I return to one of my favourite humourists, Flann O'Brien, as it just happens that I read a collection of his Stories and Plays. I think this is required reading for all Flann fans, bringing to our attention
some of his theatre work, his unfinished novel Slattery's Sago Saga, as
well as a typical O'Brien piece on James Joyce (James Joyce in the Dark) and a number of short stories, the best of which is, to my mind, The Martyr's Crown (turned into a short film in 2009). Claud Cockburn's
introduction is also very illuminating.
Yet another interesting read for Flann fans is Rhapsody in Stephen's Green / The Insect Play, a lost work by Flann / Myles na
Gopaleen, which is, in fact, an interesting and highly personalised adaptation of a play by
the Czech writer Karel Capek (with Joseph Capek).
A
humorous (close to sarcastic) look at the human condition through
episodes from the life of insects, this play shows Flann / Myles at the
height of his creative powers, with superb powers of characterisation.
The "Dublinisation" of the setting and characters is very successful,
and the lovers of Myles' Cruiskeen Lawn column will recognise elements
of it in here. The text also benefits from an introduction by editor Robert Tracy recounting how the play fared during its theatre career and how exactly it got to be lost.
Friday 19 July 2013
Friday 25 January 2013
An Egyptian Detour
Given that today, 25 January, was the 2-year anniversary of the Tahrir Square revolution, I thought it would be the case to write a note about a very Egyptian book (later turned into a very good film) that summarises very well and accurately enough - at least in my eyes - contemporary Egyptian society.
I am talking about Alaa Al Aswany's Yacoubian Building, a book which looks at a cross-section of Egyptian society with candour and frankness, a touch of irony, and lucid realism.
I have to confess to seeing the film before reading the book (I add a trailer below for your pleasure), within the Arab Film Festival at the ICA, which was followed by an illuminating Q&A with the film's director, Marwan Hamed.
The main characters with whom the book is concerned come from different walks of life and backgrounds: a crooked businessman with political ambitions, an ambitious student whose aspirations are dashed because of his poverty, a feisty young woman who has to work to support her family, an upper class Lothario, a very rich, refined gay man and his policeman lover, and a scheming tailor. They are all connected by the Yacoubian Building itself, a once grand block of flats that houses the rich in its vast apartments, while hosting on its roof a collection of ramshackle huts where the working class poor live.
In the throbbing heart of Cairo, these people love, plot, strive, survive, and dream of the future - each in their own way.
Taha, the young student, dreams of wedded bliss together with his childhood sweetheart, Busaina. But she has to work to maintain her mother and brothers, and his dreams to become a policeman come to nothing because he doesn't have the money to bribe his way in the police academy. While Busaina comes to accept the advances of her boss at the clothing store where she works, and becomes increasingly disillusioned and bitter, Taha finds solace in religion, coming under the sway of a very influential preacher.
Hagg Azzam rose to the top from being a shoeshine. He now has everything he needs and a little more. But he's not happy: he aspires to a place in the national assembly, and discovers that - at his age - he still has physical needs his old wife can't meet. The solution? Get a second, younger wife; but don't complicate things with the family, keep her closeted in the luxury flat in the Yacoubian Building, and take care there would be no new heirs to the fortune. A very religious man, Hagg Azzam sees nothing wrong with this solution (suggested by a friendly imam), nor in enjoying the occasional hashish. To get a leg up in politics, he has to get in the good graces of kingmaker Kamal El Fouli, but he might be in too deep for his own good.
Zaki Bey comes from an old, prestigious family. He spends his days spending what's left of the family fortune chasing women and appreciating fine drinks - and occasionally having monster rows with his sister, always careful of the family name. When Busaina is introduced to him as a prospective secretary, he discovers a very fine woman who might tame him, while she discovers the charm of a bygone age - and maybe a means of salvation.
