The atmosphere of Laszlo Krasznahorkai
I’ve been on a big kick with Krasznahorkai, a kick I have not experienced with any other author in a while, other than maybe Bolano.
So far I’ve only read Satantango, Melancholy of Resistance and just finishing up Herscht 07769. Krasznahorkai is the master of creating the structure of feeling for modern day. His books are in no way a comfort, however I do get this odd comfort in the atmosphere. That someone is able to see and vocalize exactly what it feels like to live in the modern day. Specifically the way fascist thoughts and actions seep into a community without any notice, or if the notice is there it’s completely apathetic.
The towns in the three novels I’ve read by him are towns hunkered down, calloused, and waiting for the end of the world to come. But there communities don’t see, the world has already ended for them, they are already living amongst the ruble, they’re two steps behind and seemingly unable to notice that it’s time to pick up the pieces and start over.
The world won’t end over night in these novels; it’s a slow decay that he’s a master of noting, and I’m just absolutely floored at someone’s ability to write like this.