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1347296's review
4.0
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
psr's review
3.0
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.
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