Hatim Rasheed is the editor of the French-language newspaper Le Caire, and also a fairly open gay man. His employees respect him too much to make an issue about it, and his neighbours are both understanding (to some point) and intimidated by his wealth and high position in society to say anything about it in his face.
Although the book, and subsequently the film, was accused by some commentators (in the West) of presenting a "dated and shallow" view of homosexuality, the simple fact that it is presented as a fact of life, is considered to be revolutionary. "I tried to portray the gay character as a human being, not as a particular case. That is something new" said Alaa Al Aswany in an interview for The Guardian.
To quote Rachel Aspden, writing in The Observer, "Al Aswany's frank treatment of everything from homosexuality and corruption to illegal abortion and police brutality was sensational. His book went on to become the bestselling Arabic novel in recent history."
The style of writing is clean, without exaggerations, and sparse with regard to metaphors, making for a very enjoyable read that uncovers a previously unknown world.
The most likeable character was, for me, the libertine Zaki Bey, possibly also because he is wonderfully played in the film by veteran actor Adel Imam. In fact, the characters are all having bigger or smaller flaws, just like anyone else, but some people's flaws are way bigger than the others. Who comes off the worst, in my opinion, is Hagg Azam, who embodies some of the worst traits of the corrupt society the Egyptian revolution tried to get rid off two years ago. I think the film wholly does justice to the book, although it had to cut some parts and change others. If you're going to get through the film and the book, I'd recommend to start with the film.
I am talking about Alaa Al Aswany's Yacoubian Building, a book which looks at a cross-section of Egyptian society with candour and frankness, a touch of irony, and lucid realism.
I have to confess to seeing the film before reading the book (I add a trailer below for your pleasure), within the Arab Film Festival at the ICA, which was followed by an illuminating Q&A with the film's director, Marwan Hamed.
The main characters with whom the book is concerned come from different walks of life and backgrounds: a crooked businessman with political ambitions, an ambitious student whose aspirations are dashed because of his poverty, a feisty young woman who has to work to support her family, an upper class Lothario, a very rich, refined gay man and his policeman lover, and a scheming tailor. They are all connected by the Yacoubian Building itself, a once grand block of flats that houses the rich in its vast apartments, while hosting on its roof a collection of ramshackle huts where the working class poor live.
In the throbbing heart of Cairo, these people love, plot, strive, survive, and dream of the future - each in their own way.
Taha, the young student, dreams of wedded bliss together with his childhood sweetheart, Busaina. But she has to work to maintain her mother and brothers, and his dreams to become a policeman come to nothing because he doesn't have the money to bribe his way in the police academy. While Busaina comes to accept the advances of her boss at the clothing store where she works, and becomes increasingly disillusioned and bitter, Taha finds solace in religion, coming under the sway of a very influential preacher.
Hagg Azzam rose to the top from being a shoeshine. He now has everything he needs and a little more. But he's not happy: he aspires to a place in the national assembly, and discovers that - at his age - he still has physical needs his old wife can't meet. The solution? Get a second, younger wife; but don't complicate things with the family, keep her closeted in the luxury flat in the Yacoubian Building, and take care there would be no new heirs to the fortune. A very religious man, Hagg Azzam sees nothing wrong with this solution (suggested by a friendly imam), nor in enjoying the occasional hashish. To get a leg up in politics, he has to get in the good graces of kingmaker Kamal El Fouli, but he might be in too deep for his own good.
Zaki Bey comes from an old, prestigious family. He spends his days spending what's left of the family fortune chasing women and appreciating fine drinks - and occasionally having monster rows with his sister, always careful of the family name. When Busaina is introduced to him as a prospective secretary, he discovers a very fine woman who might tame him, while she discovers the charm of a bygone age - and maybe a means of salvation.
Hatim Rasheed is the editor of the French-language newspaper Le Caire, and also a fairly open gay man. His employees respect him too much to make an issue about it, and his neighbours are both understanding (to some point) and intimidated by his wealth and high position in society to say anything about it in his face.
