This article was automatically translated by AI.
Have you ever noticed that some women tend to go for children's books that they find sensitive? If you want to position yourself as sensitive and profound, gift your significant other "The Little Prince" and tell them that the book really touched you. If you don't need that kind of thing, you'd rather give a pack of Mozart balls from Aldi, buy "The Little Mr. Death," and read it yourself. The book spends half its time talking about Death Metal, so it deserves a report on Ramtatta.
To be honest, this whole children's book aura initially felt a bit strange to me. It always smells a bit like authors are fulfilling their own wish to write the children's book they never had as a child. Or that they pretend to be pseudo-philosophical because "children see things so pure and unadulterated." I can give the all-clear.
This seems more like an experiment by the author Christian Y. Schmidt, whom I happened to rediscover after reading his entertaining reports about life in China, "Bliefe von dlüben," in the wonderful magazine "Titanic" at least 15 years ago. And so, in this children's book, the rather adult theme of death is cleverly woven into a kind of friendship story, coming-of-age, hero's journey—what do you call that? I have no idea about literature. But it contains all sorts of terrible to cool things that are associated with the theme of death in popular culture, mythology, and of course in metal, packed into a narrative. A junior Grim Reaper has a crisis of meaning, travels a bit around the world, forms a death metal band with a doomed boy, and annoys the people who deserve it.
In doing so, no pun is left unturned that is somehow within reach. This can sometimes be a bit exhausting with the puns, but you get used to it during the reading. Another interesting aspect for me is that Christian Y. Schmidt is not a habitual death metal listener, but he has diligently researched for the book and even included a mini-glossary in the annex. Since he presents this music in the narrative as a pure means of torturing fellow humans, I suspect he had little joy in the music itself and only tortured himself with it out of literary integrity. Because those who talk about death must also talk about death metal! And about Hades. And then one can also excuse that Sepultura (thrash) and Napalm Death (grind) are classified under the genre label death metal, because if we're honest, such distinctions only interest some metal idiots who should better wash their mats and read poems by Jacques Prevot. Personally, as a music fan, this has brought me back to the point where I really want to systematically dive into early death metal, as it offered a punky counter-trend to the metal mainstream of the 80s. Back then, the genre devolved into pretty embarrassing hair metal circus shows. I find blast beats, growling, and fake blood much funnier. But back to the book!
The described scenarios between the world of the living and the dead reminded me a bit of thematically related computer games, specifically the classic Lucas Arts adventure "Grim Fandango," which starts in the Mexican underworld, as well as "Brütal Legends," which takes place in a land from the Manowar or Iron Maiden album covers. Death, skulls, and bones everywhere.
But for those who don't feel like dealing with secondary literature/games/records, the brilliant illustrations by Ulrike Haseloff are more than enough. Top children's book level, and thanks to the quirky theme of the plot, correspondingly funny.
A book not for everyone, but definitely special and a good change from my usual reading about waste management.
And even if you're not interested in the book, a visit to the author's Facebook page is also worthwhile. He advocates for politically consistent action in the current pandemic with attitude and wit. Some completely crazy discussions take place under his posts among many funny people. I don't even know how Mr. Schmidt puts up with it, but it's a fascinating biotope.
