Kornel Esti (Ndp; 1194)

This is an odd book, even by Hungarian standards. At the beginning of it, Kornél Esti is introduced as the doppelgänger of the author Dezső Kosztolányi. They both were born March 29, 1885, and Kornél Esti is Kosztolányi's roguish, devil-may-care id. The book begins as though it were a novel, a psychological one, perhaps, that explores issues of identity, like a light-hearted "Jekyll and Hyde". But before the midway point it has settled into a series of stories or episodes from the life of Kornél Esti.Most of the stories partake of fantasy or farce. There also are generous doses of social criticism and satire, directed at Hungarians from the provinces and from Budapest, at Germans, and at such pre-WWI phenomena as Central European luxury hotels. Throughout, Kosztolányi displays the sort of gently ironic, mocking humor that, in my experience, is characteristic of Hungarian writers. The overall insouciance, however, does not completely mask an underlying dark, even evil, streak.Here is a typical excerpt, which is a description of the eponymous hero: "He didn't understand life. He had no conception of why he had been born into the world. As he saw it, anyone to whose lot fell this adventure, the purpose of which was unknown but the end of which was annihilation, that person was absolved from all responsibility and had the right to do as he pleased--for example, to lie full length in the street and begin to moan without any reason--without deserving the slightest censure."In reading KORNÉL ESTI I was reminded very much of another noted Hungarian author of the first part of the twentieth century, Gyula Krúdy. Certain aspects of the book also brought to mind Kafka, whose span of life (1883-1924) basically paralleled that of Kosztolányi (1885-1936).The concluding story is excellent. Many of the earlier stories are charming, one about a kleptomaniac translator is devilishly clever, but a few are, frankly, boring (perhaps they simply haven't aged well). KORNÉL ESTI was published in 1933, and it was the last of Kosztolányi's books. It is thought by some to be his best work, but I prefer "Skylark" (the only other of his books I have read).

This book is just brilliant. It is not a novel with a plot so much as a set of episodes, some surreal and many hilarious, in the life of the wacky (fictitious) writer Kornél Esti. The book begins with a gimmick involving alter egos, and I wasn't sure if this was going to hold my attention. But as it turned out, this has very little bearing on the rest of the book, so far as I can make out. Instead I found myself simply enjoying the bizarre, sometimes profound, sometimes moving, sometimes charming tales of the singular Esti.This book also serves as testimony to the huge talent of the true author, Deszö Kosztolányi. "Kornél Esti" could not be more different from his down-to-earth and tragic "Skylark," yet both are masterpieces (and both do contain humor as well as tragedy).

If you are reading this review, and consequently have already perchance found the amazon webpage for buying this book, I will tell you with all of my confidence to stop reading this review, go purchase this book, and then let me finish explaining why this book is of utter importance to buy.I picked this book up after seeing it was praised by Krasznahorkai, another wonderful author, but that is not the point. The book is short, but full of wit and humor. With only the wonderful eponymous poet to tie together the fragments, this book reads better as a short story collection than a novel, but the insight into different ideas is staggering, humorous, and at times a bit awe-inspiring. I don't want to go into any specific stories here wishing to give no spoilers to you, the future reader.TLDR: I don't often give book reviews, as I can't just rate the book, but definitely pick this up. One of the most pleasurable and thought-inducing reads I have had this year.

Kosztolányi and his creation Esti are like the two sides of a coin – inseparably defining one another. By letting Esti do and say things that he himself certainly would not, Kosztolányi lays a delicate finger of humour on many a sore spot in the human condition. The topics of the stories are various – the pretentiousness of hotels, the tragedy of mental illness, the power of love, the problems of wealth – and will leave the reader with a thought or two that he may not have had before. And the concluding tram-ride is one that we all have to take.

I know. I know. This was written in the 1930s. Yet the surreal nature of the characters and plot lend this a very post-modern feel. Highly recommended read.