Poems from the deck on which the struggle for humanity is fought

Petr Hruška has been widely considered as one of the most important Czech poets with his poems based on focused observation. But his latest book, I Caught Sight of My Face, has really taken readers’ breath away. The theme of the collection is not the present, but rather the past. And lyricism here is replaced by epic, and not just any epic: the poetic cycle draws on The First Voyage around the World, written exactly five hundred years earlier for the imperial court by Antonio Pigafetta, one of the participants in Ferdinand Magellan’s voyage of discovery. However, the reader should not expect a glorious saga of human heroism and conquest. In fact, it is quite the opposite: Hruška adopted the fictional perspective of a Venetian adventurer to show that human behaviour has not changed in half a millennium. Man remains an anxious, insecure, sometimes cowardly, evil, xenophobic and violent being. It is an easy-to-read, uncomplicated, yet at the same time deeply profound book.

This subtle, impressionistic novella, evoking the contemporary world in crisis, is a distinctive literary contribution to our concept of the Anthropocene.

Flora – poet and journalist Jonáš Zbořil’s prose debut – is a melancholic dystopia on the margins of existence, interwoven with references, paraphrases, and quotations. In a world where ecological catastrophes are everyday occurrences, a couple in crisis encounter a strange creature while walking through the inner periphery. Sára projects her unfulfilled maternal desires onto the creature, which has fungi growing on it as well as a jumble of cables and wires, and she decides they’ll live together in an abandoned area that is being reclaimed by nature. In place of a standard plot, the author has opted for the power of the imagination, and in original metaphors he links clusters and structural supports with hawthorns and song thrushes to form a poetic, mutated nature. The various acknowledged references, such as Andrei Tarkovsky’s sci-fi films, mirror the theme of a form that is grown into, and strengthens the atmosphere of uncertainty from which a new beginning might emerge – or a sudden end.

A minatory collection carried along on the original wave of environmental grief and a commitment to nature.

In this thematically linked poetry collection inspired by “environmental grief”, or rather legitimate concerns about the future of the planet and humanity, the author uses the term “the new wilderness” to construct new poetic space – the idea of the world “after us”. He brings together science, the internet and poetry to form a unique style, which could be part of the new trend of so-called environmental poetry. Mankind is on the same level as ponds and greenery; time and space are categories which can be interpreted very loosely.

Many have now grown accustomed to the fact that, in literary scenes as small (in scope) as Czech literature, a trend can be established by the publication of a mere two or three analogous texts. This is exactly what happened in the Czech literary scene between 2023 and 2024, when it seemed that those at the forefront of Czech prose were all emerging authors; that something like a ‘new voice’ was taking shape. Equally remarkable was the way that the authors who had brought about this ‘trend’ differed so strongly in their work. As authors, Marek Torčík, Alena Machoninová, Kristina Hamplová, Miroslav Hlaučo, and Emma Kausc have very little in common with one another, which serves to paint a general picture of Czech prose in the years 2020-2024 – one which appears fragmented, and in which it is difficult to locate any sort of definitive tendency. Granted, some through-lines between certain works of prose can be seen, but most of the time these similarities exist between little more than a handful of texts. This raises the question: to what extent should this resemblance be considered a trend – one that attests to something fundamental about Czech prose – and to what extent should it be seen as a simple coincidence. On the one hand this kind of ambiguity is beneficial, in that it attests to the richness and diversity of these creative exploits, but on the other hand it raises questions about how contemporary Czech prose should be discussed, how it should be understood, and how it should be presented.

The goal of the following article is just that: to accurately represent Czech prose from the years 2020-2024. Firstly, through the lens of literary prizes and events that have influenced its development, and secondly through specific texts that have stood out amongst ordinary literary production, either thanks to their aesthetic quality or by way of non-literary circumstances. These texts have been arranged into specific clusters which, in the subsections that follow, have at times been constructed somewhat ad hoc and do not have a unified framework: sometimes they follow a generational theme, other times the focus is on the through-lines between particular texts. The idea is to create a sort of map of the way that things seem to have been written during the period in question – which books were published, which ones excelled – so that Czech prose might be presented not only in its creative peaks, but also in its diversity and vibrancy.

Where to go for Czech prose?

