Norbert Haklik

Norbert Haklik

NORBERT HAKLIK (Ózd, 1976), writer and critic, studied Hungarian and English literature and linguistics in Budapest. He is the author of two short story compilations (A Mennybemeneteli Iroda [Salvation Agency], 1998, 2013; Világvége Gömörlúcon [The World’s End in Gömörlúc], 2001), a novel (Big Székely Só [Big Szekler Show], 2006), and several translations from English into Hungarian. His latest work Egy Duna-regény anatómiája (The anatomy of a Danube-novel), 2013 is a set of literary essays that entirely focuses on Thomas Kabdebo’s novel trilogy Danubius Danubia, just like the work published in the present issue of Hungarian Review. Haklik currently lives in Brno (the Czech Republic), with his wife and daughter, and – besides his 9-to-5 job as a manager for a global IT company – is working on a new short story collection.

SINGING MANSARDS, OR THE RECLAIMED LIFE OF MIEDZIANKA

In our corner of the world that is Central Europe, there is no shortage of ghost towns and villages. History here has been rather munificent in meting out decay and destruction, not only to individuals and their communities but sometimes to entire settlements. From Pripyat next to Chernobyl to the

SINGING MANSARDS, OR THE RECLAIMED LIFE OF MIEDZIANKA

In our corner of the world that is Central Europe, there is no shortage of ghost towns and villages. History here has been rather munificent in meting out decay and destruction, not only to individuals and their communities but sometimes to entire settlements. From Pripyat next to Chernobyl to the

A THOUSAND-YEAR-OLD BROTHERHOOD AND ITS PRESENT

Orsolya Zsuzsanna Kovács: Polish Jigsaw. Fourteen Interviews Friendship. Seemingly a simple matter. After all, it does not require more than two people. Hence friendship is “as simple as ABC”, one would think. And one would be utterly wrong. Each of us can probably recall the name of our best pals

MAKING THE SILENT DEEP SPEAK

On the Danube-Concept of Thomas Kabdebo’s Novel Trilogy Danubius Danubia  As I sat on the bottom step of the wharf,A melon-rind flowed by with the current;Wrapped in my fate I hardly heard the chatterOf the surface, while the deep was silent.As if my own heart had opened its gate:The Danube was