There were flashes of Hrabal's brilliant and engaging writing. But a lot of this was devoted to post-modern thought and art--explosionalism, of which There were flashes of Hrabal's brilliant and engaging writing. But a lot of this was devoted to post-modern thought and art--explosionalism, of which I am not a fan. So, not one of my favorites, but a record of the times. ...more
Would the readers who thought this was a cute book about cats and were shocked please remove their one-star ratings? That is on you, not on the authorWould the readers who thought this was a cute book about cats and were shocked please remove their one-star ratings? That is on you, not on the author. This is a novella very much in Hrabal's style. It is an honest reflective slice of small town life. It deals with a real issue--what are we going to do about all these cats?--when Hrabal loves cats and cares for strays. He kills them when they get too numerous. And we learn how. That may be shocking, but it is a relatively small part of his relationship with them. Yet it occupies a large portion of his psyche as he tries and fails to move on from that. The passages where he describes his relationships with the cats are fascinating (to me, who is not a cat lover). I am unsure if he is over-anthropomorphizing, or if he is accurately characterizing another form of life. I tend to the former, but wonder. As for the killings, I wonder if we find this shocking because we affluent folks are ready to pay to neuter the cats, whereas that simply wasn't an option in mid-60's rural Czechoslovakia. To be shocked by this is like affluent meat-eaters being shocked by accounts of how cows are killed for meat. We don't want to know, and are rich enough to not have to know. The price of our eating meat is killing cows; the price of loving stray cats is population control. What made this into a novella was the role that a car accident played in Hrabal's coming to terms with murdering his cats, and then the closing scene where he tries to free a freezing swan. Hrabal creates metaphors and parallels out of real life that amaze. And, as often, despite being a translation, the language is as good as the story-line....more
Always glad to have another volume of translated stories from Hrabal. This was not as engaging as some, however. Connected with each story Hrabal addsAlways glad to have another volume of translated stories from Hrabal. This was not as engaging as some, however. Connected with each story Hrabal adds a postscript that says something about its origin. In a couple cases he describes his method of writing as "mixed text freely compiled from" multiple sources (p. 89), or a "montage" which "arose through the rhythmic alteration of excerpts" from various sources (p. 107). I suppose you can praise the originality of the approach, but you can't really read it--or I couldn't. A couple of the pieces are concerned with readers reactions to Hrabal's own writing, and these were pretty good. "A Ballad Written by My Readers" is alternating paragraphs of praise and shame. It is hard to tell whether these are real or made up, but even if made up they are funny and probably roughly accurate. This would not make a good first book to read by Hrabal, but it has its moments of brilliance....more
A litany of murder, betrayal, evil spirits, and regret. These tales from my cultural past, collected in the mid-nineteenth century, feel very foreign A litany of murder, betrayal, evil spirits, and regret. These tales from my cultural past, collected in the mid-nineteenth century, feel very foreign to the modern world. But, on the other hand, my mother's father's mother is reputed to have been crazy. She came from Chotusice, a little village in Bohemia that I have visited and where various 3rd cousins of mine still live. She didn't like living in the US, and after my grandfather was born in 1905, she returned home with him for a while. The family story is that she had a child there and gave it away to a cousin, and then returned to the US. Later she had another child and when it died she blamed its death on my 6-year-old grandfather, for having taken it outside on the tenement balcony once. My grandfather also told of actually receiving coal in his stocking at Christmas. Those are distant echoes of the kind of tales contained in this collection. The translation from the Czech aims to preserve rhyme and rhythm. It does this, presumably at the cost of literal meaning. While I generally prefer translations that aim for literal meaning, these tales seem best captured and conveyed through rhyme and rhythm, so the translation seems fine....more
