Two Writers Walk In

It took longer than expected. Weeks of sorting through applications—photographs, writing samples, statements of intent, the occasional piece of information nobody had asked for. Bra sizes. Penis lengths. The full spectrum of things people volunteer when they’re trying to impress strangers on the internet in 2010. Most of it was mediocre. Some was genuinely interesting. A small amount required a quiet moment and a glass of water.

What I didn’t expect was to end up with two people I actually wanted, simultaneously, for one slot. Wenke, 23, from Berlin, writes with a velocity that suggests she has never once paused to consider whether something might be too much. More profanity, more whiplash tonal pivots, more genuinely unhinged imagery per sentence than Kelly Osbourne has managed across her entire public life—and she’d already left a mark on a telecom company, the eastern half of Germany, and a music magazine before any of this. She writes like someone who decided a long time ago that restraint is somebody else’s problem.

Max, a year younger, from Würzburg, operates on a completely different frequency. Quieter on the page, but not weaker. He philosophizes about life and love in sentences that land harder for being understated—the kind of writing you re-read not because it confused you but because it was actually good. He has the sort of effortlessly striking presence that makes people nervous in a room, and he knows exactly how little he needs to say.

Two completely different writers. One opening. The problem had no clean solution, which is probably the best kind.