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.
The word “happy” is a surprisingly rarely used term in Hungarian literature, and this is one of the reasons why I chose to use it. It is rather the expressions for “unhappiness” that have become all too trivial.
"It wanted to be regular and proportionate, like all trees, ideal trees; like all beings, ideal beings. But it was no dreamer. A dreamer would have been crushed by the crags. Nor was it eccentric. An eccentric would have lost patience and fled long ago."
While in some parts of the world writers often appear in the media, and even lend their faces to ads, Hungarian writers rarely seem to descend from the ivory tower. So a poet advertising a dish soap still causes consternation for many.