prose

Ivana Kovačić: Parafairytale (two excerpts from the novel)

lvana Kovačić was born in 1979 in Split. She finished elementary and high school on the island of Hvar, and studied Croatian and Russian languages and literature at the Faculty of Philosophy in Zagreb. She does various occasional jobs, translation, writing and participation in art and activist projects. She lives in Zagreb. Her novel Parafairytale (2013) - which touches on motives of a father’s death and coming out - had a very good critical reception.



Sparklers

 

Grandpa held the best food was eels, prosciutto and lamb.

He hadn't gotten out of bed for the seventh day. At night, Mom, Dad and Uncle took turns watching him. They asked if he wanted any food, but he couldn't. He was spitting blood.

- Don't you worry, you'll still be a fox when you're eighty years old - he told Mom that night as she sat by his side.

At the end of the first year I was waiting for an exam with a group of students, many of which I didn't know. I saw one girl looking at me and smiling. Her name was Brita.

- What up, you? - she spoke to me with a smile.

- Steiger - I replied.

In the end, the exam was postponed and she invited me over to study together.

On our last Christmas together, three months before Grandpa was bedridden, there was maybe an hour left 'til lunch. Everyone was tense and moving around the house, Mom and Grandma were cooking. The Christmas tree was decorated and for the first time it had sparklers on it. The balls were Grandma's family heirlooms, she brought them as "dowry" along with the Nativity scene. My sister and I were squirming on the couch. She, of course, couldn't wait for the sparklers to be lit.

- This ought to end - said Grandpa when Uncle came to relieve Mom of her shift.

We lay in the near dark of Brita's living room. Here you could no longer see the sky-blue eyes that shone in the hallway of the university. In a room with dim light, I saw only pupils through which I wanted to pass, so I could see those eyes again.

- Just one. To see what it looks like. Nobody will even notice. - my sister was pushing.

I agreed and she lit the sparkler. We were watching it sparkle, when Grandpa passed from the kitchen through the living room. He couldn't see well and it looks like he hadn't noticed anything. He disappeared into the hallway. The sparks turned the dry pine needles into a real bonfire. The whole Christmas tree went up in flames immediately and the fire caught the big wall closet.

At one moment, before they put it all out, Grandpa grabbed our hands and locked us in his room. He didn't let anyone touch us. We huddled on his bed and waited for him to call us when he calmed everyone down.

On his last night, in the armchair on the right side of that large bed, around five o'clock in the morning, sat Dad instead of Uncle.

- My Ivan, life goes by like a dream. I see you know as a boy, riding your bike on the square. Not a soul around, just one woman, and you go straight for her and knock her down. - Grandpa spoke.

In the morning they called a priest.

Brita's nipple was big, much bigger than mine, and when I moved towards it with my tongue I felt like I was crossing the island square in winter, alone and eyes without pupils were looking at me from behind the windows.

 

(...)

 

As soon as Grandpa died, Grandma's chin which had shaken uncontrollably for the last twenty years or so was suddenly stilled. Calm seas. Everybody whispered about it behind her back. Grandma didn't comment on any of it. Soon the rest of the family moved to the New House, and she was left alone in the Old, enjoying complete silence and solitude. One morning she was peeling potatoes, missed the chair and broke her hip. As she was lying, deep wounds opened in her hips, wounds in which worms could appear. Dad bought shoes for her funeral and for the last few days, to break them in, he brought her lunch wearing them. He came back and tearfully said she told him he has lovely shoes. He liked to cry, and if he didn't have a good reason for it, he'd make something up. He'd always start reading the newspaper from the obituaries.

In the New House, around a month before it was discovered he was ill, he came to my room teary-eyed and gave me the membership card of the water polo club he played for as a young man. Throughout the illness, he pretended he would fight and accepted all of Mom's suggestions, more out of courtesy than out of a real desire for life. His favourite thing was sitting under the fig tree in the yard, rolling his eyes and opening his mouth like a fish on dry land. It was a special dying performance, which was funny while he could get out of the house nd sit under the fig tree.

I wanted him to fight, but it seemed, if he didn't make it, it was no less important that I find a good quote for his obituary, worthy of all his tears and stirred emotions. I started thinking about that much sooner than he started thinking about a suit and new shoes for Grandma's funeral.

 

I picked the end of Turgenev's "Fathers and Sons":

 

..."Is not love, sacred, true love omnipotent? Oh no! However passionate, sinful, rebellious the heart that hides in the grave, the flowers that grow on it calmly gaze upon us with their  innocent eyes; they tell us not only about the eternal peace, of that great peace of 'indifferent' nature; it tells us also of eternal reconciliation and eternal life..."

I was happy with that for a while, and then I too felt the strange urge to break in my shoes.

