Hendrik Falkstein writes about love, self-deception, intimacy, loss, and the strange theatre between people. His work combines dark humour with psychological observation and an eye for those small moments when something shifts.

He is not interested in flawless characters, but in people full of contradictions, bad decisions, and serviceable excuses. Vienna often serves as a backdrop, sometimes as a mood, and occasionally as an accomplice.

The language remains direct, concise, and free of literary ornament. What matters is not how beautiful a sentence sounds, but whether it hits.