Introduction (Max Maven)
The question is, why am I writing an introduction to this book? The primary answer, of course, is that they asked me to.
But why me? The first notion that might spring to mind is that I could add some sort of "name value" to this tome, thereby
increasing sales. That is, however, a flawed hypothesis—as amply proven by the sales figures for my own books.
I suppose part of the reason has to do with my relationship to the authors.
One of the more pleasing aspects of my work is that it allows for a great deal of travel. Almost a decade ago, at assorted
European conventions, I began meeting several young German magicians whose creative abilities and performance skills
were notably precocious.
Although located in diverse parts of the country, they all seemed to know each other. Indeed, it was clear that an informal network
was in the process of evolving, thereby enabling and stimulating the active exchange of ideas and information. It was nice to see that
this emerging coalition was based on mutual support and encouragement. (Well, at least insofar as it appeared to this foreign observer.
For all I know, some of these guys may actually be rapaciously self-serving duplicitous rat bastards. But I digress.)
By the mid-1990s, the loose-knit aggregation had developed into a formal entity, dubbed Die Fertigen Finger. I encountered this
now-defined ten-man group in June, 1996 at the German national convention. Their presence was pervasive: Solo members and
variegated subsets entered in sundry contest categories, winning eight awards; as an ensemble they presented a delightful
close-up gala, and delivered a remarkably clever joint lecture.
Writing in the August, 1996 issue of Genii, I hailed their work as having been the highlight of the convention, and detailed the
achievements of each Stammesangehöriger, hence introducing the group to a widespread international readership. Since then,
they’ve gone on to earn extensive praise from many other sources, particularly after their acclaimed work at the
1997 FISM congress in Dresden.
Beyond my public endorsements, individual members of the group have asked for my advice on various matters both artistic
and commercial. It would seem that at least in some instances, my opinions proved useful. As a result, my relationship to
Die Fertigen Finger has developed to the point that now they apparently view me as sort of a combination Public Relations
Flack and High School Guidance Counselor. So, perhaps that explains why I was asked to pen this introduction, but that still
leaves the question of why the American edition of this book requires an introduction in the first place.
Here’s my theory.
It has to do with the German vocabulary. Consider a language in which you sharpen a pencil with a Bleistiftspitzer, tighten a bolt
with a Schraubenschlüssel, and get audited by the Einkommensteuerveranlagungskommission. If you’re attending a Tischgesell
schaft and happen to eat some tainted Blätterteig, you’d better hope there’s a Krankenschwester nearby; otherwise, before you
can explain you’ve got Lebensmittelvergiftung you’ll probably be abgestorben.
This leads me to believe that in its original language, with the same contents, this book was a lot longer. That, in turn, suggests
the true reason for this introduction having been solicited: padding. Well, that’s fine with me. Because I’ve had the chance to
read much of this material (albeit in its more zusammenschrumpfen English form), and I can tell you there is some excellent
stuff in here.
The explanations for the effects and routines are not limited to mundane "how-to" technical data. Yes, that information is included;
but as you work your way through this book, you’ll discover that a great deal of attention is also paid to psychological framing,
dramaturgic subtext, spectator management, and other important elements; indeed, along with the tricks there are a number
of stimulating analytical essays that explore many of the less tangible aspects of theatrical conjuring. Moreover, a concerted
effort has been put into providing credit references. Quite obviously, these kids take their Geisteswissenschaften seriously.
However, don’t let the preceding paragraph mislead you into thinking that this is a ponderous, burdensome book; far from it.
If you’ve had the chance to see these guys in performance, you know that they are very funny. Their madcap humor careens
through these pages, establishing Die Fertigen Finger as the rightful heirs to the beloved tradition of Teutonic comedy that
dates back to Arthur Schopenhauer and has carried on though Richard Wagner, Friedrich Nietzche, Leni Riefenstahl and
Wernher von Braun, to name but a few.
Actually, in some ways the most interesting thing about this book is that although it was generated by a team from a single
country, it is not a specifically "German" product. Of course, this volume has been both formed and informed by the details
of their shared cultural and experiential backgrounds; yet this is a polyphyletic work, incorporating ideas from around the globe.
Every art form benefits from intercultural exchange. The history of magic is rich with such cross-pollination, although in years
gone by it could take a fair amount of time. For instance, a now-standard coin move from China showed up in a Japanese
book in 1779, but did not make its way to the west until about 135 years later when a Chinese vaudevillian explained it to
a few magicians he met during a tour of North America. One of those was a Canadian, living in the United States, who
studied and refined the technique. A few decades later, the Canadian taught it to an Italian who’d been raised in Argentina,
who added his own enhancements and then . . . well, you get the picture.
These days, information moves faster. And so in this book you might come upon a sleight with its roots in Vienna, developed
in New York, published in London, embellished in Chicago, Los Angeles and Paris, filtered through a theory from Madrid,
clarified in Basel, revised in Lisse, applied in Göteborg, and finally bounced around the brains of these guys from various
parts of Germany who, in between creating and performing this material, are busy watching movies produced in Hong
Kong and television shows shot in Vancouver, listening to music blending styles from Kingston and Havana and recorded
in Sydney, using equipment devised in Tokyo and produced in Jakarta, while wearing fashions designed in Milan and
manufactured in Bombay. And everyone drinks Coca-Cola.
We’re nearing the turn of a century; in fact, the turn of a millennium. Welcome, then, to a book of modern magic, by a
group of bright lads who happily acknowledge the past, but whose frame of reference is decidedly current. They’re striving
to push forward, and have chosen to share with us what they’ve learned thus far.
I like these kids. They’re smart enough to know that they haven’t yet figured it all out. They’re aware enough to know that
they might never figure it all out. And either way, they’re hip enough to enjoy the process. They’ve opted to dispense with
Weltschmerz in favor of Wundersucht, and have done so without getting any on the carpet.