It should first be said that, during the period in question, Czech prose did rather well for itself. After years of Czech prose being constantly compared to Czech poetry, and being viewed, in light of this comparison, as not quite up to standard, we now find ourselves in a period in which modern Czech prose is not only alive and well, but also widely read, as has been seen in increased interest from foreign publishing houses. For example, Marek Torčík’s successful novel Memory Burn (Rozložíš paměť, 2023) has been published in twenty-five countries, Bianca Bellová’s successes have long been lauded abroad and, in German-speaking countries specifically, authors like Radka Denemarková or Jaroslav Rudiš, who in 2019 exchanged Czech for German in his prose writing, have been extremely successful. Authors like Pavla Horáková or Lucie Faulerová now have dozens of translations of their work, and interest in contemporary Czech prose among foreign publishers has not fallen – in fact, quite the opposite – as evidenced by Jonáš Zbořil’s Flora, for example, which shortly after its publication at the end of last year (2024) has already been translated into eleven languages.

The last few years have largely proven the editors of Czech literary journal Host right, who predicted a “boom in Czech literature” around the turn of the 2019-2020 new year. In fact, the eponymous publishing house Host (which at that time was still closely connected to the journal) has contributed significantly to the current readership popularity of Czech prose. In the period in question, they have published incredibly commercially successful Czech prose works that have still managed to hold on to their literary ambitions. Alena Mornštajnová, Kateřina Tučková, Petra Soukupová, Iva Hadj Moussa, and Jiří Hájíček, as well as the aforementioned Bianca Bellová, Radka Denemarková and Jakuba Katalpa, have all long belonged to the core group of authors associated with this publishing house.

In the long term, publishing Czech prose has evidently paid off for Host, so it is unsurprising that Czech novels, novellas, and short story collections have begun to crop up in the editorial plans of other publishing houses more frequently than before. Much of this has come from the Czech publishing house Argo, where authors such as Pavla Horáková, Josef Pánek, and Miloš Urban have published their books. Paseka – another Czech publishing house – have become a frequent collector of literary awards thanks to their representation of Czech prose, with their publications covering such names as A. Gravensteen, Anna Cima, Michal Kašpárek, and Zuzana Dostálová, as well as the aforementioned Marek Torčík and Miroslav Hlaučo. The publishing house Druhé Město has also been a rich source of original Czech prose, publishing the likes of Petr Stančík, Michal Ajvaz, Sylva Fischerová, Štěpán Kučera, and Dora Kaprálová. The publishing house Vyšehrad have established a series of Czech prose works by the name of Tvář, through which books by Jan Štifter, Hana D. Lehečková, and Jiří Klečka, for example, have been published. Of the other publishing houses currently working with Czech prose, Fra, Prostor, Malvern, Torst, Větrné mlýny, Akropolis, and Maraton should also be mentioned.

The comparative ease of publishing original Czech prose (unlike translated prose, a publishing house needn’t pay for expensive authors rights or translation costs) has led unfortunately to a situation in which some publishing houses have taken certain titles to the literary market without due editorial (and sometimes even orthographical) care, presumably with the idea of, so to speak, trying their luck. A readership hungry for new Czech literature has thus had something to reach for, at least, but the selection on offer has seemingly lacked stricter curatorial oversight. It is likely due to this that readers have tended to resort to familiar names, meaning many original prose titles found themselves in a similar position to Czech poetry collections: without much attention from the media, they may have sold a mere couple thousand copies or less. As a result of this, by the end of the period in question, the number of original Czech prose works in the editorial plans of Czech publishing houses has more or less plateaued.

The point of literary prizes

While the mainstream media have tended to focus increasingly on more successful books with greater readership appeal, less well-known books (or even debuts) have been able to garner attention mostly thanks to literary awards. In the period in question, the Magnesia Litera Awards (the largest and most notable Czech literary prize), though often seen to focus on ‘the best of the mainstream’, have nevertheless been awarded mostly to books that would otherwise have likely gone unnoticed by the wider public. In 2021 the Litera for Prose was awarded to Daniel Hradecký for his autobiographical prose trilogy Three Chapters (Tři kapitoly, 2020); in 2022, to Stanislav Biler for his novel Destruction (Destrukce, 2021); in 2023, to Viktor Špaček for his short story collection An Impeccable Life in Humility (Čistý, skromný život, 2022); in 2024, to Marek Torčík for his novel Memory Burn, and this year to J. A. Pitínský for his short story collection Household Goods (Domácí potřeby, 2023). The Book of the Year Prize was awarded to two prose titles in this period: Alena Machoninová’s Hella in 2024 and Miroslav Hlaučo’s Whitsun (Letnice, 2024) a year later (with the latter also succeeding in winning Debut of the Year Prize).

