prose

Sibila Petlevski: Correspondence (excerpt from "A State of Twilight")

Sibila Petlevski is the author of 23 books in different genres of fiction, non-fiction, drama and poetry.
Some of her sonnets originally written in English appeared in Douglas Messerli's anthology of world authors 50: A Celebration of Sun & Moon Classics (Sun & Moon Press, Los Angeles, 1995). Her poetry, drama and extracts from her fiction have been translated into numerous languages.
She won the "Vladimir Nazor" Award for literature for 1993. She also won the literary award for the best national novel published in 2009, tportal award, for her novel "Vrijeme laži".
"Correspondence" is an excerpt from "A State of Twilight", the third novel in the "Taboo" trilogy.



How things return to their starting point! How persistent, how malicious these ghosts of the past are! - Viktor wrote. He dated it: Lublin, November 22nd 1916, 2:40 AM. He was in a state of fatigue; weary in spirit and exhausted from work. He sat at a desk in an office of the Psychiatry ward of Lublin army headquarters.  For a while now - since that first operation he had to perform under fire, in the improvised conditions of a field hospital, up to the moment when he could start practicing his specialty in Lublin - he had a feeling that he was haunted by the faces from those years which he lived through - in his own words - "foolishly, arrogantly wasteful of time, as if he would live forever". The train brought fresh cannon fodder from the eastern front. Delivery - that's what Viktor called the newly arrived wounded. Whenever a larger "delivery" arrived, he would get involved. He considered it his duty; "roll up your sleeves, get out of the privileged position of the head of the psychiatric ward, and do the butcher's job as one should". There weren't many educated physicians among the psychoanalysts who gathered around Freud. He was in many ways an exception.

I'm tired, tired, tired, like a heavy saddle is covering me. My eyelids are closing, and there is no merciful sleep. I haven't slept properly in weeks - Viktor wrote down. I thought the twilight period in which I still believed myself to be an artist was over. In a way, it is. Nothing can ever be the same again. But the curse returns. It was and remained. It's following me. When he removed the white coat stained with blood, Viktor neatly buttoned it up and put it on the hanger. He didn't have it washed, and now the "filthy butcher's apron" had pride of place on a silly wooden hanger for the upper part of the uniform, which in peacetime would surely hold the pressed jacket of his dinner suit. He placed the hanger opposite the desk, in the position where a patient would usually find himself after opening the door and stepping into his office. First he began to laugh, and then he forgot about that "little play" he put on for his own amusement, and started writing. Just before four o'clock in the morning, when his eyes had gone completely blurry from fatigue, he looked up, and his doctor's coat still stood there like a headless man - he himself. At four AM, seeing an empty doctor's uniform, the discarded armor of his own doctor persona, wasn't the least bit pleasant.

Is there any content in it... this role of humanist and physician? - he wondered.

On the coat, the blood had once more, with a bureaucrat's dilligence, written the message of another senseless death, and at the sight of these blood stains, Viktor couldn't escape the impression - for quite some time he couldn't escape the horrific impression - that the canvas of his doctor's coat was a surface used by some utterly cunning, unidentified force - God or the Devil, whichever - to send him messages.

Those aren't stains. No, those aren't lines either. It's writing.

Finally, he could make out "a hand"; he thought that every other, minimally skillful eye could differentiate between a random form - a bloody arabesque of chance - and a deliberate intervention into randomness. It was writing. Those were signs. perhaps even letters. There wasn't much chance that he could be mistaken on this issue, because Viktor was also an artist. As much as he wanted to forget this innate passion - he was, among all other things, an artist - and he was a better draughtsman than many of those who entered the Academy.

Endowed in all things, he proved with every life decision that overabundance can become a serious problem for a "serious man in a serious society". For some time now he copied the letters of the blood alphabet into his Diary, pretending he was merely doodling. He could never admit it to anyone. He could barely admit to himself what he was doing, in the small hours of the morning, after work; this "infernal calligraphy" and an incidental search for the key to this coded writing. Precisely - "incidental search" - because how could one believe a system could really exist where arbitrariness, absurdity, complete chaos of causes and effects were shown?

Even this war, which put the "blood ink" into mass production, was and remained only a set of god-awfully banal reasons, dominated by the need for gain. Only Gain could give an alleged sense to the senselessness of war, and sell an infernal lie at the price of thousands and thousands of human lives. Only Gain could convince each of them personally - the smart and the stupid, the ignorant and the educated who think they know how to think - that at the end of their life journey they did not die in vain, but as the happy possessors of a great truth. I'd love to know: whose Gain?... Because whoever promised them immortality, they could only achieve it beyond consciousness, in the realm of collective sepulchral stupidity that makes sons continue precisely where their fathers left off. Am I perhaps engaged in correspondence with a force of cerebral inertia stronger than death itself? The blood letters - from whom did they come from, and for whom are they intended?

