU, 1929
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. BERLIN, 1932
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. Thank you
  62. Praise
  63. The Hiding Game
  64. Also by Naomi Wood

I always thought that Charlotte would be finally elaborated; that I would then be able to say I understood her. I don’t know if I ever did. But I put that to one side, now. I realise now my story has always been about Walter rather than Charlotte. It has been the quality of Walter’s morality that has obsessed me; he has troubled me more than spectral Charlotte ever has, who has only ever occupied the high arcs of lit memory. Morally, Walter was the problem. Morally, now, so am I.

The beach empties until there’s no one left but me.

What will I do with Walter’s letters? Burn them? Keep them? I wish I had replied to them. I could have asked him about Charlotte and the camp, then he might have offered a defence. He was never a monster. I should not have thought that.

I walk home. Jenö has been; the house has survived, and so have I.

In the studio I take Charlotte’s drawing and switch on the lamp. It is the picture of the beech trees. Though it’s nothing more than charcoal lines, it transports me quite completely: back to the forest’s scent, with the sunshine lavish, and the sky generous, and I see my friends on our bikes between the zipping beech and the fat bars of light – Kaspar and Irmi, Jenö and Walter, me and Charlotte – shouting out to each other, and laughing, and wondering how we might best reach transcendence. And now, as if for the first time, I am at last listening; to the trees, the trees, the trees!

Thank you

Thank you:

As always, to my friend and agent Cathryn Summerhayes at Curtis Brown. My superb editors Kris Doyle and Francesca Main and the whole team at Picador; but especially Paul Baggaley, Gillian Fitzgerald-Kelly and Alice Dewing. Melissa Pimentel, Luke Speed, and Irene Magrelli at Curtis Brown. Katharina Hierling and Claudia Feldmann at Hoffmann und Campe. Thank you to ‘Madame Bauhaus’, Magdalena Droste. Thank you to the staff at the Weimar, Dessau and Berlin Bauhaus libraries and archives, who never failed to help this Bauhaus baby. Thank you to Claudia Ballard, from WME, who encouraged me with this idea in the beginning.

Thank you to my parents, Pamela and Michael, and my sister, Katherine. To Ed and the Harknesses: Philippa and William; Fran and Henry, Gabi and Letitia. To Hannah Nixon, Alaina Wong, Eve Williams, Nicola Richmond, Nicky Blewett, Tori Flower, Jonathan Calascione, Bridget Dalton, Eleni Lawrence, Sarah Hall, Toby Oddy, Jack Underwood, Masha Mileeva, and Mel and Ali Claxton. Thanks especially to Jonathan Beck-man, Fraser McKay and Ben Pester who gave me their shrewd comments on early manuscripts.