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Described as “one of the great prose stylists of the twentieth century,” Bohumil Hrabal ranks among the most important and widely translated Czech authors. Jiří Pelán, a respected scholar of Czech, French and Italian literature, approaches Hrabal as a comparatist, expertly situating him within the context of European and world literature, as he explores the entirety of Hrabal’s oeuvre and its development over sixty years. Praised for its concise, clear and readable style, Bohumil Hrabal: A Full-length Portrait offers international readers an important Czech perspective on the world-class author. Contains 32 photographs of Bohumil Hrabal, a list of his works’ English translations to date, and a bibliography of international scholarship.
This collection of the earliest prose by one of literature’s greatest stylists captures, as scholar Arnault Maréchal put it, “the moment when Hrabal discovered the magic of writing.” Taken from the period when Bohumil Hrabal shifted his focus from poetry to prose, these stories—many written in school notebooks, typed and read aloud to friends, or published in samizdat—often showcase raw experiments in style that would define his later works. Others intriguingly utilize forms the author would never pursue again. Featuring the first appearance of key figures from Hrabal’s later writings, such as his real-life Uncle Pepin, who would become a character in his later fiction and is credited here as a coauthor of one piece, the book also contains stories that Hrabal would go on to cannibalize for some of his most famous novels. All together, Why I Write? offers readers the chance to explore this liminal phase of Hrabal’s writing. Expertly interpreted by award-winning Hrabal translator David Short, this collection comprises some of the last remaining prose works by Hrabal to be translated into English. A treasure trove for Hrabal devotees, Why I Write? allows us to see clearly why this great prose master was, as described by Czech writer and publisher Josef Škvorecký, “fundamentally a lyrical poet.”
Jiří Weil’s documentary prose poem, Lamentation for 77,297 Victims is a literary monument to the Czech Jews killed during the Holocaust. A remarkable Czech-Jewish writer who worked at Prague’s Jewish Museum during the Nazi Occupation and after – he survived the Holocaust by faking his own death – Weil wrote his Lamentation while he served as the museum’s senior librarian in the 1950s. Remarkable literary experiment opening new ways how to write about the undescribable combines a narrative of the Shoa, newspaper style accounts of individual lives destroyed by the Holocaust, and quotes from the Tanakh, each having a specific and powerful effect.
From the eighth floor of a tower block in Central Europe, Jan Zábrana surveyed the twentieth century. He had been exiled from his own life by Communism. His parents were imprisoned, their health broken, and he was not allowed to study languages in college. Refusing both to rebel outright or to cave in, he thought of himself as a dead man walking. “To all those who keep asking me to do things for them, I sometimes feel like saying: ‘But I’m dead. I died long ago. Why do you keep treating me as if I were one of the living?’” Yet during some of Europe’s most difficult years, he wrote The Lesser Histories, a collection of sixty-four sonnets that range through themes of age, sex, and political repression—a radiant testament to his times. The lines are emptied both of personal pathos and political stridency. Often Zábrana’s own voice segues into those of poets he had translated over the years, leaving only a bare shimmer of subjectivity—humorous, oblique, pained—with which to view his own works and days. The poems document a splendid and bitter isolation, and are immersed in the humor, hatreds, and loves of the everyday. Published in Czech in the ill-fated year of 1968, they subsequently fell into neglect. After the fall of Communism in 1989, Zábrana’s collected poems and selected diaries were published in Czech, and he was acclaimed as a major twentieth-century writer. Now, with this collection, he can begin to reach English-language readers for the first time.
Výbor ze studií literárního historika a editora Martina Machovce, které vznikaly v posledních dvou dekádách (2000–2018), představuje celou řadu faset uvažování o fenoménu undergroundu. V jednotlivých studiích se zabývá zejména undergroundovou literaturou z okruhu I. M. Jirouse a rockové skupiny The Plastic People of the Universe, ale věnuje pozornost i širším souvislostem této literatury – jejím předchůdcům z 50. let (okruh Egona Bondyho a Ivo Vodseďálka), roli ve společenství Charty 77, vazbám na angloamerické prostředí nebo hudebním a scénickým realizacím a způsobu, jakým byly tyto texty v samizdatu šířeny. In this collection of writings produced between 2000 and 2018, the pioneering literary historian of the Czech underground, Martin Machovec, examines the multifarious nature of the underground phenomenon. After devoting considerable attention to the circle surrounding the band The Plastic People of the Universe and their manager, the poet Ivan M. Jirous, Machovec turns outward to examine the broader concept of the underground, comparing the Czech incarnation not only with the movements of its Central and Eastern European neighbors, but also with those in the world at large. In one essay, he reflects on the so-called Půlnoc Editions, which published illegal texts in the darkest days of the late forties and early fifties. In other essays, Machovec examines the relationship between illegal texts published at home (samizdat) and those smuggled out to be published abroad (tamizdat), as well as the range of literature that can be classified as samizdat, drawing attention to movements frequently overlooked by literary critics. In his final, previously unpublished essay, Machovec examines Jirous’s “Report on the Third Czech Musical Revival” not as a merely historical document, but as literature itself.