 

proza

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NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - UŽI IZBOR 2019

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Ivana Pintarić (1988., Zagreb) je po zanimanju edukacijski rehabilitator. Piše poeziju i kratke priče. Ulomkom iz romana „Gorimo (ali ne boli više)“ ušla je u finale izbora za nagradu "Sedmica & Kritična masa" 2015. godine. Ulazi u širi izbor nagrade "Sedmica & Kritična masa" 2017. ulomkom iz romana "Ovo nije putopis o Americi". Bila je polaznica Booksine radionice pisanja proze pod mentorstvom Zorana Ferića. Objavila je radove na kultipraktik.org i booksa.hr. Objavila je i priču u časopisu Fantom slobode. Članica je književne grupe ZLO.

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NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Marin Ivančić (1991., Karlovac) diplomirani je pravnik na stručnom usavršavanju u Hrvatskoj komori ovlaštenih inženjera geodezije. Od zala birokracije dušu spašava čitanjem, županijskim nogometom, a odnedavno i pisanjem. Igra zadnjeg veznog u NK Dobra-Novigrad na Dobri, ima dobar udarac i pregled igre. Čitalački ukus mu je hipsterski eklektičan. Ovo mu je prvi objavljeni rad.

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NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

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NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Luiza Bouharaoua (1985., Split) diplomirala je kroatistiku i anglistiku na Filozofskom fakultetu u Splitu. Radi u Skribonautima. Prevodi i piše. Prevela je roman Rachel Kushner "Bacači plamena" (Profil, 2017.). Kratke priče objavljivala je u The Split Mindu, Fantomu Slobode i na portalima Kritična masa i Nema. Priče su joj izvođene u na Trećem programu hrvatskog radija. Uvrštena je u regionalni zbornik "Izvan koridora - najbolja kratka priča" (VBZ, 2011.) i antologiju hrvatske mlade proze "Bez vrata, bez kucanja" (Sandorf, 2012.). Finalistica je natječaja Festivala europske kratke priče u 2016. i 2017. godini. Dobitnica je nagrade Ulaznica za kratku priču te nagrade Prozak za najbolji prozni rukopis autora/ica do 35 godina. U 2019. izlazi joj Prozakom nagrađeni prvijenac.

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Valerija Cerovec: Hotel Horizont (ulomak iz kratkog romana)

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Valerija Cerovec (1993., Čakovec) je vizualna umjetnica i spisateljica. Završila je preddiplomski studij modnog dizajna na Tekstilno-tehnološkom fakultetu i studij komparativne književnosti na Filozofskom fakultetu, a diplomirala na Odsjeku za animirani film i nove medije na Akademiji likovnih umjetnosti. Dobitnica je nagrade “Franjo Marković” Filozofskog fakulteta. Sudjelovala je u nizu skupnih izložbi i jednoj samostalnoj naziva “23. rujna, dan kad se ništa naročito nije dogodilo”. Članica je HDLU-a.

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Jan Bolić: Mrtvi kanal (ulomak iz neobjavljenog romana)

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Jan Bolić (1995., Rijeka) je autor koji boluje od progresivne bolesti spinalne mišićne atrofije tip 2 zbog koje ne može pomaknuti gotovo nijedan dio tijela, no i dalje, bez obzira na progresiju bolesti, uspijeva pisati s dva prsta koja još uvijek može pomaknuti i s njima stvara književna djela. Dosad je objavio dvije knjige: zbirku poezije „Trenutci“ (2016.) i zbirku poezije i proznih zapisa „Može biti lijepo“ (2017.). Jedna pjesma objavljena je i u zbirci poezije skupine autora iz cijele RH naziva „Petrinjske staze“ iz Petrinje. Povremeno objavljuje svoje radove na književnim portalima i svom Facebook profilu U trećoj knjizi odlučio se pozabaviti žanrom krimića.

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NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

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Luka Katančić: Papirnati poljubac

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Luka Katančić (1996., Zagreb) student je Pravnog fakulteta u Zagrebu. 2014. i 2015. godine osvojio je treće nagrade: „Stanislav Preprek“, „Joan Flora“, „Pavle Popović“, „Janoš Siveri“, „Rade Tomić“ te drugu nagradu „Duško Trifunović“ u Novom Sadu za poeziju u kategoriji do 30 godina.

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Dalen Belić: Ispovijed serijskog samoubojice

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Dalen Belić rođen je 1997. godine. Živi u Pazinu, a studira engleski i njemački jezik na Filozofskom fakultetu u Rijeci. Objavljivan je u istrakonskoj zbirci Apokalipsa laži te zbirkama Priče o manjinama i Priče o Pazinu u sklopu Festivala Fantastične Književnosti. Osvojio je drugo mjesto na Riječkim perspektivama 2017. godine i prvo mjesto 2018. Jednu njegovu priču teškometalne tematike možete pročitati na portalu Perun.hr.

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