Fado

by Andrzej Stasiuk, Bill Johnston (Translator)

Inspired by Jack Kerouac s On the Road, Andrzej Stasiuk, Poland s most accomplished living prose writer, takes readers into the forgotten Europe.

Genres: Travel, Nonfiction, Essays, Polish Literature, Poland, Reportage, Ebooks

156 pages, Paperback

First published December 31, 2006

About the author

Andrzej Stasiuk is one of the most successful and internationally acclaimed contemporary Polish writers, journalists and literary critics. He is best known for his travel literature and essays that describe the reality of Eastern Europe and its relationship with the West.

After being dismissed from secondary school, Stasiuk dropped out also from a vocational school and drifted aimlessly, became active in the Polish pacifist movement and spent one and a half years in prison for deserting the army - as legend has it, in a tank. His experiences in prison provided him with the material for the stories in his literary debut in 1992. Titled Mury Hebronu ("The Walls of Hebron"), it instantly established him as a premier literary talent. After a collection of poems Wiersze miłosne i nie, 1994 ("Love and non-love poems"), Stasiuk's bestselling first full-length novel Biały kruk (English translation as "White Raven" in 2000) appeared in 1995 and consolidated his position among the most successful authors in post-communist Poland.

Long before his literary breakthrough, in 1986, Stasiuk had left his native Warsaw and withdrew to the seclusion of the small hamlet of Czarne in the Beskids, a secluded part of the Carpathian mountain range in the south of Poland. Outside writing, he spends his time breeding sheep. Together with his wife, he also runs his own tiny but, by now, prestigious publishing business Wydawnictwo Czarne, named after its seat. Apart from his own books, Czarne also publishes other East European authors. Czarne also re-published works by the émigré Polish author Zygmunt Haupt, thus initiating Haupt's rediscovery in Poland.

While White Raven had a straight adventure plot, Stasiuk's subsequent writing has become increasingly impressionistic and concentrated on atmospheric descriptions of his adopted mental home, the provincial south-east of Poland and Europe, and the lives of its inhabitants. Opowieści Galicyjskie ("Tales of Galicia"), one of several works available in English (among the others are "White Raven", "Nine", "Dukla," "Fado," and "On the Road to Babadag") conveys a good impression of the specific style developed by Stasiuk. A similar text is Dukla (1997), named after a small town near his home. Dukla achieved Stasiuk's breakthrough in Germany and helped built him the most appreciative reader-base outside of Poland, although a number of Stasiuk's books have been translated into several other languages.

Reviews

[Monica Carter · Rating 4 out of 5]

Since we are now waist-deep in the vast and rugged literary landscape of Eastern Europe, it's appropriate to introduce a book that is the ultimate travelogue to accompany us on our journey. Fado by the Polish writer Andrzej Stasiuk reads like a urban shepherd traversing the land around him not for answers to questions he has, but he goes out in search of questions themselves. He wanders and wonders, observing the pastiche of histories within the newly defined borders of Eastern Europe. Stasiuk gives us a wink-wink homage to Kerouac by calling his book the "Slavic On the Road" which lets us know that although his observations may be in a melancholic tone, he doesn't take himself too seriously. He enlightens by describing the many facet of Central and Eastern Europe, the essence of it's geography and how it affects their way of life. There is a chapter entitled, Bulatovic, about the Balkan writer Miodrag Bulatovic who deeply influenced him. It leads him to some interesting musings on solitude:

Oh, this Central European solitude! This perpetual orphanhood for which there is no cure, because medicine doesn't work retroactively and cannot bring back what has died. A perpetual, unrelenting solitude and abandonment. Post-Great Moravian solitude, post-Jagiellonian solitude, post-Austro-Hungarian solitude, post-Yugoslavian solitude, post-communist solitude. The loop of history running through the button of the present. What kind of story can be patched together in a language whose grammar has no future tense? What comes out is always some kind of elegy, some kind of legend, a sort of circular narrative that has to return to the past because not only the future but also the present fills it with trepidation. Here the past is never at fault, it's always in absolution. Old Kuznetsov may well have been right when he spoke of innocence. Guilt is borne only by those who believe that their deeds will in some way continue to exist in the future. Memory and the image of fate as an inevitability protect us from the cold touch of solitude. When all's said and done, it's only that which has passed truly exists, and at least partially corroborates our uncertain Central European existence.