Although the book, and subsequently the film, was accused by some commentators (in the West) of presenting a "dated and shallow" view of homosexuality, the simple fact that it is presented as a fact of life, is considered to be revolutionary. "I tried to portray the gay character as a human being, not as a particular case. That is something new" said Alaa Al Aswany in an interview for The Guardian.
To quote Rachel Aspden, writing in The Observer, "Al Aswany's frank treatment of everything from homosexuality and corruption to illegal abortion and police brutality was sensational. His book went on to become the bestselling Arabic novel in recent history."
The style of writing is clean, without exaggerations, and sparse with regard to metaphors, making for a very enjoyable read that uncovers a previously unknown world.
The most likeable character was, for me, the libertine Zaki Bey, possibly also because he is wonderfully played in the film by veteran actor Adel Imam. In fact, the characters are all having bigger or smaller flaws, just like anyone else, but some people's flaws are way bigger than the others. Who comes off the worst, in my opinion, is Hagg Azam, who embodies some of the worst traits of the corrupt society the Egyptian revolution tried to get rid off two years ago. I think the film wholly does justice to the book, although it had to cut some parts and change others. If you're going to get through the film and the book, I'd recommend to start with the film.
And, since we're talking about Tahrir Square, here is a short video interview with a young Egyptian who has taken part in the events.
Monday 29 October 2012
Romanian Film in London
There's something about new Romanian cinema... A certain "je ne sais quoi" that, while watching the film, and then quite a long time afterwards, makes you think of the meaning of life, relationships, society, and even recent history. Or, at least, that's the effect it has on me.
The so-called New Wave of Romanian cinema broke onto the international stage around 2004, seemingly coming from nowhere - or that's how things looked like to Western audience and film specialists. There is quite a long history of film-making in Romania, that also counts a Cannes Best Director Award for Liviu Ciulei, in 1965, for Forest of the Hanged. There is also Lucian Pintilie, the realist master who fled Romania in the early 1980s after the censorship banned the screening of all his films to date. Or Dan Pita, sidetracked when his film Sand Cliffs, a scathing depiction of the vengefulness of idividuals in positions of power, was personally banned by dictator Nicolae Ceausescu.
Even if people might not be aware of this history, the good thing is that they are aware of new Romanian cinema, and appreciate it. And I like to believe that one of the channels that had quite a contribution towards promoting it in the UK was the Romanian Film Festival in London. From its first edition in 2003, the Festival presented some of the newest and best Romanian films, including the short and debut films of people who've become by now household names of the arthouse circuit: Cristi Puiu, Cristian Mungiu, Corneliu Porumboiu.
This year's edition, titled The Other Side of Hope, takes place from 22 to 25 November, at the Renoir Cinema in Bloomsbury, a very short walk away from Russell Square tube station.
The full programme was announced recently, and it looks very promising. Beyond the Hills, the new film by Cristian Mungiu, is presented in the gala screening on 22nd November, with Principles of Life by Constantin Popescu on the 23rd, Everybody in Our Family by Radu Jude on the 24th, and Periferic, Bogdan George Apetri's debut feature film, on the 25th. As a special treat, another screening will take place on 26 November, at the European Bank for Development and Reconstruction, in the City: Medal of Honour by Calin Peter Netzer, featuring and amazing performance by Victor Rebengiuc, the lead actor from Forest of the Hanged.
I recommend warmly these screenings to all film-lovers. This is Romanian cinema at its best: superb cinematography, uncompromising stories, and also the usual dose of gallows humour. There will also be guests from Romania who will take part in Q&A sessions for every film - yet another reason for you to be there.
Full details of the Festival are on the website http://www.rofilmfest.com. For your benefit, I include here a short Festival Trailer (edited by yours truly).
Wednesday 10 October 2012
Twelfth Night and Nights
I have been to the theatre today, and not
just any theatre but The Globe. I saw The Twelfth Night as Shakespeare intended
it: the play was performed in true Elisabethan style by a male-only cast,
using costumes, mannerisms and music of the period ("If music be the food of love..." accompanied by Dowland's Flow my Tears).
