Romania's literary renaissance: a battle cry against its troubled past
In a bold move, Mircea Cărtărescu has taken his own life's work - the sprawling 1,400-page novel, Blinding - as a form of revenge against those who stole his youth. Born in 1956, within the Soviet Union's sphere of influence, Cărtărescu grew up under communist rule, where art and literature were tightly controlled. But instead of conforming to the regime's expectations, he found solace in Western culture - from The Beatles to Allen Ginsberg - and became a key figure in Romania's 'blue jeans generation'.
Cărtărescu's work is a testament to his love-hate relationship with his home country. A nation where church activity was suppressed during communism, yet now boasts over 73% of the population identifying as Orthodox Christian. His novels are unapologetic in their treatment of religion, and often border on the surreal - much like his idol, Vladimir Nabokov. Cărtărescu has long been a fan of Nabokov's butterfly collection, and even visited his former office at Harvard University to marvel at the specimens.
The Blinding trilogy is more than just a love letter to Bucharest; it's a scathing critique of the city's green bronze statues descending from their plinths to copulate with limestone gorgons. It's a world where tower blocks are deemed "the city's penis" and where the narrator fantasises about the city itself coming alive. Cărtărescu's narrator is unapologetically himself, a product of both Eastern European sensibilities and Western influences.
But what makes eastern European writing so fresh? Cărtărescu attributes it to writers who are "totally devoted to their art" - non-commercial, uncompromising, and true to themselves. His work has garnered international acclaim, including being longlisted for the International Booker Prize this year, but he remains unfazed by the literary establishment's snubs.
One of the most striking aspects of Cărtărescu's work is his ambivalence towards Romania itself. A nation where the diaspora has turned against its own country, with many expats voting for nativist candidates in recent presidential elections. Cărtărescu acknowledges this, but insists that Romanians will always be Europeans, and that the EU membership date of 2007 was a defining moment in their history.
As he embarks on his literary journey, Cărtărescu is unapologetically himself - a product of both his troubled past and his love for Western culture. His work is a battle cry against those who stole his youth, and a testament to the power of literature to transcend borders and cultures. Whether or not he wins the Nobel Prize in Literature remains to be seen, but one thing is certain: Mircea Cărtărescu is leaving an indelible mark on the literary world.
In a bold move, Mircea Cărtărescu has taken his own life's work - the sprawling 1,400-page novel, Blinding - as a form of revenge against those who stole his youth. Born in 1956, within the Soviet Union's sphere of influence, Cărtărescu grew up under communist rule, where art and literature were tightly controlled. But instead of conforming to the regime's expectations, he found solace in Western culture - from The Beatles to Allen Ginsberg - and became a key figure in Romania's 'blue jeans generation'.
Cărtărescu's work is a testament to his love-hate relationship with his home country. A nation where church activity was suppressed during communism, yet now boasts over 73% of the population identifying as Orthodox Christian. His novels are unapologetic in their treatment of religion, and often border on the surreal - much like his idol, Vladimir Nabokov. Cărtărescu has long been a fan of Nabokov's butterfly collection, and even visited his former office at Harvard University to marvel at the specimens.
The Blinding trilogy is more than just a love letter to Bucharest; it's a scathing critique of the city's green bronze statues descending from their plinths to copulate with limestone gorgons. It's a world where tower blocks are deemed "the city's penis" and where the narrator fantasises about the city itself coming alive. Cărtărescu's narrator is unapologetically himself, a product of both Eastern European sensibilities and Western influences.
But what makes eastern European writing so fresh? Cărtărescu attributes it to writers who are "totally devoted to their art" - non-commercial, uncompromising, and true to themselves. His work has garnered international acclaim, including being longlisted for the International Booker Prize this year, but he remains unfazed by the literary establishment's snubs.
One of the most striking aspects of Cărtărescu's work is his ambivalence towards Romania itself. A nation where the diaspora has turned against its own country, with many expats voting for nativist candidates in recent presidential elections. Cărtărescu acknowledges this, but insists that Romanians will always be Europeans, and that the EU membership date of 2007 was a defining moment in their history.
As he embarks on his literary journey, Cărtărescu is unapologetically himself - a product of both his troubled past and his love for Western culture. His work is a battle cry against those who stole his youth, and a testament to the power of literature to transcend borders and cultures. Whether or not he wins the Nobel Prize in Literature remains to be seen, but one thing is certain: Mircea Cărtărescu is leaving an indelible mark on the literary world.