Dezső Kosztolányi (1885–1936)

Two childhood friends reconnect after decades of silence; that reunion prompts the two to embark on a jointly written novel…which is essentially a biography of Esti told in chronologically arranged vignettes. Each chapter follows the prior one at some indefinite point in time and almost every single chapter could stand as an independent short story. The satire is sharp, as befits Esti’s life and attitudes. He is the epitome of the boy who has intentionally never outgrown his youth: show more mischievous, naive, adventurous, idealistic, fearless—and often (always) just on the edge of insanity. He spends a week at the best hotel in the world, constantly overwhelmed by attentions from the staff numbering in the hundreds, if not thousands. An 18-year-old Esti shares a train compartment with an odd mother and even odder teenaged daughter and gets his first kiss from the girl who it becomes clear, is about to be locked away in an asylum; the tale about tricking his schizophrenic friend into entering a psychiatric ward voluntarily, if under false pretenses; an absolutely brilliant story of traveling through Bulgaria where Esti has a lengthy conversation with a train attendant, all the while speaking only five words of Bulgarian; and the story of how Esti is haunted by the completely timid and ineffectual man who saves him from drowning. The stories are well-conceived and brilliantly executed, the writing and the wit both razor sharp. show less

This compact, subtly playful novel by Hungarian critic and poet Dezső Kosztolányi (1885-1936) chronicles the uneventful lives of the Vajkay family, who reside in a parochial outpost called Sárszeg, somewhere within the borders of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. We meet Akos Vajkay and his wife (the narrator usually refers to them as Mother and Father) as the 19th Century is winding down. It’s September 1, and they are packing because their daughter, nicknamed Skylark (we never learn her show more real name), is leaving for a week to visit her aunt and uncle in Tarkö, on the Hungarian plain. Akos is retired and spends his days researching heraldry and lineages. His wife keeps house. But it seems the presiding force within the Vajkay home is Skylark, who, at thirty-five, unattached with no prospects, well versed in household chores, is both a hopeless burden and a constant focus of doting attention for her parents. Once Skylark has left them standing on the station platform, “waving their little handkerchiefs” as her train recedes from view, the parents are bereft. Skylark too, on board the train, unaccustomed to being on her own without distractions, succumbs to the loneliness and despair that constantly plagues her. But it turns out all is not lost. In their daughter’s absence, Akos and his wife are free to do as they please. They dine out at the best restaurant in town. They attend the theatre. Akos reconnects with a jolly crowd of revelers called the Panthers, with whom he used to socialize but withdrew from after marrying and becoming a father. His wife also enjoys the week emancipated from the daughter’s sobering presence, neglecting the housework, eating chocolate, and playing the piano, which we are told she hasn’t touched in many years. Akos had renounced alcohol and gambling but, encouraged by his friends to throw off the shackles of sobriety, he again takes up the bottle and the cards, and in the small hours of Friday morning returns home uproariously drunk with his winnings overflowing his pockets. It is then, while in the throes of inebriation, that Akos voices to his wife the grim truth of which they are painfully aware but have avoided facing: that their daughter is irredeemably ugly and will never find a husband. For Skylark too, after a good cry on the train, the week is pleasing. Every day is full. In a letter sent while on holiday she regales her parents with a litany of the activities she and her relatives have got up to. Then the week is over. Skylark returns home. Her parents are genuinely ecstatic and relieved to have her back where she belongs, safe in the nest. Life for the Vajkay family returns to normal. It is perhaps a cloistered, unremarkable life, buttoned-down and filled with familiar ritual, in some respects disappointing, but comfortable. The ironies here are subtle, the humour subdued. Kosztolányi never mocks his characters, who take their amusements where they can find them. He simply lets them be. In Skylark, Kosztolányi is sketching a way of life that is neither tragic nor triumphant and in so doing has written a moving and memorable novel. show less