I saw some great people at work: Mark Rylance made an incredible Olivia, floating on the stage with ease and campishness, and Stephen Fry proved to be a very good Malvolio, acting in turns like a paragon of unctuousness and a bully. Also, Roger Lloyd Pack, known to audiences all over the world as Trigger in Only Fools and Horses, was a good Andrew Aguecheek. The entire cast acted extraordinarily, keeping to the conventions and methods in existence around 1601 (as The Globe informs the audience). Given that the text allows for such additions, the actors went for laughs with various gestures: exaggerations, rude or knowing signs, sexual innuendo, slapstick, all conducive to merriment.
My first encounter with The Twelfth Night took place at some point in the 1980s, when I was too young to actually realise what was going on. The Romanian television was broadcasting the full BBC series of dramatisations after Shakespeare, and something stayed with me from that moment. I then read the play in Mihnea Gheorghiu's translation in the Works published by Editura Univers (which my parents had on their shelves), and then didn't meet with the play for a long time. That is, until Trevor Nunn's film of 1998 which I enjoyed greatly. The action is moved successfully to the 19th century, and the film goes on - like the play itself - at the leisurely pace of a romantic romp, with a memorable Malvolio played by Nigel Hawthorne.
Some years later, in 2006, I had the chance to work as an assistant tour manager for the National Theatre of Craiova's season in Bath - with The Twelfth Night, directed by SilviuPurcarete. Nothing could be further from Nunn's romantic vision than Purcarete's semi-nightmarish (yet still funny) interpretation. Part of my duties was to feed lines on the LED-screen showing the English text, line by line by line: What country, friends, is this (return) Illyria, madam (return)... The advantage of repeating this exercise for seven or eight shows was that of bringing a certain familiarity with the original text, learning some lines, and their place in the play, by heart.
This did not prepare me, though, for reading the play in a scholarly edition curated by the great Stanley Wells (who, by the way, was in the audience this evening), in which layers of meaning are added by explanations of the context and wordplay. A theatre scholar once said that non-English speakers can, sometimes, enjoy Shakespeare more because they are not obliged to read him in a language whose syntax and expressions are 400 years old. He was right, to some extent. But I think that anyone who loves English should read Shakespeare in the original.
The second time I saw The Twelfth Night at the theatre was a rather special one, because it had now mutated into kabuki theatre, in the vision of Yukio Ninagawa, at the Barbican (2009). Useless to say the translation worked wonderfully, with parallels between Elisabethan and kabuki conventions being rendered evident, not the least by the all-male cast and the issue of "man playing a woman who pretends to be a man". Beside these, one of the things that impressed me most was Ninagawa's decision to bring to the stage the shipwreck which is implicit in Shakespeare's text. To this end, a quite big ship put on an appearance in the opening scenes. Some images from the kabuki production (but not from the Barbican) can be seen here.
There was also Peter Hall's Twelfth Night staged at the National Theatre in 2011, which was particularly beautiful and melancholy, played in a simple, sparsely decorated scenography, with a fantastic Rebecca Hall as Viola, Marton Csokas as Orsino, and Simon Callow as Sir Toby.
In conclusion, I recommend The Globe's production of The Twelfth Night warmly. I understood it will transfer later on this year to the Apollo theatre in the West End.
The morale of this rambling story of Twelfth Nights? Shakespeare is very good to see and/or read, no matter the language you're reading him in.
I saw some great people at work: Mark Rylance made an incredible Olivia, floating on the stage with ease and campishness, and Stephen Fry proved to be a very good Malvolio, acting in turns like a paragon of unctuousness and a bully. Also, Roger Lloyd Pack, known to audiences all over the world as Trigger in Only Fools and Horses, was a good Andrew Aguecheek. The entire cast acted extraordinarily, keeping to the conventions and methods in existence around 1601 (as The Globe informs the audience). Given that the text allows for such additions, the actors went for laughs with various gestures: exaggerations, rude or knowing signs, sexual innuendo, slapstick, all conducive to merriment.
