Writers by the Score

The Hungarian Writer -
Before the New Era

Hungarian literature has always been much talked about and regarded with great respect--inside Hungary, that is. During the "hard" dictatorship (roughly 1949-65), the few privileged writers were paid small fortunes, even for translations. Later, during the long-drawn-out years of the "soft" dictatorship, writers and poets received more indirect support. They were given cushy jobs at publishers and their books were printed in much higher print runs than necessary--if they were necessary at all. When the writer reached his or her 50th birthday, a Collected Works was almost certain to be launched. This meant that reprints of all major (and minor) works were guaranteed, regardless of whether the readers demanded them or not.

Other perks, such as summer holidays in subsidized "creative centers" and foreign travel, were also frequent.

During the Cultural Miracle of the 1970s and 80s, books were still very cheap, and Hungarian writers were economically protected against the competition of junk literature from Hungary and abroad. Censorship was not only political: it was also a way of protecting quality. The favored writers of the "soft" dictatorship were none other than Joseph Heller, Kurt Vonnegut, John Updike, Heinrich Böll, Umberto Eco, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez, to mention just a few. But even William Faulkner's "difficult" books were published one after another in brilliant translations by Árpád Göncz, then a more or less black-listed writer and now the President of the Republic. Tens of thousands of copies of these translations were sold. We must point out, however, that books were so cheap that a copy bought was not necessarily a copy read .

The Alliance of Hungarian Writers--Before the Outbreak of Liberty

In the Dark Fifties the Alliance (which was, of course, the only official writer's organization in the picture) was the setting for the most ghastly Orwellian activities. No wonder that in 1956 the Alliance's headquarters, an attractive three-story building in an area full of embassies near the City Park, was the hotbed of revolutionary activities. Consequently, some of the best Hungarian writers were imprisoned after the Revolution had been crushed, and the activities of the Alliance were suspended.

When they were allowed to resume again during the late 50s, most of the better writers boycotted the official publishers and the press, so practically everybody who published practically anything was co-opted as a member. From the mid-sixties, since the first thaw, the Alliance grew into an organization. Its president was not directly elected--the members' Congress could only elect the 50-70 strong Választmány (a sort of Electoral College), and that body then elected the Presidium and the President a week or two later. The big shots were obviously hand-picked by the régime. But once every three years the Congress of the Alliance of Hungarian Writers saw heated debates, with pro- and anti-government speeches, along with complaints concerning ethnic Hungarians over the border. It was a quasi-political arena. The speeches were never reported in the press. As the saying goes: "The dog was barking but the caravan proceeded on its way". By 1989, the Alliance had almost 1000 members. The internationally-renowned writers and poets, a mere two dozen or so, were rarely seen there, though most of them did formally belong to the organization. In general, it was the elderly, often mediocre talents who participated in the officially-sanctioned activities of the Alliance.

The Hungarian Writer -
After the Fall of the Wall

The first thing to be affected by the erosion of ideological homogeneity was literary criticism. By the mid-eighties, the post-modernists had become a highly vocal group--and the literary establishment did not have a clear hold on them. The state-approved literati desperately tried to read and understand Péter Esterházy, Péter Nádas, László Márton and the others,
and were shocked at their complete indifference to the perks offered by officialdom. But these new writers had friends and publishers abroad.

After the changes, the number of publishers rose from 30 to about 800 in two or three years. (It has now settled down to about 150.) It became impossible to support favored writers in the old way. So the right-of-center government padded out the newly established foundations and the National Cultural Fund with its own, often ideologically biased, functionaries.

With the demise of this cultural establishment, however, publishing split into two: a business-oriented sector (that has learned to use subsidies very economically), and a sector which almost exclusively publishes subsidized books and has hardly any or none capital at all. As in every sector of the arts, in publishing it was the best and the worst who fared well. The best writers were translated and published in Germany. For the worst ones a huge new market sector opened up, dictated solely by the lowest common denominator, a.k.a. the market. But four-fifths of all writers--
i.e. the majority of members of the Alliance of Hungarian Writers--found themselves facing serious financial problems. They were fast sinking into oblivion, descending to the status of weekend writers scribbling for their bottom drawers.

The new generation, in their early twenties at the time of the changes, never experienced the dictatorship, not even in its "soft" form. They were ready to fight to gain the attention of the plethora of new publications. Nobody promised them security and a steady income. Not them.

The Alliance of Writers -
After the Coming of Liberty

With the advent of liberty, many observers expected the "Alliance" to break up into smaller groups orientated to specific tastes. That did not really happen. And this official writer's body had no real rivals. Two very small organizations came into being (though their members still retained membership of the Alliance, too.) The only noteworthy development was that the József Attila Kör (Society of Young Writers), a.k.a. JAK (pronounced "yak"), managed to cut the umbilical chord to the Alliance and became independent.

In the early nineties the Alliance began to encourage Hungarian writers living abroad (especially in neighboring countries) to join its ranks. Meanwhile, the Ministry of Culture was establishing new foundations--and giving away valuable real estate for a song (one building in downtown Vörösmarty tér, another in the Castle district opposite Matthias Church). Maybe the Alliance leaders simply did not care, maybe they were not trustworthy enough, maybe the VIth District that owned the buildings really put up a tough fight about giving them the property. At any rate, they clearly missed the moment for obtaining the lease of their headquarters on favorable terms. And renting their main office became a bigger and bigger burden. One day the Alliance management declared it would not pay the rent any more. Its spokesmen claimed that the subsidy from the Ministry of Culture was not enough to pay the rent: too little money would have been left over for their cultural programs. They demanded that the government pay the rent.

