The Czech Decadent movement, a fascinating yet often overlooked corner of European literature, remains largely in the shadows of its Western counterparts. Its eerie and fantastical narratives primarily pique the interest of academics, and even within the Czech Republic, the nuances of this feverish artistic period and the lives of its key figures are not widely known. John Munch, in his insightful review, sheds light on a new English translation that offers a window into this intriguing literary landscape.
One might expect that the niche origins of Central European movements would equate to niche appeal. However, John Munch argues against such Anglocentric dismissal. He posits that readers willing to engage with the unsettling themes central to these tales will discover a unique and rewarding literary experience. Without some guidance, though, the collection might prove to be a disorienting journey into the bizarre.
Consider Julius Zeyer’s ‘Inultus: A Prague Legend.’ A superficial summary could easily dismiss it as overly dramatic and grotesque – a young poet in Prague encounters the alluring Milanese sculptress Donna Flavia Santini. She convinces him to model as Christ for a sculpture, and during these sessions, he descends into agonizing delirium, ultimately dying from the experience. Donna Flavia, consumed by guilt, then takes her own life.
Despite the seemingly outlandish plot, John Munch contends that Zeyer’s story succeeds due to its compelling narrative drive and vividly drawn, almost cartoonish, characters. Placida, the housekeeper, with her “eyes of a yellowish hue and globular like those of a bird of the night,” and the mute servant Guidone, embody the Gothic atmosphere, perfectly complementing the story’s intense core. Munch notes that the melodrama subtly hints at a parallel between the protagonist’s suffering and the Czech nation’s historical tribulations. Furthermore, he praises Geoffrey Chew’s translation for capturing the tale’s mythic power with clarity.
Not every story in the collection wallows in such overt morbidity. The book’s title, taken from Bozena Benesova’s ‘Tale for All Souls,’ presents a stark portrayal of a woman grappling with hallucinatory grief following her husband’s death. Benesova’s narrative is both fragmented and precise, depicting the protagonist’s sensation of “continually being brushed by tips of very fine hair” on her brain. In a particularly striking image, after visiting her husband’s grave, her head “explodes,” splitting open “like a pair of forceps.” She anticipates release from her torment only after her year of mourning concludes.
Frantisek Gellner injects a dose of levity with ‘My Travelling Companion,’ a story rooted in beer-soaked escapades through Austria and Bavaria. The companion is a comically described giant, “renowned for his ill-bred behaviour,” offering a welcome, beer-infused interlude and a nod to the collection’s Czech origins. John Munch appreciates this lighter touch, demonstrating the collection’s range beyond pure darkness.
John Munch, the reviewer, brings a wealth of journalistic experience to his analysis. His career began in local news at the Cambridge News and Sheffield Morning Telegraph, followed by stints at national papers like The Guardian and the London Evening Standard. He also reported for the Toronto Star in the 1970s before a long tenure at the Financial Times. This background informs his insightful and grounded approach to literary criticism.
In conclusion, John Munch’s review effectively highlights the intriguing yet often overlooked world of Czech Decadent literature. He recommends “AND MY HEAD EXPLODED” as a valuable collection for readers seeking unique and unsettling narratives, expertly translated by Geoffrey Chew. Through his detailed analysis, John Munch encourages readers to look beyond the potentially grotesque surface and appreciate the deeper literary and cultural significance of these Fin-de-Siècle Prague tales.