My first encounter with The Twelfth Night took place at some point in the 1980s, when I was too young to actually realise what was going on. The Romanian television was broadcasting the full BBC series of dramatisations after Shakespeare, and something stayed with me from that moment. I then read the play in Mihnea Gheorghiu's translation in the Works published by Editura Univers (which my parents had on their shelves), and then didn't meet with the play for a long time. That is, until Trevor Nunn's film of 1998 which I enjoyed greatly. The action is moved successfully to the 19th century, and the film goes on - like the play itself - at the leisurely pace of a romantic romp, with a memorable Malvolio played by Nigel Hawthorne.
Some years later, in 2006, I had the chance to work as an assistant tour manager for the National Theatre of Craiova's season in Bath - with The Twelfth Night, directed by SilviuPurcarete. Nothing could be further from Nunn's romantic vision than Purcarete's semi-nightmarish (yet still funny) interpretation. Part of my duties was to feed lines on the LED-screen showing the English text, line by line by line: What country, friends, is this (return) Illyria, madam (return)... The advantage of repeating this exercise for seven or eight shows was that of bringing a certain familiarity with the original text, learning some lines, and their place in the play, by heart.
This did not prepare me, though, for reading the play in a scholarly edition curated by the great Stanley Wells (who, by the way, was in the audience this evening), in which layers of meaning are added by explanations of the context and wordplay. A theatre scholar once said that non-English speakers can, sometimes, enjoy Shakespeare more because they are not obliged to read him in a language whose syntax and expressions are 400 years old. He was right, to some extent. But I think that anyone who loves English should read Shakespeare in the original.
The second time I saw The Twelfth Night at the theatre was a rather special one, because it had now mutated into kabuki theatre, in the vision of Yukio Ninagawa, at the Barbican (2009). Useless to say the translation worked wonderfully, with parallels between Elisabethan and kabuki conventions being rendered evident, not the least by the all-male cast and the issue of "man playing a woman who pretends to be a man". Beside these, one of the things that impressed me most was Ninagawa's decision to bring to the stage the shipwreck which is implicit in Shakespeare's text. To this end, a quite big ship put on an appearance in the opening scenes. Some images from the kabuki production (but not from the Barbican) can be seen here.
There was also Peter Hall's Twelfth Night staged at the National Theatre in 2011, which was particularly beautiful and melancholy, played in a simple, sparsely decorated scenography, with a fantastic Rebecca Hall as Viola, Marton Csokas as Orsino, and Simon Callow as Sir Toby.
In conclusion, I recommend The Globe's production of The Twelfth Night warmly. I understood it will transfer later on this year to the Apollo theatre in the West End.
The morale of this rambling story of Twelfth Nights? Shakespeare is very good to see and/or read, no matter the language you're reading him in.
Thursday 9 August 2012
Reading and Talk with Author Mike Phillips
This Saturday, 11 August 2012, is set to be rather special: I will go to a reading and book signing event with author Mike Phillips, which takes place in the grounds of the fabulously named Bruce Castle in Haringey, North London (Lordship Lane, Tottenham, N17 8NU). More info here: www.facebook.com/events/328138820613977/
I met Mike Phillips in 2004, I think, through our common interest in Romanian culture. I remember being struck not only by his interest in my home country, but by the in-depth knowledge of many cultural and social aspects of Romanian life - knowledge that I am afraid to say it is not shared by some Romanians I know.
