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It was not easy for Romanian literature to evolve up to Ioana Bradea's novel, to its so provokingly violent title (itself a sophisticated, impudent blend of meanings and connotations as long as the dictionary designates just one object: a pipe)! And to think that once

excerpts Friday EveningGood evening. I am Andreea. Maybe I don't give a fuck about who you are. Ok, I was trying to be polite; I'd like to know whom I'm talking to. Listen, sweetheart, cut the crap, say eiteen. I beg your pardon?Eiteen! Say eiteen, what the

Since Satyricon, many things have changed, yet everything has remained the same. We don't talk about new things, but about the same, only in a different way. And the theme of sexuality will continue to be exploited and investigated, alongside other capital-letter themes

excerpts Let me tell you about Sergiu:What for?He had been in love, like any other 18-year old young man, with an older woman. Using all her charms, she easily seduced him, turned him into a man, then she accepted to move in together for a week, act happy, and finally left

excerpt (Yes, man, it was her, Dalia, his girlfriend from fifteen years back, the sausage girl, the blonde at the slaughter house, married to the drunken sub-lieutenant who was away one week at a time on field practice, yeah, mate, the one you first saw at a meeting with

SeptemberexcerptsIlie only looked me up in early September, a few weeks before the harvesting of the vineyards. He had come back alone, by train. He had told some lie to his wife and run over to see me. He was coming towards me with an enamored look in his eyes, ready to

excerpt I was to deal with this vague feeling, this bizarre, somewhat abstract and pure love three times during my teenage years. I had come into this huge and empty room, lured by some strange music that I always found irresistible, insinuating, intoxicating and dangerous.

hey, ion, here is the room where they hack childrenI feel young. so youngI'm here in this rancid wardamong sweating breasty womenin flowered calico dresses with double chinswith thick hair on their legs and armpitshow casually they talk hereabout deathabout men reeking

To many readers, what is permitted in the street, press, on television and even in other arts is not allowed to literature. The parent is not worried about the profusion of sexually explicit films broadcast on TV and deposited (with the pride of personal emancipation) in

I have lived a short lifeNo time to fulfill all the good I had promised mankindPut my feet up on the table in front – yesPut my feet up with a bang on the table in front – yesOffend and run wild and then start all over again – yes yes yes I've been messing up

ArgumentI have always regretted the lack of raw erotic detail in the most remarkable works of fiction. This frustration is by no means compensated for by the high availability of lurid, pornographic books. When reading fiction, I do not look for arousal, but for precision.

excerpt When I first met her, she said she adored Pablo Neruda's poetry and La Fontaine's erotic fables, which are un petit secret délicieux and, once a month, she would listen to a fragment of Le Petit Prince, interpreted by Gérard Philippe. She also told me