Sue Townsend: "The Secret Diary Of Adrian Mole, Aged 13 3/4)", englische Originalausgabe
(N.-A. RANDOM HOUSE UK LTD, LONDON SW1V 2SA, DM 14,90. ISBN 0-7493-0138-4)
Geschichte: Adrian Mole ist ein (um mal ehrlich zu sein!) grässlicher, pubertierender englischer Junge mit einer relativ "normalen" Familie (Vater Vertreter, Mutter Hausfrau, Ehe nicht besonders glücklich, Großmutter väterlicherseits tyrannisiert seine Mutter). Leider glaubt Adrian, ein verkannter Intellektueller zu sein, dem die Welt eigentlich zu Füßen liegen sollte... genauso wie Pandora, die "Liebe seines Lebens", die leider von seinem Intellekt weitaus weniger hält als von seinem proletigen Freund Nigel. Als Adrians Eltern sich trennen und eigentlich keiner von beiden ihn "haben" möchte (nun, der geneigte Leser wird sie verstehen), bricht seine Welt aus den Fugen. Dass auch noch Adrians Hormone verrückt spielen und Pandora ihn dann doch noch erhört, stürzt ihn die tiefsten Tiefen des pubertären Abgrundes...
Warum es mir gefiel: Was an diesem Buch das eigentlich Witzige ist? Die Tatsache, dass ein solches Ekelpaket wie Adrian seine Seele auch noch vor dem Leser ausbreitet. Es ist ein bisschen voyeuristisch, unglaublich naiv und trug bei mir zu der Hoffnung bei, dass mein eigener Sohn – BITTE, LIEBER GOTT! – niemals so wird wie der "Held" der nettesten Schullektüre, die ich jemals gelesen habe. Um mit den Worten des Klappentext-Kritikers und Autors Tom Sharpe zu sprechen: "I not only wept, I howled and hooted and had to get up and walk round the room and wipe my eyes so that I could go on reading." UNBEDINGT DIE ENGLISCHE ORIGINALFASSUNG LESEN!!!
Sunday, January 11th
Now I know I am an intellectual. I saw Malcolm Muggeridge on the TV last night, and I understood nearly every word. It all adds up. A bad home, poor diet, not liking punk. I think I will join the library and see what happens. It is a pity there aren´t any more intellectuals living round here. Mr Lucas wears corduroy trousers, but he´s an insurance man. Just my luck.
Tuesday, January 13th
My father has gone back to work. Thank God! I don´t know how my mother sticks him. Mr Lucas came in this morning to see if my mother needed any help in the house. He is very kind. Mrs Lucas was next door cleaning the outside windows. The ladder didn´t look very safe. I have written to Malcolm Muggeridge, c/o the BBC, asking him what to do about being an intellectual. I hope he writes back soon because I´m getting fed up being one on my own. I have written a poem, and it only took me two minutes. Even the famous poets take longer than that. It is called "The Tap", but it isn´t really about a tap, it´s very deep, and about life and stuff like that.
The Tap, by Adrian Mole
The tap drips and keeps me awake,
In the morning there will be a lake.
For the want of a washer the carpet will spoil,
Then for another my father will toil.
My father could snuff it while he is at work.
Dad, fit a washer don´t be a burk!
I showed it to my mother, but she laughed. She isn´t very bright. She still hasn´t washed my PE shorts, and it is school tomorrow. She is not like the mothers on television.
Friday, January 23rd
That is the last time I go to a disco. Everybody there was a punk except me and Rick Lemon, the youth leader. Nigel was showing off all night. He ended up putting a safety pin through his ear. My father had to take him to the hospital in our car. Nigel´s parents haven´t got a car because his father´s got a steel plate in his head and his mother is only four feet eleven inches tall. It´s not surprising Nugel has turned out bad really, with a maniac and a midget for parents. I still haven´t heard from Malcolm Muggeridge. Perhaps he is in bad mood. Intellectuals like me and him often have bad moods. Ordinary people don´t understand us and say we are sulking, but we´re not. Pandora has been to see Nigel in hospital. He has got a bit of blood poisoning from the safety pin. Pandora thinks Nigel is dead brave. I think he is dead stupid. […]
Thursday, March 12th
Woke up this morning to find my face covered in huge red spots. My mother said they were caused by nerves but I am still convinced that my diet is inadequate. We have been eating a lot of boil-in-the-bag staff lately. Perhaps I am allergic to plastic. My mother rang Dr Gray´s receptionist to make an appointment, but the earliest he can see me is next Minday! For all he knows I could have lassa fever and be spreading it all around the district! I told my mother to say that I was an emergency but she said I was "over-reacting as usual". She said a few spots didn´t mean I was dying. I couldn´t believe it when she said she was going to work as usual. Surely her kid should come before her job? I rang my grandma and she came round in a taxi and took me to her house and put me to bed. I am there now. It is very clean and peaceful. I am wearing my dead grandad´s pyjamas. I have just had a bowl of barley and beef soup. It is my first proper nourishment for weeks. […]
Friday, March 13th
The emergency doctor came to my grandma´s last night at 11.30 p.m. He diagnosed that I am suffering from acne vulgaris. He said it was so common that it is regarded as a normal state of adolescence. He thought it was highly unlikely that I have got lassa fever because I have not been to Africa this year. He told Grandma to take the disinfected sheets off the doors and the windows. Grandma said she would like a second opinion. That was when the doctor lost his temper. He shouted in a very loud voice "The lad hs only a few teenage spots, for Christ´s sake!"