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April Fool
19 short stories from Dezso Kosztolanyi translated from the original Hungarian by Eszter Molnar.
176 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1999
About the author
Dezső Kosztolányi
161 books213 followersDezső Kosztolányi was a famous Hungarian poet and prose-writer.
Kosztolányi was born in Szabadka (Subotica) in 1885, then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, but which now lies in northern Serbia. The city serves as a model for the fictional town of Sárszeg, in which he set his novel Skylark as well as The Golden Kite. Kosztolányi studied at the University of Budapest, where he met the poets Mihály Babits and Gyula Juhász, and then for a short time in Vienna before quitting and becoming a journalist--a profession he stayed with for the rest of his life. In 1908, he replaces the poet Endre Ady, who had left for Paris, as a reporter for a Budapest daily. In 1910, his first volume of poems The Complaints of a Poor Little Child brought nationwide success and marked the beginning of a prolific period in which he published a book nearly every year. In 1936, he died from cancer of the palate.
The literary journal Nyugat (Hungarian for "West"), which played an invaluable role in the revitalization of Hungarian literature, was founded in 1908 and Kosztolányi was an early contributor, part of what is often called the "first Nyugat generation", publishing mainly in poetry.
Starting in the 1920s he wrote novels, short stories, and short prose works, including Nero, the Bloody Poet (to the German edition of which Thomas Mann wrote the introduction), Skylark, The Golden Kite and Anna Édes. In 1924 he published a volume of verse harkening back to his early work, entitled The Complaints of the Sad Man.
Kosztolányi also produced literary translations in Hungarian, such as (from English, at least) Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet", "The Winter's Tale", Lewis Carroll's "Alice in Wonderland", Thornton Wilder's "The Bridge of San Luis Rey", Lord Alfred Douglas' memoirs on Oscar Wilde and Rudyard Kipling's "If—". He was the first authentic translator of Rilke's poetry, and he worked a Hungarian masterpiece after Paul Valéry's "Cimetiere Marin".
Kosztolányi was born in Szabadka (Subotica) in 1885, then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, but which now lies in northern Serbia. The city serves as a model for the fictional town of Sárszeg, in which he set his novel Skylark as well as The Golden Kite. Kosztolányi studied at the University of Budapest, where he met the poets Mihály Babits and Gyula Juhász, and then for a short time in Vienna before quitting and becoming a journalist--a profession he stayed with for the rest of his life. In 1908, he replaces the poet Endre Ady, who had left for Paris, as a reporter for a Budapest daily. In 1910, his first volume of poems The Complaints of a Poor Little Child brought nationwide success and marked the beginning of a prolific period in which he published a book nearly every year. In 1936, he died from cancer of the palate.
The literary journal Nyugat (Hungarian for "West"), which played an invaluable role in the revitalization of Hungarian literature, was founded in 1908 and Kosztolányi was an early contributor, part of what is often called the "first Nyugat generation", publishing mainly in poetry.
Starting in the 1920s he wrote novels, short stories, and short prose works, including Nero, the Bloody Poet (to the German edition of which Thomas Mann wrote the introduction), Skylark, The Golden Kite and Anna Édes. In 1924 he published a volume of verse harkening back to his early work, entitled The Complaints of the Sad Man.
Kosztolányi also produced literary translations in Hungarian, such as (from English, at least) Shakespeare's "Romeo and Juliet", "The Winter's Tale", Lewis Carroll's "Alice in Wonderland", Thornton Wilder's "The Bridge of San Luis Rey", Lord Alfred Douglas' memoirs on Oscar Wilde and Rudyard Kipling's "If—". He was the first authentic translator of Rilke's poetry, and he worked a Hungarian masterpiece after Paul Valéry's "Cimetiere Marin".
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Displaying 1 - 1 of 1 review
August 20, 2013
Out of print but hopefully not for long, April Fool is an offbeat collection of short stories by Dezso Kosztolanyi. This is probably my favorite writer and I was quite excited to see this pop up for sale as I wasn't aware it existed and had to manually add it to Goodreads.
My first impression: if D.K. could have invited me to dinner, hired a gypsy band and told me these stories himself he would have. At his most gracious, he sends out the perfect invitation to the reader with just enough scenic detail to draw you towards his voice, offers a well-plated appetizer for your efforts, refuses your attempts to leave his liquor untasted and only when your brow unknits, tells you his story with mellifluous grace.
Most non-hungarian readers know that Hungarian language has created some social and critical isolation that has resulted in the better part of the world completely missing some amazing writers and artists in general. This has changed in recent years as Krasznahorkai, Banffy, Krudy and Sandor Marai have all seen fairly high-profile releases that have earned critical praise. The greatest of these Hungarians I can only read in translation is Kosztolanyi and I'll take more please and thanks.
He is not unlike Salinger in his interested in those on the periphery of social normalcy. People up and die, lay down and philosophize,eat, drink, dance, and display an uncanny awareness through it all. Fans of Bruno Schulz's gauzy reality will delight in the perfumed mist of these collected stories. Something like Orkeny's One Minute Stories, these 19 stories move very fast and also like Orkeny - each one leaves a powerful impression on the attentive reader. Another point of reference would be the Gogol of Dead Souls who's character sketches are fine portraits executed with unique style and literary efficiency. Funny and always incisive - there is a powerful intelligence on clear display.