 

proza

Nell Zink: Zidarčac

Nell Zink je nakon "kasnog" debija (2014) ekspresno od autsajdera postala književni događaj, te je sa serijom knjiga idućih godina potvrdila visoko i izdvojeno mjesto na američkoj sceni. The New York Times uvrstio je njezin ekološki osviješten roman The Wallcreeper među značajne knjige 2014. godine, kao i njezinu knjigu iz 2015. godine o temama rase i roda, koja je nominirana za nacionalnu književnu nagradu Mislaid. Roman Nicotine objavila je 2016., kao i zbirku novela Private Novelist. Hvaljena je od Guardiana do New Yorkera, premda im je bilo teško klasificirati je.
Rođena je u južnoj Kaliforniji, odrasla je u ruralnoj Virginiji, diplomirala filozofiju na Fakultetu William i Mary 1981. godine.
Bila je gošća Lit link festivala / Književne karike 2018.
Pročitajte uvodni ulomak iz njezina romana The Wallcreeper.

proza

Rachel Kushner: Bacači plamena

Pročitajte "motoristički" ulomak iz romana "Bacači plamena" Rachel Kushner, već pomalo kultne američke spisateljice, smješten u 1977. godinu. Radnja romana klizi od američke provincije, preko artističkih i intelektualnih krugova New Yorka do Europe prateći put junakinje Reno. „Ovo je jedno od najuzbudljivijih književnih iskustava koje sam imao u posljednjem desetljeću... DeLillo odjekuje ovdje, kao i Doctorow, kao i Carey”, napisao je o romanu Colum McCann.
Rachel Kushner rođena je 1968. u saveznoj državi Oregon, a odrasla je u San Franciscu. Njezini su romani prevedeni na 15 jezika. Živi u Los Angelesu.
Roman "Bacači plamena" objavio je Profil u prijevodu Luize Bouharaoue.
Pročitajte dio pa vidite dalje (a ide dosta dalje).

poezija

Ana Škvorc: Strahujete li da se neću uklopiti?

Ana Škvorc (1991., Čakovec) prethodno je poeziju objavljivala u Temi i Poeziji. Studentica je hrvatskoga jezika i književnosti na Filozofskom fakultetu u Zagrebu.

poezija

Branko Maleš: Mutno

Pročitajte izbor iz knjige pjesama "Mutno" Branka Maleša, za koju je autor nedavno dobio nagradu "Vladimir Nazor".
Branko Maleš (1949., Zagreb) spada među najznačajnije suvremene hrvatske pjesnike i pjesničke inovatore internacionalnog ranga. Autor je brojnih knjiga ("Tekst", 1978; "Praksa laži", 1986; "Placebo", 1992; „biba posavec“, 1996; "Trickster", 1998; "Vertigo", 2010; "Mutno", 2017, itd.), dobitnik "Goranova vijenca", a među ostalim je i član žirija nagrade "Sedmica & Kritična masa" za mlade autore.

proza

Viktorija Božina: Ulomak iz romana 'Turbofolk'

Viktorija Božina rođena je 1990. u Zadru gdje pohađa diplomski studij hrvatskoga jezika i književnosti. Tri godine boravila je u Americi gdje je završila studij informatike. Roman iz kojeg donosimo ulomak uskoro će ugledati svjetlo dana u izdanju Sandorfa.

proza

Catherine Lacey: Povrede

Catherine Lacey sjajan je američki glas nove generacije. Autorica je romana "The Answers" i "Nobody Is Ever Missing" te zbirke kratkih priča "Certain American States" koja upravo izlazi. Dobitnica je nagrade Whiting, stipendije New York Foundation for the Arts, bila je finalistica nagrade Young Lions Fiction. Njezini romani prevedeni su na talijanski, francuski, španjolski, nizozemski i njemački, a djela su joj objavljivana u The New York Timesu, Harper’su, Vogueu i drugdje. Časopis Granta uvrstio ju je 2017. u prestižnu dekadnu selekciju najboljih novih američkih prozaika. Između brojnih pohvala nazvana je i “DeLillom za milenijalce”. Rođena je 1985. u Mississippiju, živi u Chicagu. Bila je gošća Lit link festivala 2018. te nastupala u Zagrebu, Puli i Rijeci.
Pročitajte ulomak iz njene knjige priča "Certain American States" koja u kolovozu izlazi u Americi.

proza

Marina Gudelj: Lee

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" 2017 - POBJEDNIČKA PRIČA

Marina Gudelj (1988., Split) diplomirala je hrvatski jezik i književnost na Sveučilištu u Zadru. Objavljivala je u Zarezu i na portalu KSET-a.

poezija

Ana Miković: Pjesme

Ana Miković rođena je 1987. u Beogradu gdje je diplomirala na katedri za srpsku književnost s južnoslavenskim književnostima. Dio je glazbeno-poetske trupe Nebograd.

proza

David Szalay: Duge rute

Pročitajte priču izvrsnog Davida Szalaya koji je bio sudionik Lit link festivala 2017 u Puli, Rijeci i Zagrebu.

David Szalay rođen je u Montrealu (1974.) u Kanadi odakle njegovi uskoro sele u Veliku Britaniju. Objavio je četiri prozne knjige, dobitnik je više književnih nagrada, a 2016. njegov je roman All That Man Is bio u užem izboru za Bookerovu nagradu. Szalay je uvršten u prestižni dekadni izbor najboljih mlađih britanskih romanopisaca časopisa Granta, kao i sličan izbor novina Telegraph. David Szalay pisac je minucioznog stila, naoko distanciranog, sa suptilnim i vrlo individualnim pomakom u tretiranju prozne događajnosti. Roman All That Man Is ono je što preporučamo za dulje upoznavanje, a za ovu priliku smo odabrali kratku priču Long Distance koju je napisao lani za radio BBC.

Stranice autora

Književna Republika Relations PRAVOnaPROFESIJU LitLink mk zg