Stelian Tănase takes aim at Romanian society with a literary
arsenal that relies on the grotesque, that owes a debt to opera buffa, and that
uses a lens known to Bosch and
Ensor. In this literary melodrama, Tina Marcu is a well-known Bucharest television presenter. She “plays”
opposite Avram Duca, a successful Romanian writer and difficult character who
has been living in exile for 30 years. It’s long past ’89, and Duca has refused
to return to Romania,
his native country. The action unrolls after Tina calls for the dismissal of
the Minister of the Interior one evening, live, on the air. Her program is
cancelled. To avoid scandal, the broadcasting company offers Tina documentary
reportage on Duca in Paris.
She completes the necessary footage and returns to Bucharest. There, researching her subject in
the national archive, Tina discovers that Duca is her natural father. She goes
back to Paris
to have it out with him. After a night of raw discussion, the daughter refuses
to forgive her natural father on the ground that her mother committed suicide
after Duca fled to Paris,
which makes it impossible for Tina to remain with Duca as father and daughter.
Tina leaves for Bucharest.
Throwing himself into the Seine, Avram Duca
commits suicide. He is buried with national honors in the Romanian capital. Another
character, Emiluţa,
provides the novel’s moral center. Often cynical, Maestro is a knowing mix of tragedy and vaudeville.
About this issue
This July, The Observer Translation Project leaves its usual format to present a special CRISIS ISSUE. Things are tough all over. Hard Times suddenly feels like the book of the moment. The global economic crisis impacts life as we know it, and viewed from Bucharest the effects reverberate in domains that include geo-politics and publishing in Romania and abroad, with the crisis at The Observer Translation Project as an instance of a universal phenomenon.
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Emiluţa has an unfortunate thought. She’ll throw herself
off the top of the building. Why? What the fuck? Let’s say for the cause of
PeaceonEarth, for the slumdogs,
Europe, for
the lonely. Which is to say she doesn’t have a ghost of a reason. Viva
Walachia!
The way things stand, if ...
The bearded man was the owner of an apothecary shop where he worked with two apprentices. Nobody paid me any mind, so I spent all day in what was supposed to be the shop. I say this because it was a large, dark room full of odors—a mix of smells from everywhere. The room hadn’t been cleaned ...
“What you’ve got here is heaven on earth,” Vica says as she drops onto the kitchen chair. “But where’s your mother?”
“At work,” Gelu lazily replies, leaning sideways against the door. “She’s doing mornings this week, didn’t you know?”
He is tall and thin, with unset ...
It happened once as never before-y, ‘cause if it couldn’t be true, it wouldn’t make a story about the time when the poplar tree made berries and the willow tree broke out in cherries, when bears began to brawl with their tails, and wolf and lamb, unfurling their sails, threw arms around each ...