prose

Andrea Pisac: Excerpt from Hacked Kiti

Andrea Pisac was born in Kutina in 1975. She holds a bachelor’s degree in Croatian Language and Literature and English Language and Literature from the University of Zagreb. She spent twelve years in the UK, where she earned her master’s degree from the University of London and completed her PhD in Anthropology at Goldsmiths College. Her latest novel, Hakirana Kiti (2013) (Hacked Kiti) was short-listed for the prestigious t-Portal award for the best book of prose in Croatia. She has also written several collections of short stories, Dok nas smrt ne rastavi ili te prije toga ne ubijem (2007) (Till Death Do Us Part If I Don’t Kill You Before Then) and Odsuće (2001), as well as numerous scientific papers. Her award-winning blog, Zagreb Honestly, has been delighting foreign visitors with quirky, insider tips on what to do in Zagreb as well as cultural insights for several years now.

Read an excerpt from Pisac’s novel, Hacked Kiti, below. Translation by the author.



 

During my one week rest, I visited the British Library. The reading rooms there seemed conducive to serious intellectual work, but in reality, they oozed with an attractive vibration that did everything to kill my concentration. When I first entered this large space with countless desks and sturdy chairs, I was immediately transported to the ethereal world of theta waves. My mental sharpness was lost to the hypnotizing whiffs of old paper that filled the room. As soon as I sat down and propped my head against my hands, I could feel myself giving in to the pleasing hum that bubbled between my ears. Just like when bath foam fizzes and then slowly disappears from the skin. Tranced out like this, I only pretended to be reading. No, it wasn’t a waste of time – I needed this kind of decompression to enter a different reality. Once I snapped out of it, I noticed a crowd of readers around me. If that many people had besieged me on a tube, the feeling would have been unnerving. But here, in the British Library, I felt happily dazed as I spied on the throng of readers rustling with their books. First I focused on a close up of their hands: how they’d lick their index finger and catch a chipped corner of a page to leaf through, how they’d press the middle of a book with a palm of their hand while leaning their head against the other hand, and finally how they’d reach for a pencil, place it in their mouth and wait until something worth underlying cropped up. Whichever direction I looked, leafing through books fell into a synchronized rhythm. Readers transformed into a choreographed dance ensemble. I could feel a new wave of drowsiness weighing down on me, pushing me into a micro sleep. Rustling of books, chewing of pencils, tiny exhales with each new book chapter, all those sounds making my mind fizz and disappear just like bath foam.

The book I carried to the British Library was not for reading – it was a camouflage. I could have chosen any title as long as it was aligned with the content of a particular reading room. The only thing I remember from my undercover book is that I never started or finished it. Once my initial daze crackled away like foam, I floated into the next stage. My eyes lost the glazed look and turned sparkly, a sense of airiness filled both my brain and lungs bringing along a scent of sweet citrus fruit. I switched focus like a movie camera: from a close up on readers to a panorama of the whole reading room. As I squinted to zoom in the details of the ceiling, I could see dust particles dancing inside the rays of sunlight. A thought stopped me in my tracks: how wrong we are thinking that air is a transparent, neutral matter. It was a misconception we couldn’t help. Because as we narrowed our focus into the fractal nature of the world, it was impossible to also keep an eye on all those sturdy chairs, rustling books and chewed up pencils around us. Then a text message would vibrate on my phone and stop my reverie. I was back feeling my feet on the ground and my behind on the hard surface of a chair. It was time to meet Serge for coffee.

Serge revealed to me

that all those academics who spent time in the British Library would have loved if the sweat of their brow moved down to their loins. That didn’t come as a surprise to me. Even scientists are only human: or more correctly, jaded humans with a poor sex life. I always suspected that desire, erotic or any other kind, was ignited and kept aflame by outside stimuli. It was anthropologists who proved that craving rarely came from inside us, but was rather a product of various marketing strategies, both public and private. Now I know that two things are needed to fuel a yearning: associative thinking and the repetition of stimuli. People learn through multi-dimensional tagging, a non-linear formula where one plus one never equals two. Repeated enough times, these connections fire up new neural signals, which in turn carve up new neural pathways, which finally send us off to burn with desire of one kind or another.