That day of declaration just happened to occur in the Fall of 1994, at a time when the new Socialist/Liberal government felt no compulsion to continue awarding properties and privilege merely for status reasons. The Alliance argued that it wasn't just one more of the many civic bodies but was virtually a national organization. Unlike other sectors in the arts, there was no higher education institution to help nurture new generations of writers and poets. After a couple of months of tug-of-war, a new idea was put forward: the government was ready to establish a brand new institution, not for the Alliance, but for Hungarian Literature. Its imposing title was: "House of Hungarian Literature".

The House of Hungarian Literature

The proposed premises have a downtown address, Károlyi Palace.
This magnificent town house stands facing Károlyi utca, between Ferenciek tere and Kálvin tér; behind it are the charming Károlyi Gardens. It was built between 1696 and 1834, a Neo-Classic gem, currently in very poor condition.

Most of the building is now used by the Petôfi Museum of Literature. But parts of it are also used by the Budapest History Museum (to store archaeological finds), by the National Museum (for its textile collection), and until recently there were apartments in the building, including a luxury flat used by the descendants of the former owners.

The new idea was to give the museum more life by moving in resident writers' organisations--not just the Alliance. To add a bookstore and café. To unite the library of the Alliance with that of the Petôfi Museum. (If not the collections.)

It seemed quite possible to give this listed monument a full and thorough facelift to European standards as part of the package. It was not impossible to obtain the billion forints needed from the budget within two to three years. One aspect was intended to be especially lucrative for the literary organizations: though they would have to pay for the office space they actually used, they would be able to use the library and the lavish grand halls for free. If you think that everybody agreed before you could say Jack Robinson, you have no idea of present-day Hungary at all.

As one shrewed observer quipped: present-day Hungary is perfectly democratic if the aim is to prevent something from happening--but not if you have to make something happen.

(V. Károlyi Mihály utca 6.)

A New Organization on the Horizon

The Association of Writers was formed in April 1997. It consists of about a hundred people who chose each other, most of them between 40 and 50. A notable minority of them is well-known both at home and abroad. They elect their president for a year, and they plan to do intensive surfing on Internet. They don't want a house of their own. They support the idea of the House of Literature. So much so that they asked for a room in the Károlyi Palace right away--and were given one. This autumn they are planning a Poetry Festival there, during which they plan to lay the foundation-stone of the House in a witty, imaginative way.

Ákos Szilágyi, a Unique Mastermind

Son of a humorist of transient national fame, the poet/philosopher and Russian scholar Ákos Szilágyi is a workaholic editor and university lecturer, mentor and friend of the two generations succeeding him. He was once a believer in Marxism and for a time was a young Turk within the old system, though he was never a member of the Communist Party. He writes scholarly treatises in aesthetics as well as film reviews, and is the co-author of a fascinating book on Andrei Tarkovsky, the Russian film director. All in all, he is a witty scholarly and moral authority, one of the editors of the egghead monthly 2000. You can find him every Thursday afternoon at teatime on the gallery of Café New York.

Szilágyi was very enthusiastic about the birth of the new writers' organisation. As the newly-appointed Chairman of the Board of the Hungarian Book Foundation, he was happy not to be in the running as favorite for the post of first president. He is looking forward to retiring to his now-computerised desk to write, leaving activism to the young.

(Café New York, VII. Erzsébet körút 7-9)

The Writers' Bookstore

Whenever they publish a new book, Ákos Szilágyi and his kin are likely to have a launch in the Writers' Book Store, (Írók Könyvesboltja.) The shop used to be a famous café in the inter-war period. It was called the "Japán" after its once-splendid Oriental décor from the mid-sixties, which can still be glimpsed behind the awful, nondescript paneling-cum-fluorescent interior. You can sit and have tea and watch the crowd leafing through the incredibly high number of new publications and literary reviews from all over Hungary and from the Hungarian-speaking regions of the countries nearby. Hungarian literature is the shop's forte, and there is a book premiere almost every afternoon
at 4 p.m. Also look for the innovative window displays of new titles, occasionally designed with questionable taste. After lengthy negotiations, the shop was finally sold some five years ago to its enthusiastic staff, who had to borrow a huge amount of money for the purchase, of course. That's why the interior is so shabby, and it is likely to stay that way for a long time. They accept donated photos from writers and photographers and exhibit them on the columns inside. Especially pleasant on Saturday mornings for sipping tea while talking to fellow authors. Or watching others doing the same.

(VI. Andrássy út 45., by Liszt Ferenc tér.)

National Book Week, Budapest, 1997

Every year since 1928, in late May or early June, new Hungarian literature is celebrated outdoors all over the country. Until the early 80s there used to be "book tents"; since then all we get is pre-fab, flavorless cubicles. In Budapest the festivities have been reduced mainly to the central square, Vörösmarty tér, where there is a stage set up for the occasion and a continuous program: writers are interviewed while celebrities talk about their favorite books. Writers with new titles autograph them for readers. Some only for friends or family members, others for hundreds of fans--like silver-maned, conspicuously
poetic-looking Ferenc Faludy. Almost 90, he returned home a couple of years back after decades in exile. This year there was a distinct change of mood all over the squares. The book business is clearly gathering momentum, partly because of increased subsidies for quality titles, partly by means of a low-interest bank credit scheme, and perhaps partly because there is now more money circulating for libraries and for the middle classes. Writers are the only people who abhor allegedly exorbitant prices. This year, the average price of a book on the bestseller list was 1001 forints. "Who can understand Hungarian writers?"--a book business spokesperson grumbled. "They work on their book for at least a year, and they think the cost of two or three movie tickets is too expensive for their accomplished work." But the years of the seven lean kine seem to be over. Most of the quality press reports on Book Week registered the upturn with emphatic confidence and scarcely any doubts.

(V. Vörösmarty tér, 6-9 June 1997)

_{ANDRÁS TÖRÖK}

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