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TWO STATES-ONE NATION? By Gunter Grass (Nonfiction, Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, $18.95)
Shortly before Christmas, on my way to Lubeck from Gottingen, I was changing trains in Hamburg when a young man approached me, practically cornered me, and called me a traitor to the fatherland. He left me standing there with the phrase echoing in my ears. Then, after I had more or less calmly bought myself a newspaper, he approached me again, now with no mild threat but the statement that it was time to do away with my kind. My initial anger I managed to shake off while still on the platform, but my thoughts kept returning to the incident as I continued on to Lubeck. ''Traitor to the fatherland.'' The expression, paired with the term ''rootless cosmopolitan,'' belongs to the special vocabulary of German history. Perhaps the young man was right when he spoke that way in a cold rage. Isn't it true that I don't give a damn for a fatherland for whose sake my kind should be done away with? The fact is, I fear a Germany simplified from two states into one.
THE INDIAN LAWYER By James Welch (Fiction, Norton, $19.95)
It had happened a little less than a year ago in the library on the high side. He felt the shank go in and it surprised him. He knew in a split second what had happened but it surprised him and then it pissed him off. He was the cautious type and he had let himself get stuck like a fish just off fish row. A couple of guys on the unit had given him a little shit for that. Harwood, the old con, getting stuck like some fish. He had to know that the Indians were going to try it some time. In the library yet. He hadn't been on the job three weeks when it happened. But he got nine days in the infirmary out of it. That wasn't too bad. He even managed to score some Tylenol 3, which he sold to the inmate who brought the mail.
THE CHINESE OXYMORON By Veroncia S. Pierce (Mystery, Council Oak Books, $14.95)
The low-slung car down-shifted neatly around a hairpin turn, then roared up the steep incline, the dizzying alpine scenery falling rapidly below. Expanses of snow-peaked Alps and sun-lit valleys stretched in all directions. The brightly colored little car gathered speed and shifted smoothly into high gear, cresting the mountaintop, its momentum lifting all four wheels from the road. The precarious mountain track leveled briefly, and the small car gained traction and hurtled forward, then-driver and car operating as one-down- shifted expertly into the next quick turn.
SEXUAL INTERCOURSE By Rose Boyt (Fiction, Random House, $17.95)
''Black is so dreary,'' said Sylvia. ''Those dahlias,'' she said. ''You know that they crossbreed them. They weed out the mutants and the variations. They won't leave nothing alone. Like plastic, ugly they are. Perfect.'' The mourners shuffled into the crematorium. Sylvia adjusted the black headscarf that was tied firmly under her chin. ''Come along, Norman,'' she said, and took his arm. They made their way out of the sunshine into the building. Sylvia leant on her son. ''Norman,'' she hissed in his ear. ''You look gorgeous in that suit.'' Norman winked at her. The crematorium chapel was filling up. Thin strains of a piped tune could be heard emanating from behind an orange curtain that hung at the far end of the chapel. They took their seats. ''Sad really,'' said Sylvia. ''Only a distant relation, through marriage, but still makes you think.'' ''Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,'' said the vicar. The orange curtain opened and the coffin glided away into the darkness.
