Sua

Jean Clement is a distinguished, refined gentleman, always wearing gloves, striped trousers, and a bowler hat. He is a machines buff: in his cell, straddling his cane, he drives an invisible car, imitating the sound of the klaxon with his voice. When approached, he feigns

excerpts Having begun when he was seventeen or even earlier, B. Fundoianu's activity as a publicist impresses by its intensity and diversity. Simultaneous and assiduous collaborator to many magazines, the author doesn't seem to have the prejudice of specialization:

The unconscious is a privileged territory for Blecher's creation. It's the storage room of all chimeras, the source of imagination, the combustion of the narrative discourse, the origin of the delirium, which feeds the revelation and the inspiration. We can talk

excerpts When I call up one of these memories with my eyes closed and it is reborn with the intensity of its previous reality; when at other times, with the same intensity and in the same convincing light, settings and events which never happened pass through my mind; when

excerpts I could find antiques and old objects evoking sad memories on still another deserted floor in my grandfather's house. There the walls were covered by strange pictures having thick, gilded, wooden frames, or thinner frames of red plush. There were also several

In a recent French translation Old-Court Philanderers have made quite a sensation. Different from Panait Istrati whose epic caught our attention, Mateiu I. Caragiale is not so good at describing a certain medium; his force lies in his rhythm, his intimate thrill, his sentence

Mateiu Caragiale left us a literary heritage, fragmentary in its outlook that puzzled and amazed through its originality, through an appetite for mystery it seemed to originate in, through the secret inspiration that fed it and through its old-fashioned lyricism which was

excerpts Que voulez-vous, nous sommes ici aux portes de l'Orient, où tout est pris à la légère. Raymond Poincaré*Welcoming the Philanderers…au tapis-franc nous étions réunis. L. Protat**Although no further than the night before I had promised myself under

(25. 03. 1885 – 17. 01. 1936)If you had passed through St. Gheorghe square a few years ago, you could have seen a man immediately catching the eye by the way he looked. It was a dry winter, crisp snow under your feet. The man, who was around 45-50 years of age, had an

excerptsLet us begin with on obvious fact – Urmuz is a myth, is he not? Useless like all myths, functioning due to inertia, the coronation of certain clichés. Who reads Urmuz these days? Urmuz was the object of critical studies, his work has been translated, and his name

IA well-ventilated apartment consisting of three rooms, glass-enclosed terrace and a door-bell. Out front, a sumptuous living-room, its back wall taken up by a solid oak book-case perennially wrapped in soaking bed-sheets… A legless table right in the middle, based on

I Fuchs was not born by his real mother… At the beginning, when he came into being, he was not even seen, but only heard, because when Fuchs was born he preferred coming out through one of his grandmother's ears, as his own mother did not have an ear for music…