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.
Péter Farkas has made a significant step towards something that we lack. He has found a perspective from which decomposition, decay or even fatigued desires can be described without giving the impression of voyeurism.
The boy awkwardly tried to catch hold of the leg, all the time thinking he can’t let the tears out, he can’t, because then he’ll never be a man. Anyone who feels sorry for the hog will never grow into a man. He remembered what his father always said: if you like sausage, then you’d better like this, too. And he did like sausage.
But what became of the Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani,
my friend... what of your mouth odour and evil thoughts, the acrimony of your
chastity, dear chap, caro mio Giorgio; what became of the precious
desire for vengeance; what kinds of insects did the Creator pluck out
from that?—that is something a Hungarian is curious about.