So, here was this successful British writer who wanted to do something in order to make Romanian culture better known in the UK. What's not to like about that? I was fortunate to work with Mike on many events, from book launches to bringing Romanian theatres to the UK and organising Romanian film festivals. But I think that, by far, the best was being able to work, as a co-translator, with Mike Phillips and Ramona Mitrica, on the three Romanian books published Profusion Crime Series. I already knew Mike's competences in the areas of literature, film and theatre - but now, working on the translation of examples of "popular culture" I got to appreciate how well he'd got to know the Romanian psyche.
Then came the fourth book in the Profusion Crime Series: the amazingly frank and wonderfully objective "Rimaru - Butcher of Bucharest". I've already written about it on this blog. Now I will have the occasion to listen to Mike talk about the genesis of the volume, and, as an extra bonus, he will be reading from it. Between you and me, he has a wonderful reading voice, so that would definitely be a treat. Mike will also talk about his novel "A Shadow of Myself", a very good book in which cultures, interests and personalities clash in an exciting, Noir environment.
See you at the Bruce Castle!
Sunday 15 July 2012
Mihail Sebastian: Reading Past Lives and Enduring Problems
One of my companions for the past year has been Mihail Sebastian's Journal. At 620+ pages it is quite a read, but it is not because of its length it takes me so long to finish it: it's because I can only take it in relatively small doses.
Mihail Sebastian (born Iosif Hechter, 1907–1945) was a Jewish-Romanian writer and playwright in pre-WW2 Bucharest, a time of booming intellectual activity but also one of increasingly vocal nationalism, and fascist and anti-Semitic fervour. Sebastian burst onto the literary scene in 1934 with a controversial novel , "De doua mii de ani" (For Two Thousand Years), dealing with the condition of the Jew in the contemporary Romanian society. The controversy stemmed not only from the first person narrative (which may be construed as being to some point autobiographical), but also from the introduction written by Sebastian's mentor, the philosopher and journalist Nae Ionescu. Although Ionescu's text was overtly anti-Semitic, blaming the Jews for their own suffering, Sebastian decided to publish it. In this way, he attracted the ire of segments from both the Zionist and the nationalist movements.
Notwistanding the increasingly nationalist and anti-Semitic atmosphere, Sebastian was part of a very lively group of young writers and journalists, including Mircea Eliade, Eugene Ionesco and Camil Petrescu, and was very active on Bucharest's intellectual stage.
The Journal shows Sebastian worrying constantly about his work, and struggling to write - and forcing himself to record his thoughts in the journal. In this way, we get to assist to the birth of his first play, Jocul de-a vacanta (Playing at holiday), and the novel Accidentul (The Accident). We go with Sebastian through various amorous episodes, through trips to the mountainside and skiing, and we find out about his love of classical music.
And then we find out about the political and social troubles. Although the social situation had deteriorated enough by the time the war started in 1939, with casual anti-Semitism cropping up more and more often, even in his close circle of friends, Sebastian's world truly begins to collapse once Nazi Germany begins to conquer Europe. As a Jew, Sebastian was barred from working as a lawyer (a profession he was not very keen on practising), lost his job as a book editor, and could no longer publish because of the racial laws enacted by the pro-fascist regime. And at some point his radio - his main connection to the outside world, a source of both hope and despair - is confiscated, as yet another racial law comes into force.
There are many things which can make one seethe with indignation. But this note from November 1941 summarises very well why I feel I can take the Journal only in small doses, thus keeping depression at bay:
"Ceausescu * - the general secretary at the Economics Ministry - listened avidly to the French-language bulletin from London at 11:15, happy that fifteen thousand Germans and Italians had been taken prisoner in Libya. He too is expecting a British victory. But in the interim he sees nothing odd in holding public office under the present regime. Incompatibility is not a problem that occurs to people here on the Danube."
- - - -
* no relation to the future dictator.
PS - my favourite work of Sebastian's is his play Ultima ora (Final Edition), taking place in a news-room. It is a play about typos and misunderstadings, which reveals in an admirable manner the true workings of the press industry and its relationship with people in positions of power.
