I kept thinking of Hoffmann while I was reading Glorious Nemesis, because, like Hoffmann, here is a tale of constant overlap, recurring image, and an absolute sense of being untethered from the world. The Golden Pot is the closest comparison texturally, except that in Klima's work there is a different thematic overlay. His world is certainly tangled in the fantastic, but everything is given over to a much more sobering, pessimistic end. We understand that our protagonist can't affect any change; he's going to slip right in to the dirty bed he's made. That is fate. We like to see its sunlit side, in movies and novels where couples bump into one another in front of a coffee shop. Here is its other half, a full moon illuminating a man's life as he retraces the nightmarish residue of abuse. As he climbs after apparitions, loses them, and wanders aimlessly. As everything ebbs toward death and loss, toward the landscape he designed.
This novella is a revelation. Dark, fractured, and finally cosmic, it should find a special place in weird literature. It is also a perfect example of why we need publishers like Twisted Spoon, who are constantly unearthing little known gems. Fans of Hoffmann, Kleist, Perutz, and Leppin pay special attention.