Take a photo of a barcode or cover
A review by jonfaith
Mr. Kafka: And Other Tales from the Time of the Cult by Bohumil Hrabal
5.0
Beautiful blueberry nights fill my liver with morning and the nozzle of my heart spews forth an amalgam of blood.
This collection was supposed to stew. It was the subject of a group read and I had planned to read a piece every 2-3 days. Alas I was at the Walgreen's clinic and hours drifted past. The titular piece is an absurdist litany, a Fellini film shot in Prague under the drunken eyes of State Security. The subsequent pieces all contain demolition and smelting. Literally this could be construed as a paean to the factory, but the materials all appear to be in flux. Everything is being torn down, just as exaggerated production figures are broadcast over the radio like some hit parade. Stalin's shadow has slinked into history and quickly his statues are smashed with sledgehammers and dismembered with acetylene torches. Workers proclaim their constitutional rights to strike as reluctant administrators plan to have them arrested. Theft and prostitution become attractive in the worker's paradise. Despite such socialist realism trappings, the themes are universal, the angst which is afforded to everyone, the despair we inherit in the womb. This is an amazing assemblage, one made slick with Pilsner and laughter.
This collection was supposed to stew. It was the subject of a group read and I had planned to read a piece every 2-3 days. Alas I was at the Walgreen's clinic and hours drifted past. The titular piece is an absurdist litany, a Fellini film shot in Prague under the drunken eyes of State Security. The subsequent pieces all contain demolition and smelting. Literally this could be construed as a paean to the factory, but the materials all appear to be in flux. Everything is being torn down, just as exaggerated production figures are broadcast over the radio like some hit parade. Stalin's shadow has slinked into history and quickly his statues are smashed with sledgehammers and dismembered with acetylene torches. Workers proclaim their constitutional rights to strike as reluctant administrators plan to have them arrested. Theft and prostitution become attractive in the worker's paradise. Despite such socialist realism trappings, the themes are universal, the angst which is afforded to everyone, the despair we inherit in the womb. This is an amazing assemblage, one made slick with Pilsner and laughter.