from Appelfeld, A Table For One:

Writing is a huge effort. But, unfortunately, even at my age, I cannot say that I’ve discovered the secret of writing. In writing, you are tested each time anew. A page where the words are set down on it right and flows – that is almost a miracle. When I finished the novella Badenheim 1939, I wept from sheer tiredness.

I never made a fuss about my writing. Everything I wrote was in cafes, mostly quite cafes, but also in bustling, crowded cafes. It never bothers me when people talk. Many writers have tortured their families because the noise made it difficult for them to concentrate. True, literary writing isn’t regular writing, but then, neither is it a disease requiring the hushed silence of those around it. I have a great deal of respect for an artist who doesn’t impose his moods on those around him. Writing is a struggle, and it should be between you and yourself, without involving additional people.

When I was a child, my grandfather told me that God dwells everywhere. ‘In the trees as well?’ – ‘In the trees too’, he replied. – ‘In the animals too?’ – ‘In animals too.’ – ‘In man as well?’ – ‘Man,’ replied Grandfather, ‘is the partner of God.’ – ‘Man is God?’ I was shocked. ‘No. But he has a little of God in him.’ This conversation has been etched in my memory. Grandfather was a believer – he believed with his whole heart and all his soul. That belief of his was expressed in every gresture: the way he gripped any object, opened or closed a book, picked up a child and placed him on his knees. Sometimes I feel I have inherited his religious feelings from him. I never learned much from abstract ideas; the figures from my childhood and the experiences in the Holocaust are what stand before my eyes and have molded my thoughts.

[Perhaps Appelfeld is religious through the details of his books. Perhaps to record them is itself a kind of belief.]

After a few hours of writing, I would take a stroll, walking up to Agrippas Street, meandering about for an hour or two. Then I would return home. The stroll was a continuation of the writing.

There’s no doubt that the Temple and prophecy are the pinnacle of faith, but only metaphysical poetry can attain such heights. Prose needs solid ground; it needs objects and a space whose dimensions you can relate to. The peaks of prophecy and revelation are just not possible in prose. Biblical prose, in contrast to prophecy, is factual; it recognises the weaknesses of man and does not demand divine attributes of flesh and blood. One can listen to the prophets, but it’s impossible to draw near to them.

Cafe Peter was my first school for writing. There I learned that simple words are the precise ones, and that daily life is our most true expression.