Frankfurt: the central point of this heartland state. Not geographically, of course, but definitely the economic centre, and not only of Hesse. A little big city, war-scarred and then quickly patched up again. It almost became the federal capital, and the radiant golden splendour of the pillared hall at the Hessischer Rundfunk broadcasting centre still bears witness to this: its impressive colonnades earned it the nickname “the dogs’ paradise” as soon as it was built.
One thing about it is blatantly obvious: magnificence, the grand gesture – this simply isn’t Frankfurt’s cup of tea. And it’s probably not Hesse’s cup of tea either. The lack of such airs and graces lends life an unthreatening atmosphere. Grand designs and dangerous ideas seem highly unlikely to emerge in an environment where people develop in such an unspectacular way. The Frankfurt School goes to prove this: the old one headed by Adorno, and the new one of the satirists, each in its own way. The old school thought in revolutionary categories but was profoundly reasonable, and the new one has perfected that specific kind of humour without which the world would be unbearable. Anything but pathos. There’s no room for that here.
The same applies to many people who arrived in the state through life’s circumstances, because of parents, work or pure coincidence, and the development of the emotions is surprisingly similar. They start off by grumbling. They haven’t any inkling about the state, and they’re not particularly curious either. They don’t expect much – nothing like the southern flair of Munich, the Hanseatic self-esteem of Hamburg, the big-city edge of Berlin. After living a while in these latitudes the grumbling gives way to a gradual liking that grows and grows, until those who have worked their way in become more Hessian than the natives.
In the seventies, in the last century, it was fashionable for people in progressive Frankfurt to think the city was awful, so they flocked out into the countryside. Not a single deserted railway station or old schoolhouse was spared from the invasion of little lace curtains and the stripped-down wood of kitchen cabinets found at the flea market. The Vogelsberg area was particularly popular, and to this day the offspring of teachers and journalists can still be discovered there in the pretty villages. And you can still spot the occasional little lace curtain, too. But all in all, the beautiful, rough landscape has reestablished itself and connoisseurs enjoy the charm of the town.