Attention of this kind has slowly begun to coalesce around the Magnesia Litera Awards partially due to the gradual disappearance, or rather, growing irrelevance of other literary awards. The Josef Škvorecký Prize was last awarded in 2016, and in 2022 the State Prize for Literature was subjected to heavy criticism due to their allegedly biased selection of jurors – the same year that Kateřina Tučková was awarded the prize for her novel The White Water (Bílá Voda, 2022). As such, with the exception of the Jiří Orten Award (which has specific rules and can only be awarded to authors under the age of thirty) the Magnesia Litera Awards were for a long time essentially the only prize that could bring new prose (or any other new literature) to the fore. The situation changed, however, in 2024 when a group of five literary journals (A2, Host, Prostor, Souvislosti, and Tvar) founded the Czech Literary Criticism Prize. In contrast to the Magnesia Litera Awards, this prize has placed a greater focus on the critical response to acclaimed (and unacclaimed) new literature and, besides their announcement of the “best book of the year”, as part of the prize they have also organised public debates with literary critics. In its first year running, the prize (in the prose category) was awarded to Emma Kausc for her debut novel Plot Disruption (Narušení děje, 2024).

The many faces of autofiction

Possibly the single most obvious and widely discussed trend that can be found in Czech prose from 2020 onwards is so-called ‘autofiction’, which some critics see as a problematic and loosely defined category. Simply put, Czech literature can be said to have grown accustomed to regarding any prose work based on the lived experience of its author as autofiction, though with the caveat that not all things written in the book must directly correspond to reality. In fact, an author and their protagonist sharing the same name is often the first sign of a work of autofiction, though this is not always the case. Importantly for the Czech understanding of the genre, many of the works identified as autofiction have engaged deeply with the economic and social circumstances of their protagonist’s background. The work of French writer Édouard Louis has become a sort of a benchmark for any autofiction defined in this way; his work, moreover, has been repeatedly likened to the most prominent Czech work of autofiction, Marek Torčík’s Memory Burn. Another work important to the emergence of interest in autofiction was My Struggle (Min kamp, 2009-2011), a series of novels by Norse writer Karl Ove Knausgård, though it left a much smaller mark on the Czech understanding of the genre.

Though the works of Édouard Louis have acted as a reference point for Czech notions of autofiction, Memory Burn is essentially the only noteworthy title to have corresponded in multiple aspects with Louis’ work. Marek Torčík’s autobiographically tinged novel also explores marginalised communities, and the protagonist of the book is, like the protagonists of Louis’ books, also a social outcast: as a gay man he experiences bullying in primary school; his mother is a poor working woman and his grandpa a destitute alcoholic. On the other hand, it should be noted that, in contrast to Édouard Louis, Marek Torčík includes a more vibrant palette of interpersonal relations and social bonds in his novel (one of the novel’s strongest narrative threads centres on the relationship between the protagonist and his mother) and does so, moreover, in a significantly more nuanced way. In contrast to the work of the famous French writer, which can often seem closer to a manifesto, Torčík’s book remains first and foremost an elaborate novel, in which the style of narration and choice of language both play an equally important role in the novel’s make-up.

In Czech literature – or rather, in Czech literary criticism – autofiction has been understood somewhat differently than would befit the etymology of the term (which would imply an autobiographically oriented work of literature with certain fictitious elements), and many works that could technically be described as autofiction were not placed into that category, most likely due to a lack of socio-political commentary. This is true of the works of Dora Kaprálová, for example; after her critically acclaimed collection Islands (Ostrovy, 2019), the author released Suffering and Other Genres (Utrpení a jiné žánry, 2022), a collection of short stories similarly characterised by the dreaminess and hypnotic observations of their autobiographical protagonist. In contrast to her previous book, which was formally quite unified, Dora Kaprálová experiments far more with the limits of short story writing in Suffering, with some stories even resembling stream of consciousness or prose poetry. Another author – Petr Borkovec – whose prose is similar in many ways to Kaprálová’s, published a pair of prose collections in a similar style: first the collection Petříček Sellier & Petříček Bellot (2019) and then a book by the name of To Pick Up a Stick (Sebrat klacek, 2021). Similarly to Dora Kaprálová, Borkovec makes use of distinctive observations, with a focus on extremely unique occurrences and (in particular) characters that the protagonist comes across. Moreover, Borkovec maintains a certain distinctive humour in his work, which he often makes use of in his descriptions of the Czech literary scene.