Another collection of short stories by Hrabel--well worth reading. Almost all of these are slice-of-life vignettes of Czech country life. (A few of thAnother collection of short stories by Hrabel--well worth reading. Almost all of these are slice-of-life vignettes of Czech country life. (A few of the stories are closer to stream-of-consciousness diatribes/reflections, which are much less engaging to me.) Their subjects are not at all romantic (we hear about pig-slaughters, a home for severely mentally and physically handicapped children, old men in wheelchairs, obese man without a shirt, etc), but Hrabel finds the beauty and passion of ordinary life. ...more
Over the years I have read 3 books about the great Czech distance runner Emil Zátopek: Zatopek the Marathon Victor, Za-to-pek! Za-to-pek! Za-to-pek!: Over the years I have read 3 books about the great Czech distance runner Emil Zátopek: Zatopek the Marathon Victor, Za-to-pek! Za-to-pek! Za-to-pek!: The Life and Times of the World's Greatest Distance Runner, and Running. The first was a communist hagiography written in 1954, the second focussed purely on his running achievements, and the third was a novel. I wondered whether there would ever be a real and careful biography written about the man. I was especially interested in how Zátopek had navigated the political challenges of communism, but this was never addressed. Then, low and behold, on the very same day, May 24, 2016, two biographies of the man were published! I was given both as gifts, and I'll read the other one Today We Die a Little!: The Inimitable Emil Zátopek, the Greatest Olympic Runner of All Time eventually. I enjoyed reading this, and it did give insight into the political challenges of his life and how he dealt with them. The author was able to interview a number of people who knew him, including his wife. The book was pretty well-written, but could have used a careful proof-reading. In discussing the ideological situation in the punishment mines, the author warns that (p. 149) "Don't mention religion, because the worst crime of Communism was atheism." I think he must have meant THEISM. And then there was the race (p. 211) that was especially hot: "85 degrees C"!! (=185 degrees F) Granted, that's hot! I highly recommend this book, and in due course I'll compare it to the other new biography. I discovered both these books in a September issue of London Review of Books, where they were both "reviewed." But the indulgent review told us all about Zatopek's achievements and nothing about the details of these books, or their comparative merits....more
This was a bizarre book. Although I clicked on "I'm finished" that doesn't mean I finished it. It means I'm finished pushing myself to read it. It facThis was a bizarre book. Although I clicked on "I'm finished" that doesn't mean I finished it. It means I'm finished pushing myself to read it. It fact I read the whole first part, and a bit of the second. The book does not have a plot that makes any sense--it feels more like a dream where things happen one after another with no plausible connections. The sense that it is a dream comes to the surface around pp. 82-84 where the narrator talks about dreams, and even proposes a quasi-philosophical way of telling whether it is a dream (though that way doesn't really make sense, b/c it is dreamed as well). This makes it difficult to sustain any sense of what is going on, and hence to sustain a desire to keep reading. The dreamlike quality is a bit like a Bob Dylan drug-propelled song from the mid-60's. But what is clever and perhaps amusing for a 5-minute song with an actual tune becomes very difficult to appreciate when it goes on for hour after hour (and with no tune to sustain it). The book is full, especially at the beginning, of multiple extended comparisons that are meant to be descriptive of the activity--"as if," "as though," "like" are words/phrases that appear over and over. I suppose we do find ourselves speaking like that when trying to describe something strange like a dream. But these comparisons were often genuinely odd--they challenged your imagination to figure out how X could be like Y in any interesting sense. For example (p. 66): "All of this had an air of carefully contrived ceremony, yet above it there dwelled an accent of tragic improvisation, so much so that there was a chill." It's not that that couldn't mean anything, but it takes an effort to figure out a meaning for it, and even then it's not clear how this is at all helpful in understanding anything. Furthermore, the author goes on to employ so many of these that it's not possible to keep expending the effort for a benefit that is hardly there. Homer employs such extended comparisons to good effect in the Iliad. But this author vastly overdoes it with comparisons that are more perplexing than illuminating--and they just keep on coming. So the whole thing is a huge effort that feels unrewarded. I suppose I respect the author for having come up with all this, but it was not an enjoyable read in any sense. The book felt like a cross between Kafka's "The Trial" and Joyce's "Ulysses." A blurb of praise on the book came from Bohumil Hrabal, a Czech writer whom