'A gentle giant', as the Goncourts called him, Turgenev emerged from the barbarous yet doting rules of a terrible mother, whose cruelties to her serfs are at the heart of his hatred of serfdom. He was saturated in femininity and could not write unless he was in love. When he freed himself from his mother, he became enslaved by the famous Spanish singer, Pauline Viardot, married to a Frenchman. He was heir to vast estates, a convinced Westerner, proud to be both European and deeply Russian, and one of the most civilized men of his time. This is his story.
An unforgettable portrait of a major pioneering artist, by “Czechoslovakia’s greatest writer” (Milan Kundera) The Gentle Barbarian is Bohumil Hrabal’s moving homage to Vladimír Boudník, a brilliant but troubled Czech graphic artist who died tragically at the age of forty-four a few months after the Soviet occupation of Czechoslovakia in 1968. The Gentle Barbarian takes us to the heart of Boudník’s creative drive: his gift for infusing the objects and events of everyday life with transcendent magic, and his passion for sharing his ideas and his art with anyone willing to listen. Hrabal’s anecdotal portrait includes another controversial figure in that early postwar Czech avant-garde: the poet Egon Bondy, the pen name and alter ego of a self-styled “left-wing Marxist” philosopher called Zbynek Fišer. Hrabal’s amazing memoir celebrates the creative spirits who strove to reject, ignore, or burrow beneath an artificial “revolutionary” fervor. Fueled by vast quantities of beer, emboldened by friendship, driven by a sense of their own destiny, they filled the intellectual and spiritual vacuum around them with manic humor, inspiration, and purpose, and in doing so, pointed the way to a kind of salvation.
A literary master’s story about the aggravations and great joys of cats, from “a most sophisticated novelist, with a gusting humor and a hushed tenderness of detail” (Julian Barnes) In the autumn of 1965, flush with the unexpected success of his first published books, the Czech author Bohumil Hrabal bought a cottage in Kersko. From then until his death in 1997, he divided his time between Prague and his country retreat, where he wrote and tended to a community of feral cats. Over the years, his relationship to cats grew deeper and more complex, becoming a measure of the pressures, both private and public, that impinged on his life as a writer. All My Cats, written in 1983 after a serious car accident, is a confessional memoir, the chronicle of an author who becomes overwhelmed. As he is driven to the brink of madness by the dilemmas created by his indulgent love for the animals, there are episodes of intense brutality as he controls the feline population. Yet in the end, All My Cats is a book about Hrabal’s relationship to nature, about the unlikely sources of redemption that come to him unbidden, like a gift from the cosmos—and about love.
The next novel in the international publishing phenomenon the Ice Planet Barbarians series, now in a special print edition with a bonus novella! Josie has always dreamed of finding The One, but the hunter chosen for her is nothing like what she expected (or wanted)—but he might be exactly what she needs. “Resonance” is supposed to be a dream—that’s when your soulmate is chosen for you. And every woman on the ice planet has hooked up with a big, hunky soulmate of their own—except me. So do I want a mate? Heck yeah. More than anything, all I’ve ever wanted is to be loved by someone. But the soulmate chosen for me? My least favorite person on the darn ice planet. Haeden’s the most cranky, disapproving, unpleasant, overbearing male alien . . . so why is it that my body sings when he gets close? Why is he working so hard to prove to me that he’s not as awful as I think he is? I hate him . . . don’t I?
The next novel in the Ice Planet Barbarians series, an international publishing phenomenon—now in a special print edition with a bonus new epilogue! Lila has never been more frightened in her life, but when Rokan appears, everything changes. When I wake up on the ice planet, I’m scared of everything: This place is cold, silent, and the locals look more like blue devils than aliens. To make matters worse, one of the strangers decides I’m going to be his girlfriend and kidnaps me away from my sister. I’m completely and utterly alone. What’s a girl to do? Well, this girl escapes. Of course, that means I go from the frying pan into the fire, and my situation gets even more dangerous. Just when I have no hope left, a new hero shows up. Sure, he’s blue, horned, and has a tail. He’s also fierce, protective, makes me purr...and thinks I'm perfect. But is what we have real or just a mating instinct?
New York Times bestselling author Hannah Howell returns to the Highlands of Scotland for a sensual new series about two twin brothers both tempted and tormented by their passions-and driven by the love that will shape their destinies . . .
Chronicles the experiences of Ditie, who rises from busboy to hotel owner in World War II Prague, and whose life is shaped by the fate of his country before, during, and after the conflict.
The Tender Barbarian is a series of texts Hrabal compiled on the one hand pays homage to his deceased friend, experimental graphic artist Vladimír Boudník, and on the other as a somewhat fictionalized account of their life during the 1950s in Prague-Libe?, avant-garde poet/philosopher Egon Bondy acting as Boudník's foil and dialectical antithesis. By the end of the 1940s all three were trying to move beyond Surrealism: Bondy and Hrabal with Total Realism and Boudník with Explosionalism, an associative method of graphically interpreting random blotches. Boudník here plays the naif, a proletarian artist, a tender barbarian to whom a state of grace comes naturally, spontaneously, while for Bondy, who is poring over philosophical tomes to learn how to achieve such a state, this becomes a never-ending source of frustration and admiration, to which he reacts with streams of invective. Hrabal once mentioned that when he sat down in 1973 to write something about Boudník for an exhibition and samizdat publication to commemorate the fifth anniversary of his death, he just kept writing and writing, and the book does read almost like an automatic text as one episode spills into another, the interplay between the two protagonists forming the dialectic that Hrabal indicates he has borrowed from Boudník's mode of being and creating.Whether the book is rightly called a novel, fiction or non-fiction, or both at once, it is a compelling testament to an era and a group of friends who lived for and in art and managed to find beauty and the marvelous even in the dungheap that was Stalinist Czechoslovakia. As Hrabal put it: "I saw two people with the thumbprint of God on their brows: Vladimír and Egon Bondy." This edition is complemented by a selection of Boudník's Explosionalist texts and prints.
Twelve humans are left stranded on a wintry alien planet. I'm one of them. Yay, me. In order to survive, we have to take on a symbiont that wants to rewire our bodies to live in this brutal place. I like to call it a cootie. And my cootie's a jerk, because it also thinks I'm the mate to the biggest, surliest alien of the group. -- This edition of BARBARIAN ALIEN is the complete story. BARBARIAN ALIEN is a sequel to ICE PLANET BARBARIANS. You do not have to read both in order to understand the plot, but the story will be richer if you do!
Rake, drunkard, aesthete, gossip, raconteur extraordinaire: the narrator of Bohumil Hrabal’s rambling, rambunctious masterpiece Dancing Lessons for the Advanced in Age is all these and more. Speaking to a group of sunbathing women who remind him of lovers past, this elderly roué tells the story of his life—or at least unburdens himself of a lifetime’s worth of stories. Thus we learn of amatory conquests (and humiliations), of scandals both private and public, of military adventures and domestic feuds, of what things were like “in the days of the monarchy” and how they’ve changed since. As the book tumbles restlessly forward, and the comic tone takes on darker shadings, we realize we are listening to a man talking as much out of desperation as from exuberance. Hrabal, one of the great Czech writers of the twentieth century, as well as an inveterate haunter of Prague’s pubs and football stadiums, developed a unique method which he termed “palavering,” whereby characters gab and soliloquize with abandon. Part drunken boast, part soul-rending confession, part metaphysical poem on the nature of love and time, this astonishing novel (which unfolds in a single monumental sentence) shows why he has earned the admiration of such writers as Milan Kundera, John Banville, and Louise Erdrich.