And this does give a non-European reader insight into an inherent question of "Where do I belong?" instead of "Do I belong?". I liked so many of Stasiuk's perceptions of what he sees as he travels from Ukraine to Albania. These are not insights of country soul tasting big-city life, but considerations of someone who wants to know the people around him, and how history has treated countries he visits.
Just read how he perfectly and honestly characterizes Romania:

That's Romania: gilded plafonds and moldings and a broken toilet Romania is a land of marvels. I've been there maybe a dozen times and I still haven't had enough. Romania is a fairy tale. Past, present and future coexist there, and decay walks arm and arm with growth. The new is very much on the way, but the old survives equally well.

This is what you and I can't experience as a tourist per se. We can notice that like many places it has old and modern architecture yet we do not understand the essence of 'a Romania' in context to history - that each of these countries is trying to live up to its own expectations, to become an adult so-to-speak. Stasiuk himself lives in the Polish area of Carpathian Mountains which stretch from the Czech Republic over Poland, Slovakia, Hungary, Ukraine, Romania to Serbia. Because of this terrain that hovers thousands of feet in the air, the boundaries of national fade:

Though in fact, to live in the Carpathians is to remember that citizenship or nationality were always of little importance here. At times, in my extravagant cosmopolitan dreams, I see the main ridge of the mountains. I leave my home and head east, then south, and I don't encounter any borders. On the way there are only flocks of sheep, shelters, sheepdogs--and in the winter even those things aren't there. Across the ridge, along the deep valleys, there are several rail lines and several roads linking different countries. Both the roads and the tracks look like a prank, like extraterritorial corridors leading to the other side of the mountains. The noisy, restless flow of modernity passes through them, but the mountains themselves remain undisturbed.

Not only does Stasiuk gives us first hand accounts of travels through Eastern Europe but there are poignant and nostalgic essays about memory, adolescence, grandparents and even a prison stint. Fado refers to a type of song - a Portuguese mourning song. Stasiuk's Fado is a song without the music, mourning the loss of what was or isn't or won't be. A writer with the nomadic mind of a gypsy holds up a a gargantuan mirror to reflect the image of Eastern Europe to the rest of the world, it's difficult not to gaze at it. Like when we see our own reflection and notice the wrinkles and changes in our face as we age, Stasiuk hides nothing. He gives us a true dispatch from Eastern Europe with the heart of a bohemian:

That's right, best of all is night in a foreign country on the highway, because at those times foreignness extends across the entire earth and sweeps everyone up indiscriminately in its flow. Somewhere on the horizon are the fires of human settlements, indistinguishable from the distant glimmer of the stars. Oh, the flickering artery of nothingness, oh, the recollection of the ancient times when were homeless in the world, when space was terrifying in its immensity. Now it irks us with its elusivenss.

[Richard Newton · Rating 5 out of 5]

I really enjoyed this book, although to begin with I was not overly impressed. It is one of those wise books that says virtually nothing, but in saying it creates an emotion. A certain sort of poignant melancholy for the past, and especially for the culture of eastern Europe. I can imagine it is not everyone's cup of tea, as each piece is really nothing more than a small piece of musing. And you can take or leave them singly as sometimes there seems almost to be nothing said and no great insight is shared. But as you go through the book an impression, a mood and a sympathy for the East develops.

[Mieczyslaw Kasprzyk · Rating 5 out of 5]

Superb. There are shades of Kapuczinski here and the "short story" style is absolutely right for Stasiuk. Some of his images stand out forever. I strongly recommend this book for anyone travelling in Eastern Europe. The chapter on Montenegro is brilliant!

[Amy · Rating 5 out of 5]

Translated by Bill Johnston.

