László Krasznahorkai-born in 1954 in Gyula, Hungary, a town near the Romanian border best known for its thermal baths, and now living, according to his publisher, “in reclusiveness in the hills of Szentlászló”-is the rare author with a unified subject matter, style, and theme. A scrapbook of representative phrases, each taken from a different story: “foundering in a slough of despond” “the incidental termination of an excruciating spiritual journey” “the endgame of the spirit” “how could I say anything new when there is nothing new under the sun?” “exploring the dance steps of saying goodbye to the world” “nothing whatsoever exists at all” “the hope that he would die some day.” This note echoes through the remaining 20 stories, in various shades of darkness, ranging from starless night to oblivion. I have to leave this place, because this is not where anyone can be, or where it would be worthwhile to remain, because this is the place-with its intolerable, cold, sad, bleak and deadly weight-from where I must escape …
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