I like and respect, and whose lyrical prose carries a story regardless of the plot. But I could only find one passage in this book of lyrical prose (pp. 58-9): "One day we were sitting--Andrew, John, Paul, Peter, and I, you know we're like brothers, which is to say we're predestined for each other--a quintipartite singularity. We're sitting one day, it's getting dark; we blend, so that we've already lost the sense of physical distinctness; that's how it falls (sic--"feels"?) when the gloved hand of evening holds the reigns (sic--it must be "reins"), as it were, of five minds running together; we were quiet for a long time, and in the silence there slowly hatched the thing we'd all been thinking of….we caught each other's gazes; our gazes locked at a single point, and so precisely that it made a spark.--We were a circle, and its center was a spark. Was it perhaps our collective thought? If it was a collective thought, we belonged to it, not it to us." I liked that, but it stood out for its rarity. I credit the translator for this labor of love....more
Largely a book of photos with extensive captions. I read this in connection with The Great Departure: Mass Migration from Eastern Europe and the MakinLargely a book of photos with extensive captions. I read this in connection with The Great Departure: Mass Migration from Eastern Europe and the Making of the Free World since my Czech forebears ended up in Cleveland. My feeling is that the author didn't try very hard on this. There were lots of photos of public events and large groups of people. But, oddly, no photos of Czech businesses or restaurants or bars, which were obviously a large part of the Czech community. My personal connection to the Czech community in Cleveland was very limited when I was growing up. Mostly just my grandparents, who taught us a few Czech phrases. But no larger community connections. I did learn from this book that Czech immigrants mainly divided into 2 groups--those who identified with the Catholic Church, through their local Czech Catholic parish, and those who were "free-thinkers"--basically non-believers, who identified with a local "club", such as Bohemian National Hall or Sokol. The Czech connection to Catholicism is rather ironic, since one of the Czech cultural heroes is Jan Hus, who was burned at the stake by the Catholic Church for his attempts to reform the church. But the Catholic repression that followed was so thorough that Hussite and later Protestant practices never took hold. Anyway, my grandparents were Protestant, so there was no Czech Protestant community. And my grandparents lived in suburbs that were not Czech neighborhoods. So I never really had a Czech community around me. The non-coverage of Czech restaurants and bars was particularly striking. Over the years the Czech community has become so scattered or assimilated, that there is little left. In the renaissance of my interest in Czech heritage we did find a great Czech restaurant still in existence in Cleveland--Marta's http://www.martasrestaurant.com. We have enjoyed going there a few times, and I am glad to see it is still going. Despite my disconnection from any Czech community growing up, I did recognize one person in a photo in this book--Karel Vavra (p. 108). He was the husband of a classmate of my mother's from nursing school. He was a first-generation immigrant who spoke what we all called "broken English." We had no appreciation of the fact that my parents' generation couldn't have achieved even "broken Czech." Anyway, he was employed as a type-setter for a local Czech newspaper, which went out of business in 1977. I'm not sure what he did after that. So this did serve the purpose of showing some of what the community had been. Now my only real connection is by going to the Czech Republic and visiting friends and relatives, which we have done in 1999, 2004, 2009 and 2014. And always looking forward to going again. Na Zdravi!...more
This book covers my own family history, since all 8 of my great-grandparents came from East Central Europe in the late 19th Century. One topic that I This book covers my own family history, since all 8 of my great-grandparents came from East Central Europe in the late 19th Century. One topic that I hadn't thought of was the effect of immigration on the villages that were left behind. After WWI when Czechoslovakia became its own country, the government tried to entice emigrants from the previous Austro-Hungarian Empire to come home. Apparently this was not very successful, until the US helped out by passing Prohibition. A Czech official was quoted as saying (p. 114): "The majority of re-emigrants proclaim that 'it's better to earn less and be able to drink again'." After WWII the Czechs again tried to entice emigrants back home, with the promise of housing and businesses taken from the Sudeten Germans who were expelled. But (p. 228) by the time that a group of miners