Lesser-known in Hungary than abroad, Péter Zilahy’s published in multiple languages across the globe. Originally a poet, his multi-faceted work spans prose, drama, essays, poetry and live performances. We spoke with him about his life, work and sacrificing goats to Greek gods…
You’ve just ended a residency as an Albert Einstein Fellow in Berlin. You’re the only writer to have ever been offered the fellowship; how did it come about and how did you spend the time?
The Fellowship was founded by the Einstein Forum based on the idea of the eponym to give researchers a chance to work in areas other than their field and get a fresh view. I had a theory about Berlin’s architecture which was welcomed by the jury made up of professors from Princeton, Harvard and other American universities. It was an ideal workplace in many ways, at the edge of the forest surrounded by lakes. I liked walking up and down on Einstein’s porch to get new ideas and I spent hours meditating in his bathtub.
There are obviously many differences between Berlin and Budapest, but how does the literary scene and working as a writer compare between the two?
Berlin is bigger and more open. Good work is rewarded and not punished, which is often the case in Hungary. I enjoy this healthy atmosphere without the resentment, paranoia and everyday backstabbing of the Budapest scene. Don’t get me wrong, I like Budapest a lot, but to work there you have to be masochistic to say the least. Nevertheless, I applied for a grant in Hungary as well, which, needless to say, I didn’t get, so I stayed in Berlin. I write my novels in Hungarian, fiddle with my essays in English, I buy my bread in German and often listen to the noise of the street in Russian and Italian. This is normal everyday living there, Berlin is more relaxed.
Your work’s been translated into over 20 languages. Does translation into a language you don’t understand raise any concerns or anxieties for you?
With a bit of experience, you can tell a good translator by the first question they ask. You cannot control all your translations, that would be mad, but you can guess if they go through from the reception. When a book gets over a dozen great reviews, that means there’s a new work of art out there, and hopefully it’s close to the original. The Last Window Giraffe has received nearly 600 positive reviews, which means that a good number of the translations had found their way to the audience.
Let’s talk about your novel, The Last Window Giraffe. You’ve traveled the world, so how did you end up writing about Belgrade, a city so close to where you were born?
Belgrade is on the Danube, has a large castle and has historically been a border between two worlds, so it was a perfect apropos to write about Budapest. I could get a good distance and have a look at the region in the guise of a traveler. I’ve travelled around the world, but the real journey starts when you arrive home. The Last Window Giraffe is a home-coming, a journey through time and the alphabet.
You’d also traveled around much of Central and Eastern Europe observing protests for many years before writing the book. How involved did you get?
I cannot simply be an observer. I did give ideas to others and was involved in much activity. Actually, my work has also influenced many events – the book literally wrote history when Ukrainian activists staged several of its pages on the streets of Kiev during the Orange Revolution.
You’ve lived through part of two very different regimes here. How do you think that’s affected you?
I feel lucky. It makes it easier to see what matters. It makes you stronger, no one can bullshit you. What’s more, you don’t have the feeling that you missed out on something.
The Last Window Giraffe is available in many countries. Despite its social and historic specificity, what do you think its appeal is, despite readers not always being familiar with the events presented?
Well, it’s a dictionary, so it has everything in it. You can pick what’s precious for you, and so they did in 20 or more countries. It is always something else in every place, but the book somehow finds its way. It has its own life. It’s a giraffe, after all. There could be another book written about this book, with all the stories it has evoked, but perhaps most of all it makes you look at the world with a fresh eye.
Your work seems to veer towards the fantastical at times – I’m thinking of pieces like Sacrifice or Why Communism was all Greek to Me, run by the Financial Times. What degree of embellishment is there in your writing?
Funny you should mention that, as Sacrifice is my most realistic piece if the word realism ever had a meaning. I merely wrote down what had happened to me. It’s what you leave out that makes all the difference. I use facts and try to describe them in a way that they become more than facts. If I had to write a weather report, it would still be considered fiction even if all the data used were correct. Sacrifice is a simple composition with a little frame, I would not call it fantastic. As far as the facts are concerned, I really went to Crete at 17, I really had a motorbike accident and I really planned to sacrifice a goat for Zeus. Within the given context, it was not extraordinary. I was really like that, I had been kicked out of school, I ran away from home, I was experimenting with all sorts of stuff and was trying to live life to the full. I was looking for something to stop me from becoming a human experiment and literature was just the thing I needed. Finally, I could feel my limits and be humbled. As a teen, I was uncompromising, arrogant and at the same time full of idealism. Since they put a brake on time behind the Iron Curtain, in many ways we were living the sixties in the eighties.
You discuss Hungarian nature in The Last Window Giraffe. Would you agree that Hungarians seem to have a strong need to define themselves?
Yes, but it goes for the whole region. It’s even more difficult to define an Austrian, an identity that started to shape itself between Hungary and Bavaria in the middle ages and to top it all, how would you define a Slovene? I don’t think we have a bigger problem than anybody else in the region. Hungarian for me is whatever happens in Hungary and with the Hungarians and it often overlaps with many other identities.
You describe Hungary as “a nation divided by a common tongue”. Could you speak a little further about this?
This is pun based on Mark Twain (and Oscar Wilde) comparing English and American, but it’s more true in a way of Hungarians who love to be divided instead of working together.
You’ve spent much of your life abroad. Do you still consider Hungary to be your home?
Yes. This is home.
The Last Window Giraffe is available at Libri (www.libri.hu) Alexandra (www.alexandra.hu) and Bookline (www.bookline.hu) stores.
Photo credit: Bernice Chauly (black and white, portrait)