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.
"One fine day a Martian turned up in Budapest, took a room in the Bristol Hotel, brushed the stardust from his suit and telephoned to inquire if I might show him round the town." A Martian’s Guide to Budapest is Antal Szerb's "whimsical and gently ironical love letter to the city."
The 'Kukorelly' voice is sober, sparse, often playful... always at once personal and impersonal... Insensitive to the meddlesome point of alerting sensitivity. ─ Excerpts from the first collection of poems in English by Endre Kukorelly, published by Singing Bone Press.
The challenge: if people would only know, hear, and see what poets did, then at least some of them would realize too how cool literature can actually be. - Three projects which engage in popularizing, mediating, and digitally archiving contemporary Hungarian poetry.
How does a woman arrive at the point of killing her husband? Why does she want a child at all costs? And why does society stigmatize her if she doesn’t manage to have one? Noémi Kiss’s novel breaks the silence around many social taboos, including domestic violence, infertility, sexual dependence and emigration.
A literary sensation in Hungary, György Spiró’s book is a gripping page-turner, a masterful historical epic, and a riotous road novel. Set in the tumultuous first century A.D., the novel recounts the adventures of Uri, a bookish, hapless, young Roman Jew. – Forthcoming from Restless Books.
“Men,” he announced, “from this day forth, everything here is yours!” Csurmándi’s sweeping gesture took in the servants’ huts, the stables, the granaries, the fields stretching into the distance, the boughs of the trees lining the main road, and no two ways about it, even Count Pálfi’s palace.
When a man decides to build a house and stops in front of the empty plot for the first time, he involuntarily puts his hand on his wife’s shoulder and is lost in reveries. In the course of the next fifteen, twenty years, this gesture will become less frequent, or it will stop altogether, but that’s not what you think about at a time like this.