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137 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1994
The idea came to him, struck a part of his consciousness, that the hour of his death was drawing near. Behind him lay a life that was no better and no worse than other lives; he had loved, suffered, traveled, and written… He recalled that he had been through some terrible crises in recent days, that he had resisted death with all his might, that he had avoided its clutches, that he had torn the tubes out of his veins and spit into death’s face, and that he had wept as he struggled with the phantom of death that was invisible but present; sometimes it stood by his bed and sometimes it was inside him, in his intestines, in his lungs, and in his feverish mind.
I read the widest variety of authors and works: Gnostics and gnostic commentaries, Surviving and Other Essays by Bruno Bettelheim, Linden’s Autogenic Training, Les destins du plaisir by a certain Aulagnier, Goethe’s Elective Affinities, La nuit, le jour by Braunschweig, Herbert Rosenfeld’s Psychotic States, the novels of Philip Roth, and even Hjalmar Bergman’s Marionettspel, because I myself resemble a puppet whose strings are controlled by fate. The only thing I got from all this reading was the realization that books provide no answers to burning questions. That we are directed by our genes, the devil, or God, and that our will plays no role at critical moments, that we are simply knocked this way and that by our various passions.
"The only thing I got from all this reading was the realization that books provide no answers to burning questions. That we are directed by our genes, the devil, or God, and that our will plays no role at critical moments, that we are simply knocked this way and that by our various passions. As when someone is swimming hard and the shore not only recedes but actually seems to gape wide, as the current—for you are swimming upstream—carries you in the opposite direction. But, fortunately, passions, like misfortunes, are transient; like all plants and animals too…" (32)The six stories in this collection—The Stateless One, Jurij Golec, the titular The Lute and the Scars, The Poet, The Debt, A and B, and The Marathon Runner and the Race Official—were transcribed from the manuscripts left by Danilo Kiš upon his death in 1989. The stories, written at various points between 1980 and 1986, are autobiographically heavy and, I think, among the best of Kiš's work. The first four stories are especially good—inventive and compelling, this is literature to savor, read and reread.