How often I arrive, by train over the dam, through the shimmering lagoon, on the Paris-Venice train, Munich-Venice, by ship, from the Adriatic, from the temples, from the columns. Venice beckons, captivates, seduces with its light, its air of water, the air of spirits. The traveler is thrown off the track. He has jumped ashore, certain of adventure. Wolfgang Koeppen's memories of Venice quickly reveal their magic, which has always been characteristic of Koeppen's texts. Andreas Müller, Darmstädter Echo.