Let’s take a real life example and examine a sensually stunted egghead who regularly visits the British Library. Once upon a time, this esteemed academic yearned for amorous exchange just like anyone else, but without frequent exposure to the erotic stimuli, his neural pathways became clogged up. In other words, our revered scientist turned into a wet lettuce. However, one day as Mr. Wet sweated his brow and chewed on his pencil, he caught the attention of a perky woman anthropologist. Just to make things clear: of all scientists out there, anthropologists hold on to their erotic selves the longest because they never stop hanging out with the common folk. Our academic discipline actually allows us to carry on being sensual. Which is both good and bad news. Good because, within the ivory tower, we stand the biggest chance at achieving wholeness. Bad because if we are to become purebred rigorous scientists, we must purposefully give up on being whole. And losing what you once had is far worse than never having it at all, which is the case with all other eggheads in the academia. The only way not to despair over this lost chance is to fake being wet. There is actually a secret society of anthropologists whose mission is to feign rigidity and at the same time practice wholeness. Simply put, these anthropologists have found a way to shag around as much as they like without compromising their academic credibility. Our perky anthropologist is one such newly initiated member. The day when she zoomed in on Mr. Wet in the British Library, she immediately initiated the exchange of information. Serge, who is the author of this story and a senior member of the secret society, confessed that these untamed anthropologists have devised a peculiar communication strategy. On the surface, they appear just as wet and sterile, but between the lines, there is serious dirty talk going on. For example, our anthropologist wrote on a piece of paper that she would much appreciate to pick Mr. Wet’s brain in the British Library café. She folded the note and threw it on the book Mr. Wet was hunching over. You should know that purebred scholars are not complete emotional half pints. One feeling in which they excel is vanity, and this was something that secret society members knew well. As expected, when Mr. Wet read the note, his face lit up at the thought that someone wanted to relate with him. Without a second thought, he closed his book and followed the anthropologist’s entrancing saunter.

The point of this story was not only to make me laugh, Serge reminded me, but to open my eyes to what was actually going on around me. And the British Library was a good case in point. Ever since the first exchange of information there began with a note on a book and ended with trousers down, the entire space got imbued with this particular energy. Anthropologists proved a long time ago that humans are social creatures who’d do anything to feel accepted. This is why one small note can snowball into several note-prompted fornications, which can in turn rekindle erotic desire in all readers, transforming the entire British Library into one big scholarly brothel. Serge does the same thing with me. Whenever we agree to meet, he finds me in a reading room and tosses a crumpled note on my undercover book. In our case, it’s just a joke. We don’t sleep together. We only exchange unusual stories about the secret society and our own wholeness.

By Andrea Pisac

Translated by the author

o nama

Eva Simčić pobjednica je nagrade "Sedmica & Kritična masa" (6.izdanje)

Pobjednica književne nagrade "Sedmica & Kritična masa" za mlade prozaiste je Eva Simčić (1990.) Nagrađena priča ''Maksimalizam.” neobična je i dinamična priča je o tri stana, dva grada i puno predmeta. I analitično i relaksirano, s dozom humora, na književno svjež način autorica je ispričala pamtljivu priču na temu gomilanja stvari, temu u kojoj se svi možemo barem malo prepoznati, unatoč sve većoj popularnosti minimalizma. U užem izboru nagrade, osim nagrađene Simčić, bile su Ivana Butigan, Paula Ćaćić, Marija Dejanović, Ivana Grbeša, Ljiljana Logar i Lucija Švaljek.
Ovo je bio šesti nagradni natječaj koji raspisuje Kritična masa, a partner nagrade bio je cafe-bar Sedmica (Kačićeva 7, Zagreb). Nagrada se sastoji od plakete i novčanog iznosa (5.000 kuna bruto). U žiriju nagrade bile su članice redakcije Viktorija Božina i Ilijana Marin, te vanjski članovi Branko Maleš i Damir Karakaš.

o nama

Natječaj ''Sedmica & Kritična masa'' - uži izbor

Nakon šireg izbora slijedi uži izbor nagrade ''Sedmica & Kritična masa'' za mlade prozne autore. Pročitajte tko su sedmero odabranih.

proza

Hana Kunić: Vidjela sam to

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Hana Kunić (Varaždin, 1994.) završila je varaždinsku Prvu gimnaziju nakon koje upisuje studij Glume i lutkarstva na Akademiji za umjetnost i kulturu u Osijeku, gdje je magistrirala 2017. godine. Kao Erasmus+ studentica studirala je Glumu i na Faculty of Theatre and Television u Cluj-Napoci u Rumunjskoj. Glumica je pretežno na kazališnim (HNK Varaždin, Kazalište Mala scena Zagreb, Umjetnička organizacija VRUM, Kazalište Lutonjica Toporko), a povremeno i na filmskim i radijskim projektima. Kao dramska pedagoginja djeluje u Kazališnom studiju mladih varaždinskog HNK i u romskom naselju Kuršanec u sklopu projekta Studija Pangolin. Pisanjem se bavi od osnovne škole – sudjelovala je na državnim natjecanjima LiDraNo (2010. i 2012.), izdala je zbirku poezije „Rika“ (2018.), njena prva drama „Plavo i veliko“ izvedena je na Radiju Sova (2019.), a njen prvi dječji dramski tekst „Ah, ta lektira, ne da mi mira“ postavljen je na scenu lutkarskog Kazališta Lutonjica Toporko (2021.). Suosnivačica je Umjetničke organizacije Favela. Živi u Zagrebu, puno se sunča i alergična je na banalnost.