Nem vagyok Kosztolányi barátja. A versei talán csak nem az én ízlésemhez passzolók, a műfordításai viszont… írtam már máshol is, és tudom én, hogy akkor más volt a szokás, még az elvárás is, sokkal inkább a saját stílusukra formálhatták az eredetiket (azért hála az égnek, volt, aki ellen tudott állni ennek), amit könnyű elnézni egy Karinthy-féle Micimackónak, de megbocsáthatatlan, amikor K. Dezső Blake elementáris erejű, vad tigriséből szelíd, show more szépséges, pamutgombolyaggal játszó kiscicát csinál. Vagy Évike Aliz kalandjaiból kihagyja a poénokat.

Ezután sem leszek a barátja, de azért ez nem rossz, egyáltalán. Azt hiszem, ha gimis koromban olvasom, maradéktalanul tetszett volna. Így, a fentiek ismeretében passzív-agresszív nekem ajándékozva vannak fenntartásaim (ugyanitt: kedves mind, ne csináljunk ebből rendszert, még ha el is ismerem, hogy mindkét esetben érdemes volt legyőzni az ellenállásom :P).

Az elején rögtön kellemes meglepetést okozott a „vastag-zöld szójáték” kifejezés, ha picit talán sok is volt előtte a plusz két hasonló. Aztán majdnem belefulladtam a lombcukrozásba, és később is azért vártam vonatútja végét, nehogy még egyszer nekiálljon leírni az éjszakát. Ugyanakkor a későbbi, rövid fejezetekben kifejezetten szórakoztató, kerek, eredeti sztorikat olvashattam, csattanóstul, mindenestül (a bolgár kalauz, a pesti éjszakában ökörködő barátok, az elegáns szálloda, a különböző módokon terhére lévő barátok, megmentők és megmentettek). Bírtam a humorát, különösen, amikor beszólt a műfordítóra, illetve a lírai költőkre… khm, khm… De tényleg, vicces fiú volt, na. Az alvó elnökös poént mondjuk túlnyújtotta szerintem, azt marhára untam egy idő után, de a könyv végén elégedetten nyugtáztam, hogy ezt is letudtam a főváros tömegközlekedési kultúrája nem sokat fejlődött az elmúlt 85 évben, a záró fejezet abszolút aktuális maradt. Jó, hát az emberek nem változtak, és azért ezeket nagyon eltalálta. Ó, és nem is tudom, mikor láttam utoljára ilyen jó befejezést. show less

Skylark is a woman in her mid-30's, an "old maid", living with her mother and father. They've fallen into such a groove that they have become pathetically dependent on each other. Skylark is also butt ugly, which has given her family much shame in not being able to marry her off. They still save up for her dowry, but try not to harbor any hope for her marrying off, as they have been disappointed many times before.

In the beginning of the book, Skylark leaves for a week to go visit a relative. show more We do not see any more of her until the last chapter, when she returns. However, her presence is felt in her absence: we see just how this family is tied together, and how easily it falls apart; mother and father seem not to live but to be carried along by their re-enforced beliefs and daily patterns.

For a while, Skylark almost seems like the parent here, and mother and father are like the kids who are cautiously experimenting with 1. eating out 2. going to the theater 3. talking with their friends who they have not talked to since they have isolated themselves in their own self sufficient home 4. partying and drinking 5. playing the piano 6. getting drunk 7. gambling

Of course, even while having fun, they deny that it is fun or good. These are people who, when faced with a problem, try to look the other way. Out of sight, out of mind. They will not talk about any of their problems directly. But you really feel for them, they are so pathetic, and so sad, but wanting happiness desperately.

The rest of the town is not any better. They cavort and get drunk and gamble every Thursday night and don't retire until Friday night. You could see why the family withdrew to themselves after awhile. The writing is simple and elegant, and didn't feel heavy. I loved the chapter titles, especially the last one: "XIII: in which, on the eighth of September 1899, the novel is concluded, without coming to an end" and it's true. Things will probably go on as they always have. show less