Ludwig Fugeler: Roman

An intimate letter opens the novel, in which the narrator speaks to a beloved far away on a sea‑side, describing a recent walk with his eccentric friend Haller. Their conversation drifts from a rescued fledgling to a paradoxical doctrine: the only virtue is to forget oneself, the only sin to take oneself too seriously. A glimmering silver thread, spun by unseen women, seems to bind the narrator to an unseen larger pattern, offering both comfort and an unsettling reminder of his own wandering steps.

The narrative then shifts to a dream‑like recollection of the narrator’s first moments of consciousness, awakening on a high bench beneath towering stone columns and stained‑glass windows that flood the vast hall with colored light. The scene is both an origin myth and a metaphor for the fragile yet resilient connection that threads through his life. Listeners are invited to follow his lyrical reflections as he searches for meaning within the delicate web that holds him to the world.