The topic of Czechia’s literary scene was approached, albeit far more scathingly, in Petra Hůlová’s novella Trump Card (Nejvyšší karta, 2023). The protagonist of this book is a writer and a feminist who ruminates on her own process of aging and waning interest from men, as well as the Czech cultural scene, even as far back as the 1990s. Petra Hůlová’s novel is autofiction in the full sense of the word – the author has evidently made use of autobiographical allusions to her own life, making it partially a roman-à-clef, though it’s impossible to draw a clear line between autobiographical and fictional elements.

Other significant works associated with autofiction include the novels Hella by Alena Machoninová (2023) and Plot Disruption by Emma Kausc (2024). Alena Machoninová, who until recently was active mostly as a translator and researcher in the field of Russian literature, has based her first novel around an investigation into the fate of Helena Frischerová, a Czech Jew, who has been made a central character once before in Jiří Weil’s novel Moscow—the Border (1937). In a fragmented, essayistically inclined text, Machoninová weaves together her own reflections on and findings about this woman, as well as about Russia, Moscow, literary translation, and Russian literature; at the same time, she describes her own position as a researcher and writer who, through nothing but old documents and memories, is attempting to understand a woman she could never have known. Emma Kausc’s Plot Disruption is an equally fragmented text in which the narrator, thirty-year-old Emma, explores her relationship with her missing partner, a photographer called Alyona. The text, packed with intertextual references and reflections on literature and other forms of art, plays out across multiple countries, as multiple storylines, touching upon a variety of themes, converge. Some of these themes (queer identity or the climate crisis, for example) could be described as supremely relevant, and through her novelistic examination of them, the author raises piercing questions on these topics, skilfully and without describing them from any predetermined ideological standpoint.

Both of these books have been described as autofiction, even though the socio-critical elements featured in both are nowhere near as prominent as in the works of Édouard Louis, for example (or even in Marek Torčík’s novel). As such, the autofiction status of both novels has become a source of doubt for literary critics; after all, even the authors themselves have described their novels as works of autofiction. This may have been due in part to the fact that both authors had long been moving in literary circles outside the Czech Republic and had thus interpreted autofiction differently. Alena Machoninová lived in Russia for many years and has translated many works of Russian literature, while Emma Kausc studied at university in London and evidently perceived autofiction primarily through the lens of English-language autofiction titles. Their novels and the debate surrounding them proves in any case that the concept of autofiction can be approached differently and with a variety of accents.

This idea was partially alluded to in David Zábranský’s much discussed novel Jů and Hele (Jů a hele, 2024). In this book, an author known for his controversial views and provocative literary works has put to the page his own diary from the period between May and September of 2021. Zábranský has seemingly decided to take the concept of autofiction a step further and publish an unadulterated novelistic autobiography, although the line between proverbial truth and poetic licence still remains hazy and, in reading it, one is forced to wonder to what extent the text is a diary and to what extent a stylised piece of prose. Throughout the novel, the writer exposits uncompromisingly, unpredictably, and unscrupulously about those close to him, about his literary process, about politics, and last but not least, about himself.

Furious literature

Thanks precisely to its ferocity, David Zábranský’s Jů and Hele forms a link between autofiction and another literary trend of recent years, which has not yet been given a label, however, and has not resonated quite as deeply. This trend is made up of novels or novellas founded in a grotesque, aggressive, polemical style of narration, such as Burnout by Petr Šesták (Vyhoření, 2023), Chocolate Blood by Radka Denemarková (Čokoládová krev, 2023), and The Most Beautiful City on Earth by Stanislav Biler (Nejkrásnější město na Zemi, 2024).

