De Amerikaanse schrijfster Nicole Krauss werd geboren in New York op 18 augustus 1974. Krauss groeide op op Long Island, waar ze naar haar gevoel ‘de laatste Amerikaanse jeugd’ had. Vanaf haar twintigste schreef ze al poëzie. Zij studeerde af aan de Stanford-universiteit, en haalde haar graden aan de universiteit van Oxford, en aan de Courtauld Institute of Art in Londen. Ze stond in de finale voor de Yale Younger Poet’s Prize, en haar poëzie werd gepubliceerd in onder andere The Paris Review, Ploughshares, en Doubletake. Nadat ze haar thesis over Joseph Cornell in Oxford had verdedigd, stopte ze abrupt met het schrijven van poëzie, ze noemde het ‘een onmogelijke zoektocht naar poëtische precisie’. Al tijdens haar studies publiceerde ze artikelen in Engelse literaire tijdschriften. Haar eigen literaire interesse gaat uit naar Rainer Maria Rilke, Zbigniew Herbert en Joseph Brodsky. Met de laatste correspondeerde ze regelmatig. Voor de BBC produceerde ze in 1999 een portret van Brodsky voor de radio. In New York organiseerde Nicole Krauss verschillende lezingen, onder anderen met de schrijvers Susan Sontag, Derek Walcott en Jonathan Franzen. Krauss’ eerste roman “Man Walks Into a Room” (2002) werd genomineerd voor de Los Angeles Times Book Award. Haar tweede roman “The History of Love” (De geschiedenis van de liefde) (2005) werd genomineerd voor de Orange Prize for Fiction in 2006. Krauss’ werk is ook verschenen in The New Yorker, Esquire, Harper’s, en Best American Short Stories. Van november 2006 tot februari 2007 was Nicole Krauss columniste bij de Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung
Uit: The History of Love
“I often wonder who will be the last person to see me alive. If I had to bet, I’d bet on the delivery boy from the Chinese take-out. I order in four nights out of seven. Whenever he comes I make a big production of finding my wallet. He stands in the door holding the greasy bag while I wonder if this is the night I’ll finish off my spring roll, climb into bed, and have a heart attack in my sleep.
I try to make a point of being seen. Sometimes when I’m out, I’ll buy a juice even though I’m not thirsty. If the store is crowded I’ll even go so far as dropping my change all over the floor, the nickels and dimes skidding in every direction. I’ll get down on my knees. It’s a big effort for me to get down on my knees, and an even bigger effort to get up. And yet. Maybe I look like a fool. I’ll go into the Athlete’s Foot and say. What do you have in sneakers? The clerk will look me over like the poor schmuck that I am and direct me over to the one pair of Rockports they carry, something in spanking white. Nah, I’ll say, I have those already, and then I’ll make my way over to the Reeboks and pick out something that doesn’t even resemble a shoe, a waterproof bootie, maybe, and ask for it in size 9. The kid will look again, more carefully. He’ll look at me long and hard. Size 9, I’ll repeat while I clutch the webbed shoe. He’ll shake his head and go to the back for them, and by the time he returns I’m peeling off my socks. I’ll roll my pants legs up and look down at those decrepit things, my feet, and an awkward minute will pass until it becomes clear that I’m waiting for him to slip the booties onto them. I never actually buy. All I want is not to die on a day when I went unseen.
A few months ago I saw an ad in the paper. It said, NEEDED: NUDE MODEL FOR DRAWING CLASS. $15/HOUR. It seemed too good to be true. To have so much looked at. By so many. I called the number. A woman told me to come the following Tuesday. I tried to describe myself, but she wasn’t interested. Anything will do, she said.
The days passed slowly. I told Bruno about it, but he misunderstood and thought I was signing up for a drawing class in order to see nude girls. He didn’t want to be corrected. They show their boobs? he asked. I shrugged. And down there?”
Nicole Krauss (New York, 18 augustus 1974)