returned from France, the Czech neighbors had already claimed what the miners were supposed to get. There is a fair bit of repetition in the book and not a very strong narrative flow. It felt like the editor wanted the book lengthened. But several points were clearly made: The ambiguity of what is voluntary and what is coerced emigration; the vagueness of the distinction between political and economic emigration; the loss experienced by the emigrant even when there are undoubted gains; the endless problems that Jews faced even after the devastation of WWII. Apparently some of the few Jews returning to Poland after the war were met with sentiments such as (p. 234): "What, you're still alive?" My own family story (the one I know) is that someone stole the family cow, and that was the last straw that led the family to leave the old country. So we were economic, not political, emigrants. But emigration was not an unmixed blessing. After my grandfather was born in Chicago, my great-grandmother returned to Chotusice (in Bohemia) for a year or so, and took her two sons with her. She eventually returned to Chicago with them, but obviously it was not an easy decision. The end of the last chapter the author is a bit more expansive, discussing some of the very current immigration issues, and the losses of emigration. ...more
I'm always up for the latest translation of Hrabal. These are stories from the 1950's and early 1960's--the first stories that Hrabal wrote. He is expI'm always up for the latest translation of Hrabal. These are stories from the 1950's and early 1960's--the first stories that Hrabal wrote. He is experimenting with various styles, and there are not the countless lyrical passages of his later writing. He uses stream-of-consciousness, alternating situations, and slice-of-life conversations at various points. There are some bright spots. "Strange People" is set in a steel recycling plant, and though the events are anything but attractive, Hrabal uses the light patterns to make the actions look like a ballet of moving light patterns. The one passage that made me laugh out load was his description of a man barfing (p. 94--but I won't spoil it by retelling it). The last 4 pages of the book come the closest to a lyrical passage. Hrabal is a great advertisement for the value of real living as the best preparation for writing (as opposed to studying writing at a university). Hrabal worked as a rail worker during the war (from which came "Closely Watched Trains"), a manual laborer at Kladno Steelworks (from which came some of these stories), and a paper recycler ("Too Loud a Solitude"). These jobs were forced upon him, and he made the best of it. He manages to find beauty and fascination in the most ordinary circumstances. I think what fiction writers most need is the experience of something worth writing about....more
I picked to read this b/c we were traveling to the Czech Republic and I wanted to read something really Czech. Hrabal fits the bill. Not only that, buI picked to read this b/c we were traveling to the Czech Republic and I wanted to read something really Czech. Hrabal fits the bill. Not only that, but while we were there the Germans were celebrating the 25th anniversary of the Fall of the Berlin Wall (11/9/89), and this book covers the same period of time, the Velvet Revolution in CZ, in a series of letter/memoirs. Not as charming as some of his other works, but contains some nice rambles....more
I've read this a few times, always in connection with teaching it in a class. Students tend to dislike reading it, and I don't blame them. It doesn't I've read this a few times, always in connection with teaching it in a class. Students tend to dislike reading it, and I don't blame them. It doesn't make sense--defies explanation, but it seems like it should make sense. So scholars (and students) try to discover what K really did wrong to deserve his fate--what was he guilty of? There are many conjectures--mistreating women, being too self-confident, original sin, etc., etc. Not that any of these would justify death. But the opening line of the book is: "Someone must have been telling lies about Josef K, for one morning, without having done anything wrong, he was arrested." Interpreters don't seem to be able to comprehend that he had not "done anything wrong." It is reminiscent of the opening of the Book of Job, where God declares 3 times that Job is "perfect and upright" and later that he "committed no sin." But his friends can't believe that and keep insisting he must have done something wrong--just like the Kafka scholars can't accept that Josef K was innocent, and insist that he must have done something wrong. We have a strong tendency to look for a rationale for what happens, even if there isn't any more than a cause. So people looked to gods for explanations of weather and sickness. When things happen in the human realm, we still have that