Radka Denemarková, who is at present likely the most successful Czech author internationally, based her novel Chocolate Blood on the life stories of three figures from the 19th century: Czech writer Božena Němcová, French writer George Sand, and capitalist John D. Rockefeller. The author takes carefully chosen episodes from their lives, which serve to demonstrate the destructiveness of capitalism, the disproportionate burdens faced by women, and the stagnation of social structures, and weaves them not only amongst themselves, but also amongst her own polemical, outspoken comments, with which she sets up parallels between the 19^th century and the present day. In his striking novella Burnout, Petr Šesták, who had already garnered attention with his novel Continuity in the Park (Kontinuita parku, 2021), captures a glimpse of a metropolis from the perspective of a deliveryman delivering food on his bike. The protagonist must weave his way through omnipresent traffic, commenting on the cars’ pollution of the city ever more furiously, until his physical exhaustion and surging temper eventually lead him to commit an extreme act. The protagonist of Stanislav Biler’s novel The Most Beautiful City on Earth also wanders around a city (in this case Brno) that, in the novel, becomes a dystopian space, in which it is impossible to take children to school or even, due to omnipresent road traffic, to cross the street. In a stream of monologues from characters that the protagonist meets, a multitude of themes parade past, each closely connected left-leaning viewpoints. Even so, this polyphony does not lead to any sense of catharsis or enlightenment; Biler has clearly taken inspiration from the unfinished and unending wanderings of the land surveyor K. in Franz Kafka’s The Castle. In fact, the same could be said of Biler’s previous novel Destruction (2021), for which the author was awarded the Magnesia Litera Prize.

Both of these works by Biler have been described as dystopian. In Czech literature (and even internationally) authors of recent years have resorted to this genre often. Two well-received prose debuts from 2024 might at least partially be considered dystopian: Kristina Hamplová’s novella Lover/Fighter and Jonáš Zbořil’s novella Flora. Hamplová has divided her first book into four parts, taking her characters from 2014 all the way through to the dystopian future of 2031, with violence and street fights acting as the driving force of the plot. With deft narration that has been described as both controversial and brazen, the author fashions a love story between her protagonist and a mysterious girl called Kendra, at the same time commenting cleverly and sarcastically on the novella’s small-town setting. Jonáš Zbořil’s Flora, however, in contrast to the more frenetic plot of Lover/Fighter, is focused and restrained. In a book full of literary and cultural references, the author lays out, in laconic and yet highly symbolic language, the journey of a childless couple to a prohibited zone known as the Barrens. Here they come across a strange, non-human creature which they begin to care for. Onto a story full of blind spots and narrative silences the author projects his interest in liminal spaces, which had already manifested in his previous poetic work.

Another text that could be counted amongst the dystopias is Klára Vlasáková’s highly successful prose debut Cracks (Praskliny, 2020), which begins with the premise of a levitating sphere appearing on Earth without any clear purpose and investigates how people in a fully automated world, desperate for anything that could give their lives some meaning, might react to this. Even more successful than Cracks – from the point of view of both readership interest and critical reception – was the writer and screenwriter’s second prose work Bodies (Těla, 2023). In this novel, Vlasáková makes human (or rather primarily female) aging her central theme. Although some of the novel’s narrative threads also echo dystopian motifs and even the theme of artificial fertilisation, for example, it is more focused on expressing an intimate experience of corporeality, the kind that becomes a burden, overlooked by those around you.

Family (micro)dramas and the fringes of society

In the period in question, prose works focusing on interpersonal relationships (mostly family ties or intimate relationships) and usually dysfunctional ones, made up a significant part of Czech prose and were especially popular with readers. Petra Soukupová has been a frequent and meticulous chronicler of these kinds of relationships, publishing three novels between 2020 and 2024: Things Whose Time Has Come (Věci, na které nastal čas, 2020), No One Is Alone (Nikdo není sám, 2022), and Marta Doesn’t Want Kids (Marta děti nechce, 2024). In each one the author has proven her ability to convincingly construct utterly ordinary situations that arouse mutual antipathy or frustration in her characters, but at the same time cannot be prevented or simply brought to a close. Moreover, in the last novel mentioned, Soukupová dealt with the theme of voluntary childlessness, a theme that Czech readers have grown increasingly interested in recently, though before then Czech readers could access this topic only in translation.

Another author continually examining close interpersonal relationships is Petra Dvořáková, who in 2020 published her novella Crows (Vrány) about a young girl whose ambitions are continuously trampled by her own parents. Around two years later, the author published her novella The Garden (Zahrada, 2022) about a priest returning to ‘normal’ life, and about the difficulties that he and those around him face. Her novel Wild Cherry Trees (Pláňata, 2023), also published during the period in question, alternates between the perspectives of various members of a family, reflecting (among other things) the regime change of the 1980s and 1990s in Czechoslovakia, albeit primarily on the level of family dynamics.

