Translated from the Hungarian by George Szirtes
Budai is deflected en route to a conference of linguists where he is to present a paper. He is an expert in his field but, alas, he never gets there. Exactly what goes wrong isn’t clear, and the wearied traveller, initially caught up in the procedures of international transit takes a little while to catch on. Despite his grasp of numerous languages, he can find a language in common with no-one, and no-one cares…
It is a nightmarish scenario, but Budai is frustratingly slow to catch on to the implications of his plight, frittering away his resources in a sometimes relentlessly tedious narrative which nonetheless builds to surprising tension. As a linguist Budai is ideally placed to deal with this unique catastrophe but the application of his methodical and learned techniques are ineffective. The language seems to shift from moment to moment, person to person, effectively non-translatable. Budai has all the tools at his disposal but they don’t work.
Ultimately Budai survives, but is his existence worth anything? I would plump for ‘existential’ as my final word if it weren’t for the ending, which sways me back towards ‘psychological.’
This is certainly a strange novel. As I indicated above, Budai’s attempts to conquer the language prolong the reader’s agony, but I can’t be sure that this is a good thing. At times it seemed unnecessarily repetitive. This is a little unfortunate because there were parts of the novel that puzzled me and might justify a re-read: something which I would actually be very reluctant to do given the matter of the repetition.
A recurring motif is the construction of a Babel-like tower which, given Budai’s difficulties with communication, is apposite, but, with reference to its biblical significance, sits uneasily in this context. A six-legged mammal adds a touch of magic realism which is almost totally inexplicable, unless to remind us that the conceit of an untranslatable language is not credible and we must therefore look deeper. An intense relationship with a lift attendant almost returns to Budai the power of communication, but an apparently self-destructive urge intervenes. Like Budai I felt that this should, and could, all come together, but I was unable to quite make it gel.
A less debatable positive is some convincing realism which brings Karinthy’s cultural background, the communist state, into sharp relief. A pervasive impression of grey, shortages, distrust and, above all, queues and bureaucracy. The state is corrupt and has elements in common with the universe of 1984.
An interesting read, but not an entirely enjoyable experience.
He went back out into the street: a little further off they were building a skyscraper higher than any he had so far seen. Craning his neck, Budai counted sixty-four floors so far, but there were clearly more to come. An enormous number of people were working on the steel framework and half-completed walls, swarming like ants over the scaffolding, the structure practically black with them, ascending and descending on pulleys that also carried materials, prefabricated components and enormous panels – the proportions of the building inspiring not so much admiration as fear, as if the lot could at any moment collapse around his head and bury him for ever…
A Rat in the Book Pile 
The French title of this is Epépé. As far as I know, this isn’t a French word, so do you have any idea why they choose that?
SF tag, you’re not thrilled by it, I’m going to pass on this one. Thanks for making me discover a new author, I didn’t know him.
Epépé is one approximation of the name of Budai’s love interest. (Which changes just as the alien language does.) I don’t think it is a great choice of title. A French equivalent of ‘metropolis’ might have been better.
I enjoyed the ideas, but was frustrated by the failure to make them come together. But I do like dystopian universes, and it’s another one for the collection.
I checked on Wikipedia, Epepe is the original title. I should have known, usually the French publishers translate titles literally and keep original covers, at least for the hardcover edition.
Ooh, an existentialist SF dystopia? These are all words that appeal to my inner geek, which I must confess is rarely far from my exterior.
On the description I immediately think of Kafka, but I haven’t read enough Kafka yet to draw any parallels. It sounds, well, difficult.
That said Szirtes is a great translator and it also sounds interesting. Is it rather a brick of a book? I have the impression it may not be the fastest of reads.
Max, It isn’t a huge read, 244 pages. It is only slow in that there is some repetition which, as an impatient reader, I felt might have been better pruned. But in a book with existential leanings what better way to illustrate the drudgery of existence? Not difficult to read, but challenging to comprehend. I can’t be sure that I was picking up exactly what Karinthy intended to convey. The translation itself was faultless. As far as one can ever tell!
Kafka is cited as a comparison on the back, as is Orwell. Orwell, hm, not so much. Kafka, yes.
Much sympathy with your inner geek. General sci-fi doesn’t often lure me from the mainstream, but the merest sniff of a dystopia and it’s a different matter.
One to keep on my radar then, but wait until I’ve read a bit more Kafka first I think.