Winner of the Vilenica International Literary Prize




My final impression, closing this book, was that Andrzej Stasiuk loves people. His essay collection, Fado, demonstrates this as he examines the peoples of the former Yugoslavia and the other regions that form Central Europe. In all, he writes with obvious affection for the human condition surviving in a complicated place and time. He quietly observes people and their activities: from children playing games, the routines of the working man, the women washing their steps, and the teenagers pining for escape to the West. This is not a travel journal, told by a curious visitor. Stasiuk resides there and his impressions are that much more knowledgeable and profound.





It begins with a road trip, a car driving at night in the rain. It starts out as almost a romance with the land, and he reflects on the dark houses he passes, and how no matter what ethnic heritage a person has, they are all the same when asleep in their beds. A map is essential to reading this, as he goes to a variety of cities and recounts what he sees as well as historical details and anecdotal stories from each individual place.




Much of his writing discusses the changes from Communism to newer political states, some still in their infancy (Slovakia). The past is complicated in Central Europe, and progress is equally difficult. Of Montenegro, he writes:




“Everything that was, becomes rejected in the name of a modernity that assumes the nature of a fiction, an illusion, a devilish apparition. To a greater or lesser extent this applies to all postcommunist countries. But it’s only in Montenegro that it can all be observed within the space of ten miles.”




This battle between old traditions and new identities is a continual subject, but it remains fascinating because each town he visits handles the conflict differently. He talks about the emptiness that is felt in places, where modernization has left many without a purpose. Yet he uses almost poetic words to describe these impressions:





Of Pogradec, “Pool has taken over the town. That noble game, combining geometrical abstraction with kinetics, allows a person to forget the everyday. The men circled the tables like they were hypnotized. They moved back, moved forward, judged distances, stepped on tiptoe and held their breath as if afraid that the moving spheres would change direction and the cosmic harmony of the game would be disturbed.” It’s not difficult to see the underlying correlation with the region in finding their place in history after the divisions of Russia and Yugoslavia.




In Levoka, he observes the local police, who group together in anticipation of a rebellion by Gypsy residents. The violence never occurs, but the image of the bored policemen, playing with their police dog and throwing snowballs, reveals a truism of the place: “Brute force, tedium, and play were combined in perfect proportions, but instinct told you that any one of these three elements could take over at any moment, and for no particular reason.”




In another essay he writes about the changing of the face of paper currency throughout Russia and the Slavic states. In earlier years, the images featured working men and women in simple settings. The implied meaning being hard work garnered money. Then as years passed, the illustrations became more abstract and conceptual, until they evolved into paper faces of famous heroes. There was a political meaning behind each image, and Stasiuk shows how the meaning of money changed too. Change occurred yet again, during difficult economic times, to another theme: “the patrons of this inflationary series were of course artists and writers. In my part of the world, when times are uncertain we usually turn to culture, since it’s a domain whose failures are not so glaring…”




Stasiuk’s ability to combine history with contemporary issues is amazing because it’s so readable, never dry or boring. He doesn’t get off track trying to make a political statement or place blame, and at times it’s difficult to even guess his position in the controversial matters he discusses. He never judges the people or even presumes to suggest a solution. An especially fascinating scene was played out at the end of the day in Rasinari, when the cows, oxen, and goats returned from grazing loose into the village, all on their own.




“This daily parade was like a holiday. The whole village came out of its homes onto the road and watched the passage of the livestock. Children, old women in headscarves, men in small groups smoking cigarettes-everyone watched as the animals unerringly found their way to their own farms and stood by the gate waiting to be let in. This ritual had been repeated for centuries and everything in it was self-evident, complete, and in its own way perfect.”

[Jake Beka · Rating 5 out of 5]

Some of the most atmospheric and gorgeous creative non-fiction I have ever read, and I’m so glad to have read this now and learned more about Poland and relate it to my own experiences with my Polish heritage, which I have largely unexplored until now.

[Chloe Renee · Rating 4 out of 5]

Wonderful essay collection; solid polish literature, as polish literature often proves to be.

The themes build atop one another, and are incorporated exponentially into the narrative. Stasiuk’s metaphysical considerations on the transitory nature of time and being, paired with his more tangible antimaterialist reactions toward a capitalistic future society elevate the collection as a whole.