Mihail Sebastian (born Iosif Hechter, 1907–1945) was a Jewish-Romanian writer and playwright in pre-WW2 Bucharest, a time of booming intellectual activity but also one of increasingly vocal nationalism, and fascist and anti-Semitic fervour. Sebastian burst onto the literary scene in 1934 with a controversial novel , "De doua mii de ani" (For Two Thousand Years), dealing with the condition of the Jew in the contemporary Romanian society. The controversy stemmed not only from the first person narrative (which may be construed as being to some point autobiographical), but also from the introduction written by Sebastian's mentor, the philosopher and journalist Nae Ionescu. Although Ionescu's text was overtly anti-Semitic, blaming the Jews for their own suffering, Sebastian decided to publish it. In this way, he attracted the ire of segments from both the Zionist and the nationalist movements.
Notwistanding the increasingly nationalist and anti-Semitic atmosphere, Sebastian was part of a very lively group of young writers and journalists, including Mircea Eliade, Eugene Ionesco and Camil Petrescu, and was very active on Bucharest's intellectual stage.
The Journal shows Sebastian worrying constantly about his work, and struggling to write - and forcing himself to record his thoughts in the journal. In this way, we get to assist to the birth of his first play, Jocul de-a vacanta (Playing at holiday), and the novel Accidentul (The Accident). We go with Sebastian through various amorous episodes, through trips to the mountainside and skiing, and we find out about his love of classical music.
And then we find out about the political and social troubles. Although the social situation had deteriorated enough by the time the war started in 1939, with casual anti-Semitism cropping up more and more often, even in his close circle of friends, Sebastian's world truly begins to collapse once Nazi Germany begins to conquer Europe. As a Jew, Sebastian was barred from working as a lawyer (a profession he was not very keen on practising), lost his job as a book editor, and could no longer publish because of the racial laws enacted by the pro-fascist regime. And at some point his radio - his main connection to the outside world, a source of both hope and despair - is confiscated, as yet another racial law comes into force.
There are many things which can make one seethe with indignation. But this note from November 1941 summarises very well why I feel I can take the Journal only in small doses, thus keeping depression at bay:
"Ceausescu * - the general secretary at the Economics Ministry - listened avidly to the French-language bulletin from London at 11:15, happy that fifteen thousand Germans and Italians had been taken prisoner in Libya. He too is expecting a British victory. But in the interim he sees nothing odd in holding public office under the present regime. Incompatibility is not a problem that occurs to people here on the Danube."
- - - -
* no relation to the future dictator.
PS - my favourite work of Sebastian's is his play Ultima ora (Final Edition), taking place in a news-room. It is a play about typos and misunderstadings, which reveals in an admirable manner the true workings of the press industry and its relationship with people in positions of power.
Tuesday 26 June 2012
Killing Generals
This post takes its name from Bogdan Hrib's novel Kill the General, a good mystery/thriller I am quite fond of. The main reason is not that I was involved in its English edition, working on the first draft translation with Ramona Mitrica and Mike Phillips. The main reason is that Kill the General is a well crafted book, endowed by its author with separate levels of narration which converge into an exciting story.
The plot could be resumed in the phrase "Stelian Munteanu, a book editor, is forced to accept a contract on the head of a general whose memoirs of the Romanian revolution might have explosive political results".
Going on with the book, we find out how Stelian got himself in a position to be proposed a contract killing, and what is his relation to the general. Thus, we learn that he first met the general back in the Ceausescu's time, when Stelian was an army conscript, and the general only a captain in a military unit in the middle of nowhere. We are also introduced to a shady character called Misha Pushkin, a former KGB man who apparently never quit the job, and who is both a well-meaning friend and a Mephistophelean influence on Stelian.
The book is told in the first person by Stelian, and it begins with a restless early morning in a Vienna hotel. Stelian has a story to tell - the story of General Simionescu, the man he was contracted to kill. But to understand this story, we have to understand who Stelian is, and how he got to be who he is now.
