A short novel in the form of ruminations by the operator of a book compacting press in Czechoslovakia. Over the course of several decades, Haňtá rescues books, teaches himself literature and philosophy, drinks beer, and scoffs at the mindless efficiency of socialists. Humor, melancholy, and, finally, an affirmation of the power of the written word. A great read.

“The way I look at it, my life fits together beautifully: at work I have books—and bottles and inkwells and staplers—raining down on me through the opening in the cellar ceiling, and at home I have books above me constantly threatening to fall and kill or at least maim me. The swords of Damocles that I’ve hung from my bathroom and bedroom ceilings force me to make as many trips for beer at home as at work: it’s my only defense against a beautiful misery.”

River Horse Hop Hazard Ale
Thomas Hooker Watermelon Ale

This is one of those books that give me a feeling that actually they are very good in a literary way, but whose meaning I can't quite grasp. Like the waste paper press, that plays an important role in this book, stuffed with old newspapers, books and paper waste from the shops, this book is, despite its 98 pages, also extremely full. Full of references to Czech history, to writers, philosophers, psychologists, to religion, and Czech culture. And full of symbolism (a returning reference to turds?). I felt that I didn't have enough specific knowledge to understand this all. I felt quite lost, actually, reading this book.

Some books, especially good books, are multi layered in the way that even if you don't understand all the references, you still have a good story left. In this case I felt that the story without understanding its context was rather thin. The story deals with the way manual labour is replaced by automated labour and the art of work by plain routine. However, manual labour is not exactly glorified either, it is hard and dirty work, even if you could express a bit of your personality in it. Whereas the automated labour is rather cheerful and clean, but kills the imagination. Writing this, it seems an interesting theme to me! Perhaps the problem is that I just didn't feel that much sympathy for this character. ( )

A poetic, philosophical and tragicomic first-person narration of a bibliophile who has compacted wastepaper for 35 years in socialist Czechoslovakia. The heartbreaker is in the depiction of loving craft being displaced by unfeeling automation.

"Every beloved object is the center of a garden of paradise", a quote by Novalis dear to the narrator and also representative of the novella's content.

If you like Hrabal, you might want to have a look at Robert Walser's work. ( )

p.1:
"Because when I read; I don't really read; I pop a beautiful sentence into my mouth and suck it like a fruit drop, or I sip it like a liqeur until the thought dissolves in me like alcohol, infusing brain and heart and coursing on through the veins to the roof of each blood vessel."

I have papalaz to thank for the reccomendation of this book by Bohumil Hrabal. Its main character Hant'a is absolutely remarkable. There is an innocence about him that is wonderfully perverse. He goes about his daily agenda with an anarchic simple(single)mindedness and without a trace of cynicism. This agenda of his mainly revolves around work at a kind of a pulping mill(?) a job that he loves--as he loves the machine he operates--as he loves the printed material particularly books that he saves to take back to his home which is piled floor to ceiling everywhere with his collection of 35 years. He is a bibliomaniac, auto-didact working class hero all rolled into one with not a shred of the common ambitions of his fellow citizens--and might as well mention he's a hell of a beer drinker too as he's always building up a powerful thirst in his separating and saving mania. And it's not that he doesn't have human relationships only that he's free and easy in how he takes them--and all the above eventually and sadly leads to his boss punishing him by replacing him with others more diligent than he. Even in death though--a suicide by his beloved paper crushing machine he retains his kind of happy go lucky and hopeful spirit. He is made for the life he has made and for no other. And so I have to say I really liked this. Hrabal certainly had a talent for a ribald and eclectic kind of humor. Hant'a might be somewhat oblivious to the concerns of those around him but he is very unique. Going to have to check Mr. Hrabal out further. ( )