A common element of novels depicting distorted family ties is the gradual uncovering of some dark period in the family’s history. It was this premise that the equally popular writer Viktorie Hanišová used as the basis for her novel Sunday Afternoon (Neděle odpoledne, 2022), in which the main cast are led by a carefully guarded family secret past the boundaries of common society.

Of course, those living on the fringes of society have long been frequent participants in works of literature, and not only Czech ones. Although characters such as these have in the past decade usually been depicted in pubs over pints of beer or glasses of cheap booze, and as such the stories told about them have often slipped into romanticised pub ramblings, between 2020 and 2024 this type of character has begun to find themselves in the context of far grittier narratives.

These include (besides other prose examples) Daniel Hradecký’s Three Chapters (2020) and Elsa Aids’ Preparing for Everything (Přípravy na všechno, 2020). Both books, whose protagonists teeter on the edge of complete poverty, falling into alcoholism (Three Chapters) or else apathy (Preparing for Anything), have been enthusiastically received by critics, predominantly for their methods of narration and precise, razor-sharp language; both authors originally established themselves as poets, in fact. The same is true for Pavel Kolmačka, who in 2023 published his second novel Canto Ostinato. A polished, meditative text on the approach of death, examining in depth the closest of interpersonal relations, it brought the author both the Czech State Prize for Literature and the Jaroslav Seifert Prize. In 2024, the poet Pavel Novotný also published his first prose work. In his novella Grandma (Babička), which is in fact the fourth work in a five-part planned series otherwise made up of poetry collections, the author reminisces in a truly unique way about members of his family and his own childhood, reflecting the period of late Czechoslovak normalisation.

Back in time and back to the Sudetenland

In the previous decade another important section of Czech literature has been made up by the popular genre of historical fiction. Thanks to the work of talented authors like Alena Mornštajnová, Kateřina Tučková, and Jakuba Katalpa, the most common subject matter of historical novels in this period was the story of the so-called ‘little man’ in the background of great historical events. The authors mentioned above have set most of their stories in historical periods such as the Second World War, the introduction of Stalinism, and Czechoslovak normalisation, using these periods to demonstrate how ordinary people (or at least those with no obvious political power) have been ruthlessly ground down by the tempestuous circumstances of their time.

In 2021 Alena Mornštajnová published her alternate history novel November (Listopád), in which she imagined what might have happened if the Velvet Revolution had been quashed and the communist regime had continued to rule Czechoslovakia. Then, in 2023 she abandoned historical subject matter for the first time in her adult work and wrote a book about the traumatic experiences of a young girl who was sexually assaulted as a child by her own grandfather. During the decade in question, the exceptionally approachable work of this author, based often on tried-and-tested narrative techniques and well-known thematic formulas, has been enormously popular amongst readers and Alena Mornštajnová’s novels have continued to sell hundreds of thousands of copies.

Another author who found popularity amongst readers was Jakuba Katalpa with her novel Zuzana’s Breath (Zuzanin dech, 2020). An author whose previous works were unique in their narrative inventiveness, richness of language, and polished writing style, in this her fifth book she has focused her narrative on three characters, with the bulk of the story revolving around the horrors of war that they have experienced. Although she has written about the holocaust in her previous works, in Zuzana’s Breath the author has abandoned narrative variety for the sake of narrating linearly and in a realistic style.

Kateřina Tučková’s The White Water was published in 2022, ten years after her novel The Last Goddess (Žítkovské bohyně, 2012) made her into one of the most popular writers in the Czech Republic. Similarly to Tučková’s first novel, The White Water weaves together several narrative threads, of which one takes place between 2007 and 2008, while the rest of the book is set pre-Velvet Revolution in a nunnery located in the titular border town of Bílá Voda (lit. “white water”). In this book, with a narrative punctuated by fictional transcripts of contemporary historical sources, investigation reports, and newspaper articles, the author has mapped out the lives of a group of Czech nuns throughout the period of normalisation, thereby following on from her previous books about the heavy burdens faced by extraordinary women in the past century under the communist regime.

