just finished reading Bohumil Hrabal’s collection of short stories, The Death of Mr. Baltisberger.
perpetual thanks, as always, to Ann and Stona Fitch for introducing me to one of the 20th Century’s undersung masters.
my favorites were the final two, The World Cafeteria and Want To See Golden Prague? (but even their late placement in the volume makes me think maybe i was just finally getting into my Hrabal-reading rhythm; all the more reason to reread them). The breathtaking beauty of the writing aside, what washes over me when reading Hrabal is the richness of his recall and the depth of his empathy; i wonder that there are few of us who experience life through all our nerve endings, constantly, and am thankful that there are even fewer who can manage that torrent into poetry.
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