You know how it is with Top Ten (or One Hundred, or One Thousand, or Infinity) Lists. They're impossible to arrange hierarchically (unless you've got a telephone pole up your ass) and they are written in mercury, constantly in a state of flux. But they have their uses, too. So after finishing The Students of Spalato (by István Tamás) last night, I felt the need to set down a list of My Best / My Favorite novels ever:
1. Seiobo There Below by László Krasznahorkai
2. The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoyevsky
3. Remembrance of Things Past * by Marcel Proust
4. Moby Dick by Herman Melville
5. The Magic Mountain by Thomas Mann
6. Les Misérables by Victor Hugo
7. I Am Radar by Reid Larsen
8. The God of Small Things by Arundhati Roy
9. A Fan's Notes by Frederick Exley
10. The Students of Spalato by István Tamás
That took me an hour, and even now I can't help but think, "Hey, one of Dezső Kosztolányi's books really needs to be on this list." & "How could you possibly neglect to put Sátántangó on this list? Or Burmese Days? Or The Unbearable Lightness of Being? Or . . . . " On and on, on and on, on and on. But here's the thing: there is no doubt in my mind that István Tamás's novel belongs in the upper realms of literature that is near and dear to my heart and mind. And I'm not an expert, but I have read a lot of books. I'd estimate that I've read at least 5,000. Probably more. And I don't always remember a hell of a lot after I finish reading, but I do remember whether I liked the book or not, whether I thought it was good or not (sometimes there's a difference).
And István Tamás's The Students of Spalato is good. Is powerful. Is important.
And here's the thing.
I got a copy of this book from the University of Louisville library. And I picked it up by accident. I was looking for a book of Hungarian short stories (cleverly entitled Hungarian Short Stories) because I was trying to read every piece by Dezső Kosztolányi that I could get my hands on, and when I'd checked online I'd seen that (1) he had a short story in this anthology and (2) the University of Louisville had a copy of this book. And as I was searching for the book on the shelf, my eye happened to catch the name Tamás. And I'd recently written a novel featuring a giant cat named Tamas (a word I'd gotten from a Yukio Mishima novel . . . oh, shit, there should definitely be some Yukio Mishima in my top ten novels list! . . . which was the first time I'd ever seen that word), so I picked the book off of the shelf. And I opened it to the first page, and it described a young man on a boat moving away from his island home, and said something like, "the boat didn't seem to move, but the island scuttled away backwards like a crab," and I thought that was quite good, so I decided to take that book home with me. So it was a complete accident coupled with a coincidence.
And it's even more extreme than that, come to think of it. Because my whole Dezső Kosztolányi obsession was founded on a coincidence as well. I happened upon my first Dezső Kosztolányi book (Skylark) because while I was visiting my son in Vermont we made a trip to Burlington and went into a bookstore, and I decided (as I often do) to see if they had any László Krasznahorkai books on the shelf. Even though I've already read all of the László Krasznahorkai books that have been published in English. And I didn't find any, but I did see the name Dezső Kosztolányi, which I thought (correctly, as it turns out) sounded kind of Hungarian, so I
picked up Skylark and started looking at it, and decided that I wanted to read it and bought it and promptly fell in love with Dezső Kosztolányi and proceeded to read Kornel Esti (superb), Anna Edes (superb), and Darker Muses: The Poet Nero (still working on it, but at least pretty good). Which takes us back to the whole Hungarian Short Stories story.
But it's even more extreme than that, come to think of it. Because my whole László Krasznahorkai obsession was founded on a coincidence as well. I was in the Crescent Hill Library looking for something . . . I think it was a Milan Kundera book . . . when I happened to see the spine of a book with a beautiful white cover and gold lettering. I pulled it from the shelf to have a look, and that was my first moment with what was to become one of my True Loves (and if you asked me right now, I'd say it is my Truest Love, my Number One Love), Seiobo There Below.
So coincidence leads to coincidence leads to coincidence. And that's how I happen upon what turns out to be one of my favorite books ever, The Students of Spalato. Which is all well and good, but it also means that I easily could NOT have happened upon this book. And it makes me wonder what else I haven't happened upon.
I suppose that this actually provides a good argument for teachers of literature to exist. If they are worth their salt, they can extend your reach. Of the 5,000 books I've read, probably only 2% of them are what I would consider superb. So if my judgment is good, then I can extend your reach by that amount. And save you some time in the bargain, which is the real boon.
Near the conclusion of my reading of The Students of Spalato I encountered a sad thing. I was only about 20 pages from the end of the book, and when I went to turn the page, this happened:
Which made me really sad, because it meant that in the 73 years that this copy of the book had existed, no one had ever read those pages. I meditated on this for awhile, and then I got a pair of scissors and cut those pages apart and read them.
Here's a part of what was in there:
Those are two paragraphs which really need to be seen by more people, I hope you'll agree.
A couple of pages later, there was another Siamese Twin. Sigh. Cut. Read.
A line from a Harry Chapin song keeps going through my head:
"He could not make things possible
But she could make them holy."
I know that it's ridiculous at my age, but I want to learn Hungarian and start publishing books that haven't been translated into English. And republish books that have been forgotten.
I don't have any money, or I would hire someone to do this and get going on it immediately.
And who knows, maybe this obsession will flame out tomorrow and I'll move on to other things. It's definitely happened before. (But usually with respect to women.) In the meantime, I'm starting my Hungarian lessons today, though.
I want to make something holy before I die.
(Other than my three kids, I mean.)
Wish me luck, I'm gonna need it, chile.
* Sorry, Lost Time searchers, but it will always be Remembrance of Things Past to me.
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