[Beata · Rating 4 out of 5]

Wartościowe rozważania na temat tożsamości Europy, w tym przede wszystkim Europy Środkowo-Wschodniej oraz chwilami niezwykle wzruszające obserwacje świata, który już odszedł lub odchodzi bezpowrotnie. Książka o współistnieniu tej "gorszej" części Europy i jej cechach charakterystycznych, o jej aspiracjach i ciagłym gonieniu "lepszości" starej Europy, która dzisiaj niekoniecznie, a na pewno nie we wszystkim, jest lepsza. Słowem, książka do głębszych przemyśleń, które mogą zarazem: dać ukojenie i wywołać niepokój. Dziś prawdopodobnie inaczej już się nie da, bo wszelkie granice wyblakły, rozmyły się i same się poprzekraczały - tam i z powrotem - i wszystko za bardzo się pomieszało, a w związku z tym zszarzało i zubożało.

[Wojciechus Wroobellus · Rating 3 out of 5]

Lekkostrawny zbiór pamiętnikarsko-eseistycznych tesktów Stasiuka. Każdy jest na tyle krótki, że zanim zdążysz zmęczyć się którymkolwiek, już się kończy. Moim zdaniem jest to niezły przegląd najlepszych i najgorszych rzeczy w pisarstwie autora.
Z jednej strony ładnie, a czasem nawet pięknie opisane krajobrazy, pocztówki z podróży odbytych na przestrzeni lat po wschodniej i południowej Europie okraszone czasem pewnym kontekstem historycznym i garścią refleksji natury, powiedzmy, quasi-filozoficznej/historiozoficznej. Plastycznie uchwycone momenty, zarysowane sylwetki osób wypatrzonych zza kierownicy samochodu jadącego po bocznych drogach.
Z drugiej strony… czasem mam wrażenie, że Stasiuk pod płaszczem post-beatnikowskiego włóczęgi-gawędziarza ukrywa dosyć konserwatywny kościec człowieka z konkretnej klasy społecznej, ukształtowanego tak jak każdy przez swoje czasy. Może najlepiej to widać w przedostatnim tekście ze zbioru pod tytułem „Ciało ojca”, w którym snuje refleksję o Papieżu Polaku. Te wspominki roku '79 zaczynają się od niekonwencjonalnego spojrzenia na postać Jana Pawła II, a kończą na opisie jego umierania, które ma charakter niemal elegijny. Ostatecznie autor mówi o papieżu z właściwą niemal wszystkim Polakom starszego pokolenia czcią.
Taki jest więc dla mnie Stasiuk, który wyłania się z „Fado” - jednocześnie pozbawiony instrumentów Bard ze Wschodu w poobijanym aucie i pozujący na ludowego mędrca facet którego spojrzenie na świat wywodzi się z konwencjonalnego patriarchalnego porządku.

[Grant Price · Rating 5 out of 5]

Delicately written essays that run the gamut from travelogue to memoir to political treatise. I had no idea what to expect when I cracked it open, but the incisive observations of and melancholy reflections on a Balkan/Eastern Europe whose distinct character was fading even as Stasiuk traversed it made for a powerful - and mournful - reading experience, almost like I was listening to someone giving a reading at a wake. It reminded me of The Way of the World, albeit with less adventure and more existential lamentations. That cover, too. What a beauty.

[Blazz J · Rating 5 out of 5]

5/5. Stasiuk je to "melanholično" knjigo napisal kmalu po vstopu t.i. višegrajskih držav in "slajsa in hevn" (Slovenije) v Evropsko skupnost (2004-2006). Prestolnice teh držav so se resda poplemenitile in v latovščini z imenom trajnostni razvoj ustrezno obogatele, periferije in brez pokroviteljskega tona poimenovano podeželsko boguzaritje pa so se lahko obrisale pod nosom z večkrat uporabljenim enoslojnim papirjem. Karpatski Poljak se je tako načrtno vozil malo orweljansko "na robu in dnu", med zapuščenimi kraji cislajtanskega in tranlajtanskega post-komunizma, kamor so stalne članice izvažale demokracijo in odrabljene avtomobile...

[Antonio N · Rating 5 out of 5]

kocham stasiuka 🫶🫶

[Onorica · Rating 5 out of 5]

Sort of quarantine travel.