tendency. Depression must mean something is wrong--I'm a wimp (I deserve it), or, the kids are driving me nuts (It's their fault). So, when Josef K is persecuted and ultimately executed by a judicial system, we look for the rationale. Kafka is showing us that in some cases there is no rationale. Reading the novel is irritating b/c we don't want to accept that. The novel shows this, b/c we can't really take it in if someone merely tells us. This novel is a good illustration of how literature can convey something philosophical better than "straight" philosophy could. The novel is thought to foretell the unintelligibility of bureaucracies, especially under Soviet communism. I experienced that when my daughter was in a car accident with a Greyhound bus, which was not her fault--but Greyhound was not willing to admit fault. I had to call their insurance adjuster every day for weeks on end before they finally offered a settlement. I don't know if Kafka was prescient, but he was himself an insurance adjuster! The novel has also been thought to be a metaphor. Ivan Klima has seen it in light of Kafka's own failed love relationship. More generally, I think the situation of a person rejected by a lover is much like the situation of Josef K--what have I done wrong, what could I do to set it right? But a better metaphor was suggested by Friedrich Waismann--Josef K is like someone who has been diagnosed with a potentially fatal disease that has no reliable treatment (cancer?). There is no rationale to why I have the disease, even though we wrack our brain to think what we did wrong. Then we think about all the treatments we can or should pursue. It can take possession of our life, even if agonizing about it cannot help anything. So, I find this book to be very rich, even if I also find it to be rather unpleasant to read. But I recommend it--just not for pleasure reading!...more
Always glad to read something new(ly translated) by Hrabal. Feels like the end of the line. The vignettes take place at an old people's home and the sAlways glad to read something new(ly translated) by Hrabal. Feels like the end of the line. The vignettes take place at an old people's home and the stories are about the losses of time and age. Sad but not only sad. Full of good humor and attentiveness to the ordinary. I have known a number of old folks pretty well and spent a certain amount of time visiting folks in retirement homes. This rang true (p. 146): "I can't help thinking that if war broke out, no one in the retirement home would notice, especially if it was time to get ready for lunch." And then follows a vivid description of the pensioners lining up for lunch and waiting for the doors to open. Perhaps unusual for a novel, there is a quite realistic telling of the condition of the narrator's older brother-in-law who is bed-ridden and helpless (much like my father last year), but it is combined with reminiscences of his life in ways that make it all ok. I loved the part on hunting wild mushrooms. Czechs love their mushrooms. P. 217: "...using the book Professor Smotlacha had written, we gathered [mushrooms], made a fire and braised and fried the mushrooms in butter, Francin added a Panther Cap and when the mushrooms were ready we let Uncle Pepin have the first taste, he thought it was delicious, then we waited half an hour and Francin asked, Pepin, are your ears ringing yet? And when he said he didn't hear any ringing, we helped ourselves and savored every bite." "Another time we had fried up a few slices of common earthball and after eating it our legs went numb, for three hours we couldn't walk, but then the feeling came back, from then on we avoided the common earthball, we only ever added it to spice up a batch of fried red-foot bolete and sulfur knight." No risk is too great to get some good mushrooms! A great read for those contemplating old age. ...more
I have read a few things about the Czech runner Emil Zatopek, and have been disappointed that I never learned about how he dealt with the Communist reI have read a few things about the Czech runner Emil Zatopek, and have been disappointed that I never learned about how he dealt with the Communist regime (from 1948-1989). (There are now, in 2016, 2 good biographies of Zatopek that address that question: Endurance: The Extraordinary Life and Times of Emil Zátopek and Today We Die a Little!: The Inimitable Emil Zátopek, the Greatest Olympic Runner of All Time.) Zatopek flourished as runner in the late-40's to early-50's, sympathized with the Prague Spring, and was internally exiled until 1989. This memoir by Klima has a lot to say about how he managed under communism. Not that it was necessarily like the way Zatopek managed, but there were probably similarities. Klima had a great desire to stay in his homeland, so despite having opportunities to leave, he remained. In fact he was teaching in the US in 1968-69, and still chose to return after