A review by nealadolph
Skylark by Dezső Kosztolányi

4.0

What sadness. What melancholy. What judgement. What desire to be something other than what one is. This is a surprising novel - it was nothing that I was expecting it to be. The description on the back made it sound so provincial in its scope; this it is, shamelessly. But I felt deeply connected to this story as it developed - as the tension of its conclusion approached and all this temporary elation was to collapse under the weight of an ugly reality. It is, after all, the story of a vacation which is, so often, the story of a family discovering itself as the bonds of the everyday are broken and replaced by new possibilities. And that is what happens here. And the deep sadness that glues this family together is revealed in the process (how we wouldn't suspect it when it begins, either!). And it is wrapped in beautiful writing - of the sort which is rare in its affect and its imagery. I could see this happening in Hungary near the turn of the twentieth century; I could see it clearly. But I could also see it now, where trains are replaced with planes and telegraphers replaced with arrival/departure LCD screens, the Panthers with a sports team made of high school friends who've never been able to outgrow each other.

This work is masterful.