proza

Saša Vengust: Loša kob

NAGRADA "SEDMICA & KRITIČNA MASA" - ŠIRI IZBOR

Saša Vengust (Zagreb, 1988.) završio je školovanje kao maturant II. opće gimnazije. Nakon toga je naizmjence malo radio u videoteci, malo brljao na Filozofskom fakultetu po studijima filozofije, sociologije i komparativne književnosti. U naglom i iznenadnom preokretu, zaposlio se u Hladnjači i veletržnici Zagreb kao komercijalist u veleprodaji voća i povrća. Trenutačno traži posao, preuređuje kuću, savladava 3D printanje, boja minijature, uveseljava suprugu i ostale ukućane sviranjem električne gitare te redovito ide na pub kvizove da se malo makne iz kuće.

proza

Sheila Heti: Majčinstvo

Sheila Heti (1976.) jedna je od najistaknutijih kanadskih autorica svoje generacije. Studirala je dramsko pisanje, povijest umjetnosti i filozofiju. Piše romane, kratke priče, dramske tekstove i knjige za djecu. U brojnim utjecajnim medijima objavljuje književne kritike i intervjue s piscima i umjetnicima. Bestseleri How Should a Person Be? i Women in Clothes priskrbili su joj status književne zvijezde. New York Times uvrstio ju je na popis najutjecajnijih svjetskih književnica koje će odrediti način pisanja i čitanja knjiga u 21. stoljeću, a roman Majčinstvo našao se na njihovoj ljestvici najboljih knjiga 2018. godine. Hvalospjevima su se pridružili i časopisi New Yorker, Times Literary Supplement, Chicago Tribune, Vulture, Financial Times i mnogih drugi koji su je proglasili knjigom godine. Majčinstvo je tako ubrzo nakon objavljivanja postao kultni roman. Sheila Heti živi u Torontu, a njezina su djela prevedena na više od dvadeset jezika.

poezija

Selma Asotić: Izbor iz poezije

Selma Asotić je pjesnikinja. Završila je magistarski studij iz poezije na sveučilištu Boston University 2019. godine. Dobitnica je stipendije Robert Pinsky Global Fellowship i druge nagrade na književnom natječaju Brett Elizabeth Jenkins Poetry Prize. Nominirana je za nagradu Puschcart za pjesmu ''Nana'', a 2021. uvrštena je među polufinaliste/kinje nagrade 92Y Discovery Poetry Prize. Pjesme i eseje na engleskom i bhsc jeziku objavljivala je u domaćim i međunarodnim književnim časopisima.

proza

Ines Kosturin: Izbor iz poezije

Ines Kosturin (1990., Zagreb) rodom je iz Petrinje, gdje pohađa osnovnu i srednju školu (smjer opća gimnazija). Nakon toga u istom gradu upisuje Učiteljski fakultet, gdje je i diplomirala 2015. godine te stekla zvanje magistre primarnog obrazovanja. Pisanjem se bavi od mladosti, a 2014. izdaje svoju prvu samostalnu zbirku poezije, ''Papirno more''. Krajem 2020. izdaje drugu samostalnu zbirku poezije, ''Herbarij''. Pjesme objavljuje kako u domaćim, tako i u internacionalnim (regionalno i šire) zbornicima i časopisima. Na međunarodnom natječaju Concorso internazionale di poesia e teatro Castello di Duino 2018. osvaja treću nagradu. Poeziju uglavnom piše na hrvatskom i engleskom jeziku.

proza

Luka Ivković: Sat

Luka Ivković (1999., Šibenik) je student agroekologije na Agronomskom fakultetu u Zagrebu. Do sada je objavljivao u časopisu Kvaka, Kritična masa, Strane, ušao u širi izbor za Prozak 2018., uvršten u zbornik Rukopisi 43.

