Ervin Lázár is the creator of a genre we may safely call
Central European folk surrealism, which takes on the quality of a
hallucinatory exploration into that part of the soul where beauty, hope,
and yearning live in close proximity with the harsh realities of life.
Concepts such as the "greatness" of these works or, God forbid, a sensibility for transcendence are non-existent: the system offers them no houseroom. The outcome of all this is "fatal mediocrity." This is how László Földényi F. sees contemporary German literature.
"Lot has long been a hero of mine. A morally charged hero, which is why he has such a difficult fate—a true person." – Imre Kertész talks to János Kőbányai about Hungarian literature and his forthcoming book.
Zsuzsa Beney's poetry hovers on the edge of being and non-being, as if creating an
ethereal travelogue comprised merely of elusive fragments of that
impossible no-man’s land from which none return.
Spotless collars, handkerchiefs white as snow gleam around Emerenc
Szeredás; no sick person remains untended, no street unswept. Yet in the
world of consolidating socialism of the Hungary of the 1960s, the
harshness and strange lifestyle of this ex-servant somehow seems
irritating and inscrutable.
I was delighted and relieved, recently, to run across the Tumblr Stoop Books of Brooklyn, which has been garnering some well-deserved Internet buzz. Delighted because [...]