A man coughs and looks about with disgust and hatred. There's a man in a dress smoking, he thinks, I guess. I hate myself. I'm tired of hating myself. I'm furious for being tired of hating myself. One, two, three, four, five, eight, seventeen heartbeats. – An excerpt from Incognito by Tibor Noé Kiss.
"Being in a sense displaced, being away from home, has I think informed the whole book." - An interview with young novelist David Szalay, shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize. Szalay discusses his work, his Hungarian roots and the experience of leaving London for Hungary.
We know shockingly little about the temporary and troubled period following the Second World War – most often we project onto it what we know of the later decades; and our notion of our knowledge (or ignorance) of the Holocaust is the perfect example. – A review of Pál Závada's latest novel by Teri Szűcs.
László Krasznahorkai's new novel, Baron Wenckheim's Return brings together his whole life's work, is both apocalypse and carnival, sensitive satire, drama, and tragic conclusion in which everyone will find what they're looking for. If you want to laugh, you'll laugh, if you want to be moved, you'll be moved.
Dezső Kosztolányi, the self-styled homo estheticus, was one of the great men of Hungarian letters in the first half of the twentieth century. Little of his poetry has been translated because of its technical ingenuity, but anything by him is ipso facto worthy of attention.