Zsigmond Móricz's Gold in the Mud is a novel that does things with words; it is a novel which deploys an inexorable naturalism and a typifying exaggeration of its characters to express a clear message – serfdom is paralyzing for the aspirational and all-devouring for the ordinary.
The nationalist opposition was all over the media in an instant, declaring themselves to have been right all along in warning the voters throughout the election campaign that a secret network of ex-Communist, international bankers who are totally insensitive to the problems of the average Hungarian would take over the country if people elected a Socialist government.
On September 11, while the world was busy commemorating the attack on the Twin Towers, a small group of scholars and intellectuals gathered in Collegium Budapest – a beautiful, ancient building in the Castle District – to discuss their thoughts on exile in Eastern Europe.
Faludy’s description of his Arabic ideal is actually true of himself and most of his characters – to wit, they spend the greater part of their days making love, doing nothing or philosophising. – György Faludy has died at the age of 96.
They say that about 7% of the total population of Hungary worked for or collaborated with the feared secret police in Hungary. What happened to these people after the change of the regime? Most of those who are still alive and employable are doing well. They became politicians, curators, and heads of cultural institutions.
“Muslims are the Jews of our time,” Spiró stated, and a wake of controversy followed his analogy of the peoples and processes of two remote historical periods. The theme of exploitation and manipulation keeps popping up as we navigate through some rough timespace terrain.
Literary events thrive all throughout the annual week-long monstre musical venue, the Sziget Festival. In this multitude of talks, lectures and readings, our on-the-spot report takes you to this year’s second organized slam poetry session, a newly developing trend on the contemporary Hungarian scene.
"I know, Lord, that to think of you is cheek, / and still worse, to address you when I speak, / as if my voice were what you're yearning for. / There was a time, if you'd struck me with lightning, / I'd have accepted it, thought it the right thing. / Now I've made you my co-conspirator."
To sell ourselves to the Western media as political refugees would have been out of style. Therefore, we wore Russian military uniforms with our punk hairdos and talked about being highly trained KGB agents sent to the free world to destroy the morals of the Western youth.