By Xu Xi
Who is László?
The Nobel Prize in Literature is the world's most influential literary award today. Each year, it generates numerous public speculations, and even some foreign bookies list odds for potential winners, attracting the public to place wagers. Writers enjoying worldwide literary fame, such as Margaret Atwood, Salman Rushdie, Thomas Pynchon, Anne Carson, and Colm Tóibín, are regular fixtures on these lists. Japanese novelist Haruki Murakami has appeared on the list for years; although very popular, he has yet to win the prize. As someone who enjoys running marathons, he seems destined to continue "pacing" in the Nobel race. In recent years, Chinese avant-garde novelist Can Xue has been highly favored to win, but last year's Nobel Prize went to Korean writer Han Kang, making it unlikely that another Asian woman writer will win in the near future.
On October 9, this year's Nobel Prize in Literature was announced as scheduled in Stockholm, Sweden. The Prize was awarded to 71-year-old Hungarian writer László Krasznahorkai, recognizing his "compelling and visionary oeuvre that, in the midst of apocalyptic terror, reaffirms the power of art." Who is László? What works has he written? This is perhaps a question many readers share with me. Compared to the literature of major European nations like Britain, France, Spain, and Germany, Hungarian literature has not been widely translated and introduced in China, and it enters the ordinary reader's view even less frequently. Although the lines by Hungarian patriotic poet Petőfi: "Life is truly valuable, love holds an even higher value; yet if it is for freedom, both can be cast aside" (生命誠可貴，愛情價更高；若為自由故，兩者皆可拋) are widely known in China, most people would struggle to name several contemporary Hungarian writers. Readers fond of Eastern European literature may have read Márai Sándor, Agota Kristof, or Imre Kertész (2002 Nobel Prize in Literature laureate), but the hard-to-pronounce name "Krasznahorkai László" appears unfamiliar even to many foreign literature scholars, such that I saw a scholar post half-jokingly on social media: "Every year I rely on the Nobel Prize in Literature list to fill in gaps in my literary knowledge."
On January 5, 1954, László was born in Gyula, a small town over 200 kilometers from the Hungarian capital, Budapest. This border town adjacent to Romania is famous for its medieval castles and thermal hot springs. His father was a lawyer and his mother a civil servant. László initially followed his father's aspirations, studying law at Hungary's highest institution of learning, Eötvös Loránd University, but his true interest lay in literature and arts, so he later transferred to the Faculty of Humanities. In 1983, he earned a degree in Hungarian language and literature with a thesis on Márai Sándor. In 1985, his debut novel Satantango received critical acclaim immediately upon publication, making him stand out in Hungarian literary circles. He subsequently continued to release new works, which were gradually translated into German and English, attracting increasing attention from the international literary world. In 2013, Satantang won the American Best Translated Book Award; in 2014, Seiobo There Below won the same award again; in 2015, he became the first Hungarian writer to win the Man Booker International Prize. His writing has won favor from many famous figures—Susan Sontag once praised his precise depiction of apocalyptic sensibility as comparable to Gogol and Melville.
Although László has published 9 novels, 5 novellas, 2 short story collections, and numerous short stories, essays, and interviews to date, Chinese translations are still scarce. Currently, only 4 works have been formally published, so he remains unfamiliar to most Chinese readers. His first work translated into Chinese was his breakthrough Satantango(1985), published in 2017, 32 years after the original edition. The other three are Relations of Grace (仁慈的關係 short story collection, 2020), The Melancholy of Resistance (反抗的憂鬱 2023), and The World Goes On (世界在前進 short story collection, 2025).
In fact, László may be better known among Chinese cinephiles who love European art films, because his novels have been adapted into films by renowned Hungarian filmmaker Béla Tarr, famous for his extensive use of slow, long shots. These include the epic Satantango (1994), over seven hours long, and Werckmeister Harmonies (2000), both now film classics. He has also participated in screenwriting for multiple Tarr films, with The Turin Horse (2011) winning the Silver Bear at the 61st Berlin International Film Festival. Perhaps because he played jazz in his youth, László has enjoyed cross-disciplinary collaborations with artists since gaining fame. He has worked with German painter Max Neumann to publish the illustrated Animal Inside and Chasing Homer, with the latter featuring a QR code at the beginning of each chapter that, when scanned, allows readers to listen to music specially composed for the book by Hungarian musician Miklós Szilveszter. This multimedia setup not only provides readers with multi-sensory enjoyment but also stimulates our thinking about the complex entanglement between text (fiction) and world (reality).
