#hungarianlit

Hungarian writer Andrea Tompa reflects on how all faiths simultaneously desire embodiment, in an essay translated by Bernard Adams.

At Lăteşti Camp, a new arrival, Arinca, develops a reputation for her stormy love life, frequent escapes, and ability to find bodies.

“So, when I write, I should / keep your commandment—but how?” a poem by Hungarian poet Zsófia Balla, in Anna Bentley’s translation.

In this dystopian, Hungarofuturist short story by Máté Makai, an investigative journalist follows a cell of time-travelling climate terrorists.

Two boys, of very different fates, consider friendship and cruelty in this short story by Hungarian writer Miklós György Száraz.

In this sometimes strange and unusual story, by Ilka Papp-Zakor, a practical joke involving a tattoo questions what we can and cannot know.

Reflecting on his own poem, Hungarian writer Árpád Tőzsér asks whether we can believe in a Cosmic Orchestra without a conductor?

“collapse, rejection, resurrection, / this is what we all longed for, / this broken bread”—Béla Markó, in Anna Bentley’s translation.

Father Viktor struggles to contain his rage against Prime Minister Ferenc Ács, until one day he receives a visit from men in suits.