A Jesuit and an English ambassador make a journey to Petrograd across a gloomy, often desolate eighteenth-century Eastern Europe in order to sight a rare transit of the sun by Venus. A Moldovan student coming of age at the end of the twentieth century, and in the aftermath of the Soviet Union's break-up, flees to the west in search of a less gloomy life, only to find more of the sordid, inhumane experience she had hoped to leave behind. A boy known only as the Writer, under the sway of Paul Auster's novels, searches for his theme and finally settles on an eighteenth-century Yugoslav Jesuit known for his fascination with rare astronomical events. In these subtly linked novellas, Muharem Bazdulj takes the reader across several centuries of Yugoslav history, finding in three very different sets of circumstances a common longing to escape the desperation and depression of life in the east.
Muharem Bazdulj (Travnik, 1977) dosad je objavio desetak knjiga, među kojima su zbirke priča Druga knjiga i Čarolija, romani Tranzit, kometa, pomračenje i Sjetva soli te knjiga izabranih kolumni Filigranski pločnici. Knjige su mu prevedene na engleski, nemački i poljski, a pojedine priče i eseji na još desetak jezika. Njegove kratke proze uvršćene su u prestižne američke antologije The Wall in My Head (objavljena 2009. godine, povodom dvadesete godišnjice pada Berlinskog zida) i Best European Fiction 2012. Živi u Beogradu.
Volim kako Bazdulj povezuje sve elemente u jednu cjelinu: od putesestvija Rudjera Boskovica iz 1762, preko postsovjetske Moldavije, a onda i posljeratne Bosne, sve dok mladog pisca u jednom trenutku ne savlada visoka temperatura i ne dovede u stanje bunila u cijem se haosu groznicavih slika iznjedri ideja koja dobija svoj oblik, svoj smisao i tako poveze price. Ona borba stanja svjesti i nesvjesti kad opusak bacen u mrak dobija obrise komete, a pomrcina nocnog kluba pomracenja Sunca; plovidba broda na kom se prevozi nesrecna Moldavka podsjeti na tranzit Venere preko Sunca, pa kad pisac na sve to nabaci i stih iz "The Sorrowful wife" Nicka Cavea (I married my wife on the day of the eclipse), sve se poeticno zaokruzi u jednu cjelinu koja, cini se, vodi ka kraju, a ujedno vraca i samom pocetku.
The book is split into three parts. The first follows poly-intellectual, Ruđer Bošković, as he attempts to travel to Petrograd in order to observe the transit of Venus. Nothing happens in this part and it is basically just short descriptions of Eastern Europe's pit stops. The second is the story of Maria Alexandra, a Moldovan girl lured away to Dubrovnik by a sex trafficker, Bosko. This story is sad but the intentions of Bosko are so obvious that the intended surprise ending is anything but. The final part focuses on a character known as "The Writer" (Bazdulj himself in all likelihood), as he arrives at the decision to write about the two forementioned stories. This is a bit of a clumsy attempt to bind the forementioned previous parts but the connections and themes don't quite hold together. Everything just seemed a bit unfinished.
Very solid writing, elegant, logical, it flows well. Bazdulj clearly is an intellectual, someone who stimulates our thinking and when we read his book we get a feeling that we become somehow "enriched.". These are 3 interconnected stories. The last story is full of references to authors, philosophers, scientists, most of them barely known in the West, and some of them never translated into English. I had no idea (initially) that the protagonist of the first story was a historical figure. Such is our sad ignorance of all things Balkan and "Yugoslavian." Bosnia is now in the middle of a culture war between Europe, Russia, and Islam. And even though politics does not enter the book, people in the West who read this book can enjoy the outsider's perspective. This is not a "mainstream" book, and but its value is universal. BTW, the beautifully conceived second story is actually totally heartbreaking.
Zbrzano. Sklepano. Na trenutke fantastično, pa onda satima bledo. Ako je ovo bio tekst koji je probio piščevu blokadu, onda sve ima mnogo više smisla. Korice retko komentarišem ali ove su praznik ružnoće i neinspirisanosti.