How to Read László
In European and American literary circles, László is considered a postmodern novelist. His novels are notoriously difficult because he favors using labyrinthine, long sentences. Sometimes a single sentence stretches for several pages, continuous and endlessly nested, giving first-time readers a suffocating sense of breathlessness and confusion about where to pause. For example, the opening of The Melancholy of Resistance:
無論在鐵道邊值班的鐵道工怎樣顛三倒四地猜測解釋，無論火車站站長多少次越來越確信無疑地沖到站台上翹首張望，這列由蒂薩河畔出發駛向喀爾巴阡山腳下，並將凍成了冰坨的匈牙利南部大平原連接在一起的客運列車始終沒有到來（「唉,這是怎麽搞的,難道這趟列車蒸發掉了……?」鐵道工帶著一臉的嘲諷、無可奈何地揮揮手說)。由於這列總共只有兩輛、只會在所謂「特殊情況」下才投入運行的由質量很差的硬座車廂和一個老掉牙了的、毛病繁多的424型蒸汽車頭拼組而成的救援列車比原本對它就缺少約束力的列車時刻表上所規定的出發時間遲發了一個半小時，因而讓當地人不得不揣著盡可能保持的冷靜與惴惴不安的期盼接受這列由西邊駛來的客車晚點的現實，耐心等待它行駛完最後的五十公里路程，最終能抵達目的地。(trans.by Yu Zemin)
Try reading this out loud—is it somewhat laborious and demanding? Perhaps considering that readers couldn't handle it, the Chinese translation divided the opening into two sentences. Comparing it with the English translation, we discover that these two sentences are actually one long sentence:
SINCE THE PASSENGER TRAIN CONNECTING THE icebound estates of the southern lowlands, which extend from the banks of the Tisza almost as far as the foot of the Carpathians, had, despite the garbled explanations of a haplessly stumbling guard and the promises of the stationmaster rushing nervously on and off the platform, failed to arrive ('Well, squire, it seems to have disappeared into thin air again …' the guard shrugged, pulling a sour face), the only two serviceable old wooden-seated coaches maintained for just such an 'emergency' were coupled to an obsolete and unreliable 424, used only as a last resort, and put to work, albeit a good hour and a half late, according to a timetable to which they were not bound and which was only an approximation anyway, so that the locals who were waiting in vain for the eastbound service, and had accepted its delay with what appeared to be a combination of indifference and helpless resignation, might eventually arrive at their destination some fifty kilometres further along the branch line. (trans. by George Szirtes)
However, it's said that the sentences in the original Hungarian are even longer, and even native speakers find them equally laborious to read! So, as foreign readers, how should we enter László's textual world? Yu Zemin, who has translated several of his works, offers this passage that can serve as our compass for exploring the narrative labyrinth created by László's long sentences: "When reading László's books, whether Satantango or The Melancholy of Resistance, you must adjust your breathing and absolutely cannot skim through ten lines at a glance. Because rhythm is the key to reading and understanding his works. You must adapt to and follow the steady pace of the author's narration, just like watching a slowly moving long shot on the screen. The continuously spreading dampness, the silently ruthless cruelty, and the scalp-tingling despair permeate the entire book. One Krasznahorkai-style complex long sentence after another relays, intertwines, truly like crimson lava from a volcanic eruption slowly flowing along the terrain—wherever it flows, there is death."
In today's society of information explosion that rushes forward at breakneck speed, we are busy all day long. Forget savoring novels and poetry—we even watch shows at double speed during leisure time. László's long sentences force us to slow down, to enter the labyrinth of the novel, to carefully savor the present and reflect on history. If we compare reading to travel, then László is not a silver-tongued guide urging tourists through a whirlwind tour, but more like a friend who walks and talks with us, accompanying us as we trek through the Hungarian landscape. A whirlwind tour is certainly convenient and fast, but yields little gain or reflection; a journey over mountains and through waters is difficult and exhausting, but leaves behind far more experience and memories.
László's China Complex
Although Chinese readers previously knew little about László, he can be called the contemporary Hungarian writer who knows China best. Since the 1990s, László has lived for extended periods in Europe, America, and various parts of Asia, and has visited China multiple times. In 1991, László first traveled to China as a journalist and was deeply moved by Chinese culture. Subsequently, he collected many books about China, particularly enjoying reading the Tao Te Ching and Li Bai's poetry, and also admiring traditional Confucian culture. He even has a Chinese name, "Hao Qiu" (好丘), which can be interpreted as "beautiful hill" or understood as "one who admires Confucius (Kong Qiu 孔丘)." In 1998, he came to China again, and accompanied by his friend Yu Zemin (the most important Chinese translator of László's works and a renowned translator of contemporary Hungarian literature), he visited Qufu, Luoyang, Xi'an, and Chengdu, tracing the footsteps of Li Bai.
He incorporated his experiences traveling in China during the 1990s and his observations of Eastern culture into three books: The Prisoner of Urga (1992), A Mountain to the North, a Lake to the South, Paths to the West, a River to the East (2003), and Destruction and Sorrow Beneath the Heavens (2004). However, none of these works currently have complete Chinese translations, so we can only glimpse László's vision of China and Eastern culture through a few prefaces and reminiscences by translator Yu Zemin. Has Eastern culture, especially Daoist thought, influenced László's writing philosophy? What position do Eastern images and stories occupy in his fictional world? How do his travelogues present the continuation and transformation of traditional culture in contemporary society? These are all worthwhile cross-cultural topics to explore.
The Nobel Prize has enormous power to promote the translation and reading of foreign literature. According to reports by The Paper (Pengpai xinwen), within 3 hours of the Nobel Prize in Literature announcement, sales of László's works on Dangdang.com alone exceeded 10,000 copies. We hope the publishing industry can ride the momentum of the Nobel Prize to produce more accurate translations, allowing readers to appreciate the full charm of László's writing as comprehensively as possible. We also look forward to more in-depth academic research to help us more clearly understand László's position on the map of world literature and the hidden connections between his creative work and Eastern culture.
Xu Xi is a literary scholar teaching at BNBU, Zhuhai. Xu holds a PhD from HKU.
The views do not necessarily reflect those of DotDotNews.
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