[Zach · Rating 4 out of 5]

I read this series of meditations on Eastern European life because, well, I know next to nothing about Eastern Europe which thus makes it a compelling location. Incidentally, a few of the essays are about the seeming non-existence of the region because the consensus seems to be that life, culture, politics, and everything are centered in Western Europe. Also repeated is the insistence of mixing old and new, the farm worker holding his scythe as he walks among skyscrapers bordered by centuries-old buildings, and the seeming ignorance of each to the other. Eastern Europe and its inhabitants thus exist as passengers to history and progress, with each tugging in seemingly opposite ways, only to leave something paradoxically undisturbed.

It puts a human spin on a blank zone in my mental map, and I read it in 3 sittings, so it's a fun diversion.

Though, in fact, to live in the Carpathians is to remember that citizenship or nationality were always of little importance here. At times, in my extravagant cosmopolitan dreams, I see the main ridge of the mountains. I leave my home and head east, then south, and I don't encounter any borders. On the way there are only flocks of sheep, shelters, sheepdogs - and in the winter even those things aren't there. Across the ridge, along the deep valleys, there are several rail lines and several roads linking different countries. Both the roads and the track look like a prank, like extraterritorial corridors leading to the other side of the mountains. The noisy, restless flow of modernity passes through them, but the mountains themselves remain undisturbed.

[Michael · Rating 2 out of 5]

Hmmm, this was an odd little book. To enjoy it, you need to: (1) be very interested in Eastern Europe, and (2) be accustomed to, or willing to experience, a very associative style of writing with no clear argument, narrative, or interpretive lens. Actually the succession of images almost lends itself more to poetry than prose. And there were interesting, thought-provoking images:

A settlement of Gypsies living literally below ground, in an abandoned mine.
A former prison reopened as a boutique hostel called "The Place of Freedom" (and the patrons who apparently feel that the most important freedom that had been lacking was good haircuts and good sex).
A tiny Polish town preparing for the Pope's visit, and the glistening sunglassed security detail sticking out among the peasants.
Sheep herders that smell like cheese.

I can't say that I enjoyed it that much, but these images, nicely presented, were interesting enough.

[Shivaji Das · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fado begins as a dream, middles as a travelogue through Eastern Europe, a land with the highest density of nations and conflicts, in between dabbles as a Fukuyama for Europe, and then ends as a memoir. Stasiuk struggles to maintain a coherent spine along the book but at several places, his writing is sharp and almost prescient. His forecast of Europe's decline seems well on track. His description of the lack of present in Eastern Europe and its ability to only absorb mass culture from the West probably stands true for most aspirational cultures. The highlight of this book, for me, are his rather disconnected musings on his own fatherhood and the day to day life of his grandparents. In a few pages of elegant musings, his writing makes one crave for eternal life, continuity, and a craving to be with the people long dead.

[Tuck · Rating 4 out of 5]

a travel book into the europe east of the West. so, slovakia, slovenia, montenegro and the rest. you probably won't find a hotel recommendation here, but will come to understand the history and meaning of the west and the central. another difficult winner from dalkey archive press.

[Sylvia Arthur · Rating 4 out of 5]

Although this book became a bit laboured towards the end, I gave it four stars because of Stasiuk's writing, which is flawless. In fact, Stasiuk's writing is so beautiful that it hurts, every sentence a fragment of an elegy to the protracted death of old Europe. Simply wonderful.

[Darius Ostrowski · Rating 5 out of 5]

After a bit of a slow start, a fascinating book.

Andrzej Stasiuk takes us on a journey to the "other" Europe, going through the central and eastern Europe of today and also of his past. He wryly calls this a "Slavic On The Road" and this is a good of a description as any. Mr. Stasiuk loves the land, and loves the people. He captures the struggle as the people are working towards the future but also very conscious of the past. This is the Europe of small villages, of fields and peasants, of mountains and shepherds. Think of this as a collection of poetic short stories, juxtaposing the old and the new, reminiscing of the way things used to be. I'm biased, having visited family in Poland in my youth, and Mr. Stasiuk captures the feel, the rhythm of those days that are slowly fading from this world.