Hungarian social life like that of Bela Tarr's Outsiders is the central concern throughout these stories and I won't pretend to have an understanding of the impact of Hungarian literature on its people but I can't imagine you would find an average Hungarian reader that isn't immediately familiar with these stories and for good reason. Ring Lardner's crowd travels east and this is the second time while reading Kosztolanyi that I've though about being buried with this book in vain hope that I'd get to hand my copy to Julius Marx one day hopefully far in the future.
This is brilliant painter of words; "the sun shown bright, rain was falling, the sky, like a hysterical woman, laughingly shed demented tears." Kosztolanyi is also parts Groucho and Harpo chasing down good books, hooks and harlots respectively - I could spend many days reading and re-reading him. Never boring, never long-winded, and always keenly observant - he is alongside Chekhov the greatest short-form writer I know.
The peak of the collection possibly is the final story where a brooding family member fails to heed Walter Benajmin's warning that gifts should have the power to shock and suffers from his failure to overcome his bad taste when purchasing a gift for his sisters family. The permanent mental stain of poor-gift giving has never been so accurately distilled in my experience. The throbbing ache of this sensation is absolutely physical and only a sleep-deprived dullard will fail to squirm. It's this clarity of characterization combined with the irregular social observations that makes his writing resonate so well with me. If you've read Skylark and groaned, moaned and sighed along with the awkward brilliance - you'll spend your coin well when tracking this down.
Skylark, Kornel Esti and this go to that top shelf. Krasznahorkai talked about how Kornel Esti opens with a "perfect" sentence, this is a whole collection of such brilliance.
Personal aside: I write these reviews (mostly) for my kids to read later when they mature and kids - this is a full five stars. Read this many times and don't ask me to throw you around in the water.
My first impression: if D.K. could have invited me to dinner, hired a gypsy band and told me these stories himself he would have. At his most gracious, he sends out the perfect invitation to the reader with just enough scenic detail to draw you towards his voice, offers a well-plated appetizer for your efforts, refuses your attempts to leave his liquor untasted and only when your brow unknits, tells you his story with mellifluous grace.
Most non-hungarian readers know that Hungarian language has created some social and critical isolation that has resulted in the better part of the world completely missing some amazing writers and artists in general. This has changed in recent years as Krasznahorkai, Banffy, Krudy and Sandor Marai have all seen fairly high-profile releases that have earned critical praise. The greatest of these Hungarians I can only read in translation is Kosztolanyi and I'll take more please and thanks.
He is not unlike Salinger in his interested in those on the periphery of social normalcy. People up and die, lay down and philosophize,eat, drink, dance, and display an uncanny awareness through it all. Fans of Bruno Schulz's gauzy reality will delight in the perfumed mist of these collected stories. Something like Orkeny's One Minute Stories, these 19 stories move very fast and also like Orkeny - each one leaves a powerful impression on the attentive reader. Another point of reference would be the Gogol of Dead Souls who's character sketches are fine portraits executed with unique style and literary efficiency. Funny and always incisive - there is a powerful intelligence on clear display.
Hungarian social life like that of Bela Tarr's Outsiders is the central concern throughout these stories and I won't pretend to have an understanding of the impact of Hungarian literature on its people but I can't imagine you would find an average Hungarian reader that isn't immediately familiar with these stories and for good reason. Ring Lardner's crowd travels east and this is the second time while reading Kosztolanyi that I've though about being buried with this book in vain hope that I'd get to hand my copy to Julius Marx one day hopefully far in the future.
This is brilliant painter of words; "the sun shown bright, rain was falling, the sky, like a hysterical woman, laughingly shed demented tears." Kosztolanyi is also parts Groucho and Harpo chasing down good books, hooks and harlots respectively - I could spend many days reading and re-reading him. Never boring, never long-winded, and always keenly observant - he is alongside Chekhov the greatest short-form writer I know.
The peak of the collection possibly is the final story where a brooding family member fails to heed Walter Benajmin's warning that gifts should have the power to shock and suffers from his failure to overcome his bad taste when purchasing a gift for his sisters family. The permanent mental stain of poor-gift giving has never been so accurately distilled in my experience. The throbbing ache of this sensation is absolutely physical and only a sleep-deprived dullard will fail to squirm. It's this clarity of characterization combined with the irregular social observations that makes his writing resonate so well with me. If you've read Skylark and groaned, moaned and sighed along with the awkward brilliance - you'll spend your coin well when tracking this down.
Skylark, Kornel Esti and this go to that top shelf. Krasznahorkai talked about how Kornel Esti opens with a "perfect" sentence, this is a whole collection of such brilliance.
Personal aside: I write these reviews (mostly) for my kids to read later when they mature and kids - this is a full five stars. Read this many times and don't ask me to throw you around in the water.
Displaying 1 - 1 of 1 review