There is a scene in Christoph Hein's 1982 novella Der fremde Freund that highlights a particular problem of socialist East Germany in its stagnant and stifling final years. A man called Henry, the strange or distant friend of the novella's title, watches a couple of young people hanging around doing nothing in a dingy dance hall. Speaking to some policemen sent to the discotheque, who believe that young people just want to get drunk and get into fights, Henry claims that the apathetic members of this group are waiting for something to happen: "They hope that something will occur. Anything, perhaps their lives."1 The policemen exchange knowing glances; this is not a politically prudent thing to say.The scene captures one of the major themes of Hein's novella, something one could perhaps call the dreariness of oppression in the GDR. Dictatorial political regimes do not always make themselves felt through cruel curtailments of personal freedom. They sometimes suffocate their subjects slowly, inducing states of exasperation and lethargy rather than fear and horror. In its final decade, the socialist regime in East Germany ruled over drab towns and cities whose inhabitants did not live on the brink of starvation or experience radical purges, but did have to endure travel restrictions, recurrent shortages and permanent inefficiencies, negotiations with the inflated bureaucracy, and of course surveillance by the fastidious secret service. The ageing elite had shed its earlier