Take a photo of a barcode or cover
3.46 AVERAGE
3.46 AVERAGE
If you're reading Krudy for the first time and deciding between 'Sunflower' or this book of short stories, go for 'Sunflower'.
This collection of short stories leaves something to be desired. It lacks the kind of dreamy and descriptive voice that hypnotized me in 'Sunflower'. Out of all the stories the most Krudyesque passages were the ones about old Taban in 'The Green Ace'. I found myself highlighting several long chunks of text in that one.
The stories also leave you hungry on another level. If you're a foodie you will appreciate the endless gastro-science, especially if you're a true carnivore. You'll crave Hungarian dishes, travel to several cafes serving a dizzying amount of food, learn about the art of cabbage-trampling, properly spear your bread with a knife, meet the inn keepers and waiters...
"People had only one desire in life, to sit down at a comfortable table in a restaurant and eat their way through the items listed on the menu".
I think Krudy must have written these stories while eating in these very places. Wandering from restaurant to cafe. Stuffing himself full of cracklings and red peppers. Staining his notebooks with ink, pork fat and bread crumbs.
This collection of short stories leaves something to be desired. It lacks the kind of dreamy and descriptive voice that hypnotized me in 'Sunflower'. Out of all the stories the most Krudyesque passages were the ones about old Taban in 'The Green Ace'. I found myself highlighting several long chunks of text in that one.
The stories also leave you hungry on another level. If you're a foodie you will appreciate the endless gastro-science, especially if you're a true carnivore. You'll crave Hungarian dishes, travel to several cafes serving a dizzying amount of food, learn about the art of cabbage-trampling, properly spear your bread with a knife, meet the inn keepers and waiters...
"People had only one desire in life, to sit down at a comfortable table in a restaurant and eat their way through the items listed on the menu".
I think Krudy must have written these stories while eating in these very places. Wandering from restaurant to cafe. Stuffing himself full of cracklings and red peppers. Staining his notebooks with ink, pork fat and bread crumbs.
Yes, a book very much about food. Food so tantalizingly written that drool unconsciously forms around the corners of one's mouth. It takes a truly great writer to arouse such appetites for what, upon closer inspection and remembrance of context, is more a nightmare than a dream
For a relatively short book, this took me a very long time to read. It comprises ten short stories that the destitute Hungarian author selected from his own works in order to have something to submit for a prize he'd been told he had a more than good chance of winning (which he did, apparently, but the prize money was shared and distributed over two years and he had to make a contribution to the poor out of it...)
Krudy writes about situations from his own life. One of the characters writes stories for newspapers, as did Krudy. The action - such as it is - is set almost exclusively in taverns, a place where Krudy spent much of his time. The opening story concerns a casino. Krudy was also a gambler... You get the picture. And that's about all there is to it, besides the author's liking for surreal endings. For example, the best story here, 'The Green Ace' ends with one half of a young man's hair, moustache and beard turning "dove white".
I have no problem with books in which nothing much happens (this is true of Bernhard's novels, which I love). What I found hard going was that the bulk of the narrative consisted of tedious descriptions of gourmands' lunches and alcoholics' benders. It was of passing interest to learn about Hungarian inn cuisine of the early 20th century - sour lungs, pickled cabbage, beef on the bone and gravy play a huge part in it - but this story ingredient was boiled to death. For all that, some of the descriptions were pleasing, such as the following example:
"Mushrooms just happen to be born old, for they have a chance to mull things over before they emerge from the soil, whether it's in the cellar, the greenhouse or the woods. Yes, mushrooms are little old men even as the forester's laughing daughters stumble upon them after a rainy night."
This collection feels very old fashioned compared to other writing that was coming out of Hungary at the time (the work of Frigyes Karinthy, for example). Apparently Krudy wrote several novels before his writing fell out of favour in the 1920s and 30s. On this reading, I can't say I'd be greatly tempted by them, even if I could get hold of copies.
Krudy writes about situations from his own life. One of the characters writes stories for newspapers, as did Krudy. The action - such as it is - is set almost exclusively in taverns, a place where Krudy spent much of his time. The opening story concerns a casino. Krudy was also a gambler... You get the picture. And that's about all there is to it, besides the author's liking for surreal endings. For example, the best story here, 'The Green Ace' ends with one half of a young man's hair, moustache and beard turning "dove white".
I have no problem with books in which nothing much happens (this is true of Bernhard's novels, which I love). What I found hard going was that the bulk of the narrative consisted of tedious descriptions of gourmands' lunches and alcoholics' benders. It was of passing interest to learn about Hungarian inn cuisine of the early 20th century - sour lungs, pickled cabbage, beef on the bone and gravy play a huge part in it - but this story ingredient was boiled to death. For all that, some of the descriptions were pleasing, such as the following example:
"Mushrooms just happen to be born old, for they have a chance to mull things over before they emerge from the soil, whether it's in the cellar, the greenhouse or the woods. Yes, mushrooms are little old men even as the forester's laughing daughters stumble upon them after a rainy night."
This collection feels very old fashioned compared to other writing that was coming out of Hungary at the time (the work of Frigyes Karinthy, for example). Apparently Krudy wrote several novels before his writing fell out of favour in the 1920s and 30s. On this reading, I can't say I'd be greatly tempted by them, even if I could get hold of copies.