And here Bogdan Hrib does an amazing turn presenting the world of 1980s Romania. The author's descriptions of army life during one of the worst periods in recent Romanian history are vivid, realist - from the mind-numbing drills and marches, to freezing in the barracks due to lack of fuel:
"The first thing I looked at in the morning was the half-filled glass of water on the metal bedside-table. By the thickness of the ice in the glass I tried to estimate the temperature of the room. Several millimetres of ice, several degrees below zero. Outside it was -25. I kept wishing that the glass would break one day. The laws of physics which I still had in my head told me that water increases in volume as it freezes. Therefore, my glass should have cracked. But it never happened."
The action proceeds with episodes from the present interspersed with episodes from Stelian's past, and it all grows into a rounded story that gives the background of the story, presenting in the same time a good view of recent Romanian history and mores.
As the background image gets clearer, the story gathers momentum. We know Stelian has to kill the general, the same man who took him under his wing back in his conscript days, but we do not know why. And, most of all, we do not know if Stelian will be able to pull the trigger.
And I am not going to tell you what he will do - you will have to read the book for yourselves. It is well worth it, trust me. Kill the General is a very good book, written with great attention to details; a thriller/mystery and character study in equal parts, a smart, contemporary Noir that does not only thrill, but actually has something intelligent to say about people, places, and ordinary and extraordinary circumstances.
You can read a free preview of Kill the General on the site of Profusion, the book's British publishers.
To whet your appetite for reading, I add here that Kill the General also contains a yummy recipe for a pasta dish, which you are free to try.
The plot could be resumed in the phrase "Stelian Munteanu, a book editor, is forced to accept a contract on the head of a general whose memoirs of the Romanian revolution might have explosive political results".
Going on with the book, we find out how Stelian got himself in a position to be proposed a contract killing, and what is his relation to the general. Thus, we learn that he first met the general back in the Ceausescu's time, when Stelian was an army conscript, and the general only a captain in a military unit in the middle of nowhere. We are also introduced to a shady character called Misha Pushkin, a former KGB man who apparently never quit the job, and who is both a well-meaning friend and a Mephistophelean influence on Stelian.
The book is told in the first person by Stelian, and it begins with a restless early morning in a Vienna hotel. Stelian has a story to tell - the story of General Simionescu, the man he was contracted to kill. But to understand this story, we have to understand who Stelian is, and how he got to be who he is now.
And here Bogdan Hrib does an amazing turn presenting the world of 1980s Romania. The author's descriptions of army life during one of the worst periods in recent Romanian history are vivid, realist - from the mind-numbing drills and marches, to freezing in the barracks due to lack of fuel:
"The first thing I looked at in the morning was the half-filled glass of water on the metal bedside-table. By the thickness of the ice in the glass I tried to estimate the temperature of the room. Several millimetres of ice, several degrees below zero. Outside it was -25. I kept wishing that the glass would break one day. The laws of physics which I still had in my head told me that water increases in volume as it freezes. Therefore, my glass should have cracked. But it never happened."
The action proceeds with episodes from the present interspersed with episodes from Stelian's past, and it all grows into a rounded story that gives the background of the story, presenting in the same time a good view of recent Romanian history and mores.
As the background image gets clearer, the story gathers momentum. We know Stelian has to kill the general, the same man who took him under his wing back in his conscript days, but we do not know why. And, most of all, we do not know if Stelian will be able to pull the trigger.
And I am not going to tell you what he will do - you will have to read the book for yourselves. It is well worth it, trust me. Kill the General is a very good book, written with great attention to details; a thriller/mystery and character study in equal parts, a smart, contemporary Noir that does not only thrill, but actually has something intelligent to say about people, places, and ordinary and extraordinary circumstances.
You can read a free preview of Kill the General on the site of Profusion, the book's British publishers.
To whet your appetite for reading, I add here that Kill the General also contains a yummy recipe for a pasta dish, which you are free to try.
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