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In a Pig's Ear: A Novel
Milan, a cynical ex-professor of psychology, escaped from the bleak Czechoslovakia of the 1960's to become a Hollywood psychiatrist to the stars. The Prague he knew fades into memory, and with the end of the Cold War seems to disappear altogether. But when he returns years later to film an Arthurian legend, the past is waiting. Stasi agents, abandoned castles, and ugly visions of a fascist Europe plague Milan, and he finds himself imprisoned for a grisly murder he didn't commit. Jailed once again in the land of his birth, Milan turns to a pig, his prison companion, to tell his story. Savage and humorous, In a Pig's Ear is a harrowing inquiry into the mystery of identity.
277 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1996
16 people want to read
About the author
Paul Bryers
19 books5 followersaka Seth Hunter
Paul Bryers is the author of many fine novels, the most recent of which is THE PRAYER OF THE BONE. He is a TV and film director when he is not writing and he lives in London.
Paul Bryers is the author of many fine novels, the most recent of which is THE PRAYER OF THE BONE. He is a TV and film director when he is not writing and he lives in London.
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Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews
January 3, 2020
At the start of the 2010s, I still loved weird books. You know the kind..structurally incoherent; pretty words without plot; surreal beyond all connection to 'real.' -- the more out there, the less cogent, the better. I made meaning out of books that had none, because I was in my early twenties and that's what you do when you're shaking off the canonized classics of the lit degree and figuring out what you love to read. Because I found these books so potent (& I'm a serial book buyer), I amassed a hefty collection of weird-lit. I didn't make it through this collection before my tastes changed.
They changed fairly early in the decade (check this melodramatic bemoaning of aging and my changing taste in this mid-2014 review lololol), and every time I tried to read one of the old weird-lit collection, it didn't go so well. But like, I bought all these books, and before I pass them along, I want to give them a go.
Not because of this, though, but just because I felt a pull to read it: on January 1st, I picked up one of the old supposed weirdos. The jacket flap of In a Pig's Ear is insane: the son of the Devil, haunted Camelot movies, middle-European history, and all of it being recounted to a pig. What. But fine: something in me wanted to read it, and I don't get that impulse all that often anymore. So off we went and --
-- more cohesive than it appeared; a narrative! interesting characters! engaging and luxurious writing! thoughtful commentary about war, the western 20th century, art, and genetic lineage! -- it ended up being the perfect just-weird-enough thing for now, for adult Jill heading into her mid-thirties. Frankly: I don't know who wrote the summary, but I don't think we read the same book, and I'm happy I kept my weirdo collection if only for this reading experience.
It's not perfect; there's some 90s-writer-boy misogyny-lite woven throughout, so be forewarned. But it comes together so well (even if the pace is a touch frantic at the end), it evokes beautiful images of the European capitals, and it plays with old fairy tales and myths in familiar but effective comparisons to WWII and the Cold War. It works, and it works because it isn't weird -- it's cohesive and solid, and that's something that, ten years ago, I would have been shocked to see myself writing in a review. But I wouldn't have appreciated what I read here then; I wouldn't have needed it the same way. Really, the gratitude I felt while motoring through this was a perfect culmination of what I've felt this year as, after some massive changes in my life, I returned to reading and loving it.
S-o-, here's to maturity, and evolution, and my twenties as a reader: you changed, baby, and it was worth it. How happy am I that this is the book that kicked off my new decade: a reference to an old reader; a push towards the new one. I'll try to get back to reviewing all the books I read, again, even if it means going back to treating this like a journal because that's what it always was and reading has always been for me -- weirdlit meaningmaking or no. I missed this connection to my books and myself and I want it again.
Alright. 2020s, go wild. My bookshelves and I are all with you.
They changed fairly early in the decade (check this melodramatic bemoaning of aging and my changing taste in this mid-2014 review lololol), and every time I tried to read one of the old weird-lit collection, it didn't go so well. But like, I bought all these books, and before I pass them along, I want to give them a go.
Not because of this, though, but just because I felt a pull to read it: on January 1st, I picked up one of the old supposed weirdos. The jacket flap of In a Pig's Ear is insane: the son of the Devil, haunted Camelot movies, middle-European history, and all of it being recounted to a pig. What. But fine: something in me wanted to read it, and I don't get that impulse all that often anymore. So off we went and --
-- more cohesive than it appeared; a narrative! interesting characters! engaging and luxurious writing! thoughtful commentary about war, the western 20th century, art, and genetic lineage! -- it ended up being the perfect just-weird-enough thing for now, for adult Jill heading into her mid-thirties. Frankly: I don't know who wrote the summary, but I don't think we read the same book, and I'm happy I kept my weirdo collection if only for this reading experience.
It's not perfect; there's some 90s-writer-boy misogyny-lite woven throughout, so be forewarned. But it comes together so well (even if the pace is a touch frantic at the end), it evokes beautiful images of the European capitals, and it plays with old fairy tales and myths in familiar but effective comparisons to WWII and the Cold War. It works, and it works because it isn't weird -- it's cohesive and solid, and that's something that, ten years ago, I would have been shocked to see myself writing in a review. But I wouldn't have appreciated what I read here then; I wouldn't have needed it the same way. Really, the gratitude I felt while motoring through this was a perfect culmination of what I've felt this year as, after some massive changes in my life, I returned to reading and loving it.
S-o-, here's to maturity, and evolution, and my twenties as a reader: you changed, baby, and it was worth it. How happy am I that this is the book that kicked off my new decade: a reference to an old reader; a push towards the new one. I'll try to get back to reviewing all the books I read, again, even if it means going back to treating this like a journal because that's what it always was and reading has always been for me -- weirdlit meaningmaking or no. I missed this connection to my books and myself and I want it again.
Alright. 2020s, go wild. My bookshelves and I are all with you.
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January 24, 2008prague
Displaying 1 - 2 of 2 reviews