This review of Sandor Marai’s novel, The Rebels, is worth mentioning because (just maybe) this guy is the best Hungarian novelist ever. The Rebels was first published in 1930, just now translated. Marai was born in 1900 and died in San Diego in 1989, by his own hand. He is a rare writer for that part of the world, not affected by the insanities of Fascism or Communism. Bad guys always hated him. I listened to my mother (once) and read him in Hungarian (she met him once in Southern California, in one of her literary circles) and thought it pretty good. It’s easier in English. He’s thoughtful, fluid, and a bit lean in his prose, with good characters, universally recognizable, but Hungarian. I will read this as I have his Embers, which I mentioned here.
I have read Embers this evening. The other book is on the way. I rarely have time to read a book all in one go anymore, and yet, this book compelled such a reading. In a sense, it was funny to read a book in which the voluble main character speaks so eloquently about the silence of men. Little things moving human understanding and how such things change us are more important than the story. It was a very good book.
So, I thank you, too and look forward to the next book arriving. Yet, now I dread tomorrow and a return to my students' prose.