B.L.B. Ubiger

B.L.B. Ubiger writes about spaces and what they do to people. A staircase on which you slow down. A glasshouse where the air is so warm and humid that you lower your voice. A room that still smells of someone who will not be coming back.

Spaces hold on. Console. Intimidate. And sometimes they betray what people leave unsaid.

In the novels, these spaces are a house of glass and light, a bench in Frankfurt's Palmengarten and a picture behind glass.
The novels tell stories of what is repressed and what is left unsaid, of grief, family and closeness – and of what people see and what they hide.