the crackdown. He did belong to the communist party for a time in the 1950's, mostly naively. But mostly he managed to live in a kind of grey zone that allowed him to write but not collaborate. It wasn't until the last years of the communist regime that he became pretty strongly identified with the dissidents. Apparently Klima wrote a 2-volume memoir, of which this is an abridged 1-volume version. The publishers suggest they might publish the 2 volumes (in translation) at some point, but don't promise. I don't know what more there is, but the book under review ends in 1989 with the Velvet Revolution. It would be interesting to hear about his life since then. Though everyone is in favor of freedom, it has its downsides. E.g., writers under oppression have deep issues to write about. Freedom eliminates some of those issues, and can present a challenge to creativity. Also, we have a friend who is roughly my age who grew up in CZ and was in her 30's in 1989. She confessed to Kathy and me once that she had not been prepared to make life choices for herself, and found freedom rather difficult. So, it would be interesting to know Klima's experience of freedom, which he gained at age 58. Klima knew interesting people such as Havel and Kundera pretty well. Unfortunately he has little to say about them, beyond mentioning the times they intersect his life. But there are no personal accounts of them. That is perhaps understandable in the case of Kundera, since he is still alive, but you'd think he could share more about Havel. Perhaps there is some of this in the stuff that was edited out--but I doubt it, since that would have made good copy. In sum, this was good as far as it went, but there was a lot further I would have liked it to go. As for the cover--the photo is awful. We all looked like idiots in the 70's, but we don't have to advertise the fact. The title is clever, with the C and Z in "CRAZY" printed in red, to sort of make "My Crazy CZ Century." Clever....more
The best thing about this short novel is the photo of Zatopek on the cover. I've also read 2 other books about Zatopek, the great Czech long-distance The best thing about this short novel is the photo of Zatopek on the cover. I've also read 2 other books about Zatopek, the great Czech long-distance runner, and all have been rather disappointing. The other 2, which purport to be something like biographies, focus almost exclusively on his running and have almost nothing about his personal life or, more interesting to me, his handling of politics in his life. This book does try to touch on the politics, though in a novelistic fashion, and rather briefly. The main problem with the book is that it works from some main known facts about Zatopek's life, and then fills in details--but the result is not really a story. A novel is a story. A life doesn't necessarily amount to a story. Of course, a biographer, or a novelist, by choosing (or inventing) and arranging facts can make a story. But this does not amount to a story, really. Another novel I read recently, based on the life of bluesman Robert Johnson, had a similar problem. It was more of a fictionalized biography than a novel. But in both cases, the "novels" were quite short (212 pages and 123 pages) and were not expansive enough to amount to an interesting account of a life. Maybe a better example in this genre is Bruce Duffy's novel about Wittgenstein's life, "The World as I Found It." It was long enough (576 pages) to create a story. (Unfortunately it's been probably 20 years since I read that, so I can't make helpful comparisons.) Another example is Sharyn McCrumb's novel, "The Ballad of Tom Dooley." There is a historical basis for a series of events involving Tom Dula, which she uses as the skeleton for a novel about those events and those lives. But she, I think, has much more of a desire to make a story out of it all. I didn't have that feeling about the Robert Johnson novel or the Emil Zatopek novel. ...more
A collection of stories from Hasek's time in Russia after WWI when he joined the Red Army during the Russian Civil War. The narrator is Gasek (RussianA collection of stories from Hasek's time in Russia after WWI when he joined the Red Army during the Russian Civil War. The narrator is Gasek (Russian form of Hasek) and Svejk makes no appearance. The stories are semi-autobiographical. They are not as clever or dense with humor as the Svejk novels. But worth reading. There is a nice Afterword that places them in the context of Hasek's life and other writings....more