[Tom · Rating 3 out of 5]

An enjoyable journey through the backwaters and boondocks of southeastern Europe, from Poland to Albania. Stasiuk stays away from the region's notable sites, and instead travels among and alongside people who don't make it into the popular guide books. At times, he is surprisingly prescient about what would happen in this area just a few years hence. He also helps us understand the roots of what is going on today in places like Poland, Hungary and Serbia. Subtle, and shaded with fascinating observations.

[Okmanek · Rating 4 out of 5]

O zapomnianych zakątkach Europy. Polsce, głównie Sudety. Bałkanach. Czechosłowacji. Zachodniej Ukrainie.

Stasiuk jeździ zdezelowaną Fiestą, pali szlugi, wspomina i dzieli się przemyśleniami.

Niezobowiązujące i całkiem fajne.

[Simon Popek · Rating 3 out of 5]

3,0 ⭐

[carolin :) · Rating 3 out of 5]

(nie było mocne)

[Krzysiek Szpryngiel · Rating 5 out of 5]

Spotkanie ze Stasiukiem. Miłość

[Karolina Babczuk · Rating 3 out of 5]

Bardzo nierówna.

[Jola · Rating 5 out of 5]

refleksyjne, dające do myślenia, idealne na spokojny wieczór

[Daniel Hammer · Rating 3 out of 5]

Looking back over this book as I choose how many stars to give it, I remember how wonderfully it began for me. Stasiuk is an Polish author who spends the early chapters writing of short jaunts he has taken by car through his neighboring East European countries. Most of the chapters are very short--some as short as four pages. Stasiuk writes about what he sees, and a bit of what he thinks about it. There is a simple elegance the first part of the book, because Stasiuk does not seem concerned with drawing an insight from each story; it's either there or it isn't, his job is just to write. He comes up with a few gems like this one:
"That is Romania. A country that seems taken aback by its own existence. On the highways there are the latest model Mercedes and Range Rovers, while on the roadsides old women walk along carrying baskets on straps like backpacks, and over their shoulders are wooden rakes and pitchforks whose shapes haven't changed in hundreds of years. Both the Range Rovers and the wooden pitchforks are completely real, because Romanian time is so ingeniously constructed that the notion of anachronism has no application here."
The later chapters in the book did not hold my interest as much. Stasiuk's stories ceased being place-based, and then they ceased being stories at hall. Many of the chapters are what can best be described as musings. Musing on Europe, on memory, on graves and solitude. Worthy topics, but they feel unmoored and sometimes aimless.
I'll read Stasiuk again. I hope he holds some other works together the entire way through.

[Coffeeboss · Rating 5 out of 5]

Fado is a collection of essays about the writer's continuing fascination with Central and Eastern European countries like Serbia, Romania, Montenegro, and the like. What makes Fado different is that it is written from the perspective of Polish writer Andrzej Stasiuk who looks at his neighboring countries as uniquely fascinating. If it was an American or English writer, I could see the cultures of the area getting lumped together, but his perspective shows the uniqueness in the details and his warm regard for the people and the lands. He's a beautiful writer, and I give him extra points for waxing poetically about his love for maps in a chapter titled, yes, "Map". :)

[John · Rating 2 out of 5]

Found myself drifting away with this book. My library science homework held more interest, not becuase the writing is bad, but because topically it lies well beyond the scope of my interest; village discoteques, the politics of Central Europe's inclusion in the EU, some small city's anarchonistic flavor, lists of voweless place names...you get the drift.

[Jeffrey Reidhead · Rating 4 out of 5]

I have never studied Eastern Europe, but this book gave me a good introduction to the landscape and culture of the region. It was a road novel for the first half and was more of a reflection and flashbacks from his childhood in the second half. I am interested to see how this book would compare to Jack Kerouac's On the Road.

[George · Rating 2 out of 5]

Stasiuk view of Eastern Europe and of life itself is quite different from the American view. After the first 2 or 3 essays which are rather difficult, the subject matter improves as did my interest. I especially like his view of Pope John Paul II. His essays center on the farm and mountain life of eastern Europe, its history and traditions that will eventually encounter Western culture.