Fülszöveg
M am unable to live in truth
I have been unable
either to love honestly or
to walk away
The narrator of Ivan Klima's
novel has temporarily
abandoned his work-in-
progress - an essay on Kafka - and exchanged his writer's pen for the
orange vest of a Prague road-sweeper. As he works, he meditates on
Czechoslovakia, on Kafka, on life, on art and, obsessively, on his
passionate and adulterous love affair with the sculptress Daria.
Gradually he admits the impossibility of being at once an honest writer
and an honest lover, and with that agonizing discovery comes a
moment of choice.
Tew writers have the invention and skill to juxtapose within one novel so
many diverse themes, mundane and sublime, savage and compassion-
ate, held in a satisfying balance. He tosses time and space about in a net
seeking to catch the eternal It is rare that one meets a new literary voice
of such originality and mastery' - Observer
The dilapidated regime Love and Garbage depicts is now...
Tovább
Fülszöveg
M am unable to live in truth
I have been unable
either to love honestly or
to walk away
The narrator of Ivan Klima's
novel has temporarily
abandoned his work-in-
progress - an essay on Kafka - and exchanged his writer's pen for the
orange vest of a Prague road-sweeper. As he works, he meditates on
Czechoslovakia, on Kafka, on life, on art and, obsessively, on his
passionate and adulterous love affair with the sculptress Daria.
Gradually he admits the impossibility of being at once an honest writer
and an honest lover, and with that agonizing discovery comes a
moment of choice.
Tew writers have the invention and skill to juxtapose within one novel so
many diverse themes, mundane and sublime, savage and compassion-
ate, held in a satisfying balance. He tosses time and space about in a net
seeking to catch the eternal It is rare that one meets a new literary voice
of such originality and mastery' - Observer
The dilapidated regime Love and Garbage depicts is now of course on
history's rubbish dump. One of those who helped to put it there is this
writer' - Sunday Times
'A sad and hauntingly beautiful elegy for just about everything mortal'
- Time Out
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