poezija

Bojana Guberac: Izbor iz poezije

Bojana Guberac (1991., Vukovar) odrasla je na Sušaku u Rijeci, a trenutno živi u Zagrebu. U svijet novinarstva ulazi kao kolumnistica za Kvarner News, a radijske korake započinje na Radio Sovi. Radila je kao novinarka na Radio Rijeci, u Novom listu, na Kanalu Ri te Ri portalu. Trenutno radi kao slobodna novinarka te piše za portale Lupiga, CroL te Žene i mediji. Piše pjesme od osnovne škole, ali o poeziji ozbiljnije promišlja od 2014. godine kada je pohađala radionice poezije CeKaPe-a s Julijanom Plenčom i Andreom Žicom Paskučijem pod mentorstvom pjesnikinje Kristine Posilović. 2015. godine imala je prvu samostalnu izložbu poezije o kojoj Posilović piše: ''Primarni zadatak vizualne poezije jest da poeziju učini vidljivom, tj. da probudi kod primatelja svijest o jeziku kao materiji koja se može oblikovati. Stoga Guberac pred primatelje postavlja zahtjevan zadatak, a taj je da pokušaju pjesmu obuhvatiti sa svih strana u prostoru, da ju pokušaju doživjeti kao objekt. Mada pjesnički tekst u ovom slučaju primamo vizualno, materijal te poezije je dalje jezik.'' Njezine pjesme objavljivane su u časopisima, a ove godine njezina je poezija predstavljena na Vrisku – riječkom festivalu autora i sajmu knjiga.

proza

Iva Sopka: Plišane lisice

Iva Sopka (1987., Vrbas) objavila je više kratkih priča od kojih su najznačajnije objavljene u izboru za književnu nagradu Večernjeg lista “Ranko Marinković” 2011. godine, Zarezovog i Algoritmovog književnog natječaja Prozak 2015. godine, nagrade “Sedmica & Kritična Masa” 2016., 2017. i 2019. godine, natječaja za kratku priču Gradske knjižnice Samobor 2016. godine te natječaja za kratku priču 2016. godine Broda knjižare – broda kulture. Osvojila je drugo mjesto na KSET-ovom natječaju za kratku priču 2015. godine, a kratka priča joj je odabrana među najboljima povodom Mjeseca hrvatske knjige u izboru za književni natječaj KRONOmetaFORA 2019. godine. Kao dopisni član je pohađala radionicu kritičkog čitanja i kreativnog pisanja "Pisaće mašine" pod vodstvom Mime Juračak i Natalije Miletić. Dobitnica je posebnog priznanja 2019. godine žirija nagrade "Sedmica & Kritična masa" za 3. uvrštenje u uži izbor.

proza

Ivana Caktaš: Život u roku

Ivana Caktaš (1994., Split) diplomirala je hrvatski jezik i književnost 2018. godine s temom „Semantika čudovišnog tijela u spekulativnoj fikciji“. Tijekom studiranja je volontirala u Književnoj udruzi Ludens, gdje je sudjelovala u različitim jezikoslovnim i književnim događajima. Odradila je stručno osposobljavanje u osnovnoj školi i trenutno povremeno radi kao zamjena. U Splitu pohađa Školu za crtanje i slikanje pod vodstvom akademskih slikara Marina Baučića i Ivana Svaguše. U slobodno vrijeme piše, crta, slika i volontira.

poezija

Marija Skočibušić: Izbor iz poezije

Marija Skočibušić rođena je 2003. godine u Karlovcu gdje trenutno i pohađa gimnaziju. Sudjeluje na srednjoškolskim literarnim natječajima, a njezina poezija uvrštena je u zbornike Poezitiva i Rukopisi 42. Također je objavljena u časopisima Poezija i Libartes, na internetskom portalu Strane te blogu Pjesnikinja petkom. Sudjelovala je na književnoj tribini Učitavanje u Booksi, a svoju je poeziju čitala na osmom izdanju festivala Stih u regiji.

proza

Philippe Lançon: Zakrpan

Philippe Lançon (1963.) novinar je, pisac i književni kritičar. Piše za francuske novine Libération i satirički časopis Charlie Hebdo. Preživio je napad na redakciju časopisa te 2018. objavio knjigu Zakrpan za koju je dobio niz nagrada, među kojima se ističu Nagrada za najbolju knjigu časopisa Lire 2018., Nagrada Femina, Nagrada Roger-Caillois, posebno priznanje žirija Nagrade Renaudot. Knjiga je prevedena na brojne jezike te od čitatelja i kritike hvaljena kao univerzalno remek-djelo, knjiga koja se svojom humanošću opire svakom nasilju i barbarizmu.

Stranice autora

Književna Republika Relations PRAVOnaPROFESIJU LitLink mk zg