A paranoid thriller of life under surveillance in Communist Czechoslovakia. A deputy minister in the Communist Party, Ludvík enjoys all the luxuries that political success affords him, but he must be careful since he knows the secret police have bugged his apartment. Penned under the oppressive watch of Soviet authorities in 1960s Czechoslovakia—but touching on still-current themes of surveillance and paranoia—this darkly comic, cinematic thriller is as tense and timely as ever. Author Jan Procházka knew firsthand the gnawing terror of life in a surveillance state. A promising Party member who became persona non grata after the Soviet occupation of Czechoslovakia, his own apartment was discovered to contain no less than twelve hidden microphones.
It’s 1979 in Czechoslovakia, ten years into the crushing restoration of repressive communism known as normalization, and Ludvík Vaculík has writer’s block. It has been nearly a decade since he wrote his last novel, and even longer since he wrote the 1968 manifesto, "Two Thousand Words,” which the Soviet Union used as one of the pretexts for invading Czechoslovakia. On the advice of a friend, Vaculík begins to keep a diary: "a book about things, people and events.” Fifty-four weeks later, what Vaculík has written is a unique mixture of diary, dream journal, and outright fiction – an inverted roman à clef in which the author, his family, his mistresses, the secret police and leading figures of the Czech underground play major roles.
“The terrible bow was drawn taut. Men had let their powers be taken captive and had become the stooges of governments, they had become drinkers of the blood that fuelled their rage, they had become angels of evil, devils who spilled blood like water. A raven with shreds of corpses still stuck to its claws was perched on their shoulder and yet they saw nothing and understood nothing. The orders of platoon commanders were their reasoning and a ghastly rough and tumble was their home, each such home perishing piecemeal as bayonets made mincemeat of arms rising to take aim. Death was a day that had no dusk and horrors became the wont of armies.” Ploughshares into Swords is an expressionist anti-war novel in which Vančura tells the story of the denizens of the Ouhrov estate in language as baroque as the manor that ties them all together. The fragmented narrative introduces the reader to such characters as the Baron Danowitz, his sons, his French concubine, the farmhand František Horá, and the half-wit murderer Řeka in the autumn of 1913, before revealing their fates during the First World War. Spanning an area that stretches from the peaceful farmlands of Bohemia to the battlefields of Galicia, taking in the pubs of Budapest and the hospitals of Cracow, the novel constitutes an unsentimental and naturalistic approach to the war that created Czechoslovakia through a conscious subversion of the prophet Isaiah’s injunction that nations should beat their swords into ploughshares. Ploughshares into Swords is a stunning novel by one of Czech literature’s most important writers. This modernist masterpiece, akin to the work of Isaac Babel and William Faulkner, is now available in English for the very first time.
“It grew dark and a mist spread over the countryside like a curtain. We were at the Bohemian border. Customs control, shouting, the din of the station, and finally the train moved on with a monotonous drone. ‘It was right here that I met Teresa Elinson,’ Marta said, in the corner of the cozy compartment. I replied: ‘Who is Teresa Elinson? I don’t remember you ever mentioning her.’ ‘No, never. It was a kind of adventure. That time too the train hurtled into the dark, where red sparks flew and lights flashed, scattering in the mist...’” Thus begins the story by Růžena Jesenská that gives this book its name. In this anthology, Kathleen Hayes has selected and translated eight stories by Czech female authors at the turn of the 19th and 20th century: a period of female political emancipation and impressive literary development. All of the writers included in the present volume were recognized in their own day and constitute a cross-section of the literary styles of the period. Tilschová’s “A Sad Time” is written in a Naturalist style; Jesenská’s “A World Apart” presents themes and motifs that appealed to the Decadents. Malířová’s “The Sylph” is both diaristic and satirical, while Svobodová’s ironical “A Great Passion”, with its rural setting and folklore motifs, reminds one of the writings of Karel Jaromír Erben. Preissová’s short story may be read as a celebration of folk culture. Benešová’s “Friends” is interesting for its psychological presentation of a child’s point of view and its implicit criticism of anti-Semitism. The book is accompanied by the biographies of each author and an introduction by Kathleen Hayes.