Written in 1954 after the high point of Zatopek's career, but by no means the end of his career. It is written by a reporter who apparently had considWritten in 1954 after the high point of Zatopek's career, but by no means the end of his career. It is written by a reporter who apparently had considerable access doing numerous interviews--so that it is full of detailed accounts of races and experiences that could only be gained in this way. To that extent it is a valuable and interesting book. On the other hand it is written by one who is committed to, or forced by the censors to write in the style of, "socialist realism." Zatopek encounters obstacles, but always over comes them for the sake of his country and fellow workers. The chapter about his never-to-be-equalled accomplishment at the 1952 Helsinki Olympics (winning the 5K, 10K and marathon) concludes as follows (p. 183): "As an athlete he had reached hitherto unattained summits, as a man he had won the hearts of all peace-loving men who appreciate hard work and good sportsmanship. In his home country, not only the sportsmen, but also the workers, followed his example and set a higher pace for their work, in order to hasten the building of socialism in their country. Thus Emil's success bore rich fruits in this sphere as well." So each chapter seems to veer off into a sappy moral of some kind. There was very little overt politics. Many mentions of how athletes are all peace-loving, and there were no negative comments about Western runners. In fact Zatopek was very catholic in his friendships. Zatopek did start running during the years before WWII, when Czechoslovakia was a free country--but there was a brief reference to the greedy factory owner who made Zatopek work in unhealthy conditions. And after the war there was no mention of the problematic transition to communism. There is no, and there will probably never be a, good biography that honestly covers how Zatopek handled living under communism. We know that in 1968 he spoke out against the communist regime, and was then internally exiled for the next 20 years. But I have just heard of a novel that does cover that issue: "Running: A Novel," by Jean Echenoz, so I will try to get ahold of that. I'm happy to confess that I did not buy this book (I have only occasionally seen it available on amazon, and then for $500+). I got it through interlibrary loan! The book has loads of good photos, but they are not at all aligned with the chronology of events as they unfold. ...more
A very fine read--full of interesting metaphors and rich, evocative writing. But there was not a surprise ending, which I expected...so I guess in a wA very fine read--full of interesting metaphors and rich, evocative writing. But there was not a surprise ending, which I expected...so I guess in a way I was surprised! I liked the Czech background and themes. The golem did return in the end, as the ultra-comic-book theme, and I guess as the revivified Vltava mud. The ending, such as it was, was moving and real. Nothing seemed in the least forced or contrived. A book I wouldn't have found if it hadn't been for Nick. Thanks--do you want it back?...more
I am a great fan of Zatopek--the Czech long-distance runner. His feat of winning the Olympic gold medals in the 5k, 10k and marathon races in HelsinkiI am a great fan of Zatopek--the Czech long-distance runner. His feat of winning the Olympic gold medals in the 5k, 10k and marathon races in Helsinki in 1952 will never be equalled. (Distance running is now too specialized for that.) He was universally respected as a runner and loved as a person. His story would be fascinating: Having been born in 1922 he lived through the Nazi occupation of his country, he rose to prominence as a runner before the communist regime took power in 1948, but managed to maintain his position during communism. He was a critic of communism during the Prague Spring in 1968, but then internally exiled after the Soviet crackdown. He lived to see his country return to democracy in 1989, passing away in 2000. Yet there is hardly anything about any of this in this book. The book is much more a record of his races. This is fine, as far as it goes--but that isn't very far. The book ends with a few chapters by journalists who knew him that relate some more personal details. The only real biography about him was written in 1954 by a Czech communist as more of a hagiography than insightful biography. It is a shame a better biography was never written. Perhaps it still could be. While Zatopek's world records in 5K and 10K have been long- and far-surpassed, he was dominant at those distances for 6 years. He is best known for his punishing training regime--running not only great distances each week, but using interval speed training. It was a radical innovation at the time--skeptics claimed it would shorten his career. Asked to defend his endless speed work he replied that he didn't need practice running--he needed practice running fast. I try to take this to heart, since the temptation is just to put in the miles. I make myself do speed bursts on uphills when I can. When asked why he grimaced when he raced he replied--I am not talented enough to run and smile at the same time! Very Czech....more
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