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January 26, 2006

HUNGARIAN QUARTERLY PROFILED

The English language Budapest Sun offers a lengthy write up of the English language Hungarian Quarterly, which delights and fascinates us since our Hungarian is, well, you remember the whole mondavcsinalt saga ...

Hq Recent issues include such delectables as an interview with János György Szilágyi, former head of the department of classical antiquities at the Museum of Fine Arts; an excerpt from a memoir about growing up Roma by István Kalányos, articles about Hungarian history by István Deák and John Lukacs, an article explaining with great clarity the history of political attitudes in Budapest; and several reviews of books, music, theater, film, and art (including an article about a Munkácsy exhibit). Not your typical journalism, by a long shot!

The magazine was founded in 1936, but put to sleep in 1941, when Hungary entered WWII. In its current form, it was reincarnated in 1960. Zsófia Zachar, the quarterly's current editor, explained that Iván Boldizsár persuaded the government of János Kádár that the magazine would be a "very good opening toward the West, following the reprisals of the 1956 revolution, and Hungary's isolation then." It would be "an indication that Hungary wants contact with the western world," she said.

Posted at 12:15 AM in World Beat |

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TEV DEFINED


  • The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

SECOND LOOK

  • The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald

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    Penelope Fitzgerald's second novel is the tale of Florence Green, a widow who seeks, in the late 1950s, to bring a bookstore to an isolated British town, encountering all manner of obstacles, including incompetent builders, vindictive gentry, small minded bankers, an irritable poltergeist, but, above all, a town that might not, in fact, want a bookshop. Fitzgerald's prose is spare but evocative – there's no wasted effort and her work reminds one of Hemingway's dictum that every word should fight for its right to be on the page. Florence is an engaging creation, stubbornly committed to her plan even as uncertainty regarding the wisdom of the enterprise gnaws at her. But The Bookshop concerns itself, finally, with the astonishing vindictiveness of which provincials are capable, and, as so much English fiction must, it grapples with the inevitabilities of class. It's a dense marvel at 123 pages, a book you won't want to – or be able to – rush through.
  • The Rider by Tim Krabbe

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    Tim Krabbé's superb 1978 memoir-cum-novel is the single best book we've read about cycling, a book that will come closer to bringing you inside a grueling road race than anything else out there. A kilometer-by-kilometer look at just what is required to endure some of the most grueling terrain in the world, Krabbé explains the tactics, the choices and – above all – the grinding, endless, excruciating pain that every cyclist faces and makes it heart-pounding rather than expository or tedious. No writer has better captured both the agony and the determination to ride through the agony. He's an elegant stylist (ably served by Sam Garrett's fine translation) and The Rider manages to be that rarest hybrid – an authentic, accurate book about cycling that's a pleasure to read. "Non-racers," he writes. "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."

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