Another of the more successful pieces of historical fiction in recent years is Karin Lednická’s trilogy The Leaning Church (Šikmý kostel; each work published in 2020, 2021, and 2024 respectively). While Alena Mornštajnová and Jakuba Katalpa have mostly set their stories in well-known historical periods, in her books Karin Lednická has written about the lesser-known history of the Karviná region. The first entry in the trilogy goes back as far as 1894; historical events that have been more thoroughly mapped out by other authors, such as the Second World War, the postwar resettlement of Germans from Czechoslovakia, or the Czechoslovak communist putsch, were more or less covered by the second and third entries in the trilogy. Although Lednická has somewhat simplified certain historical events for the sake of plot construction, and the third entry in particular unfolds a little mechanically, her prose has not fallen into the oft repeated patterns of historical narratives that have been in use in Czech historical fiction for some time now, and so in this genre of literature she has stood out. Lednická has built her extensive body of work around family sagas and has skilfully made use of a multitude of characters, whose lives encapsulate the countless hardships caused by historical developments in the Karviná region.

Simona Bohatá has also set the majority of her prose works in the period of normalisation, albeit with less of an eye to the course of great historical events, focusing significantly more on the lives of those on the periphery, often specifically those from Prague’s Žižkov district (which was, during the period of normalisation, a working class area with its own distinctive character) as she did in her novel Lucky Beny (Klikař Beny, 2021).

The former Sudetenland, now the Czech borderlands, is another favourite setting for Czech historical prose. This region has made frequent appearances, mostly thanks to the fact that many of the events that played out on a larger scale elsewhere in Europe can be found here, concentrated into one small space. In the Sudetenland, one tends to find multiple ethnic and linguistic groups and spheres of influence, which collided and competed with one another over the first half of the 20th century, all in one place. For this reason, many historical novels have depicted the rise of Nazism, the growth in power of the ethnic German or German-speaking population, and the subsequent acts of revenge (for either real or imagined historical injustices) committed during the period of postwar resettlement. Some of the most important and most popular authors in the period in question who have chosen the Sudetenland as a setting for their prose are, for example, Jan Štifter (Peacock Feast [Paví hody], 2022; The Land of Molten Bells [Krajina roztavených zvonů], 2024), Anna Strnadová (…It Was Enough To Just Say Jáchymov […stačilo jen říct Jáchymov], 2021; Life on a Spider’s Thread [Život na pavoučím vlákně], 2024), and Alice Horáčková (A House Divided: The Story of a Sudeten Family [Rozpůlený dům: Příběh sudetské rodiny], 2022).

In the 2010s, novels chronicling the lives of specific historical figures made up one of the most popular types of historical fiction. In the period in question, one novel that can be placed in this category is Magdaléna Platzová’s Life After Kafka (Život po Kafkovi, 2022), a fragmented narrative that focuses on the life of Felice Bauer, the well-known fiancée of Franz Kafka and silent addressee of Kafka’s letters. In her book, Platzová has written not only about the life story of this woman, but also about her own role as a researcher and writer fascinated by Bauer’s life and the broader historical context surrounding it.

In the last decade in particular, a slew of novels set during the Second World War have been published and, from the point of view of Czech literature, this historical period now seems somewhat played out. Even so, in the first half of the 2020s, two novels set in this period appeared, which have differed in many ways from the WW2 prose of previous years.

The protagonist of Alexander Staffa’s debut novel Violence (Násilí, 2023; it’s worth noting that Staffa has published his debut at the age of seventy-five) is an ethnic German from Czechoslovakia who enlists in an SS unit. While the horrors of war that subsequently take place have been seen many times before in other novels, the book’s method of narration is particularly noteworthy, full of silences and dialogues that, when read, often leave one uncertain as to who is speaking with whom, as well as exceptionally expressive language.

In contrast to this, Eli Beneš’s literary debut A Slight Loss of Loneliness (Nepatrná ztráta osamělosti, 2023; for which the author was awarded the Magnesia Litera Prize in the Discovery of the Year category a year later) is narrated from the point of view of a Jewish boy, who is released from a concentration camp in May of 1945 and attempts to return to ‘normal’ life. This focus on postwar everyday life and experience, which other WW2 novels include only tangentially, is unusually present in Beneš’s debut and is one reason why he has received such significant attention.

The 1990s as a period of Czech history have remained somewhat overlooked in the first half of the 2020s. This transformative historical period offers significant potential both from the point of view of themes and of readership interest, as can be seen thanks to the international success of authors from other countries with an experience of Soviet occupation. It has been more broadly explored, for example, in the autobiographical book The True Way Out (Skutečná cesta ven, 2023) by Patrik Banga, who recently became the first Roma author to receive the Magnesia Litera, in the category of Discovery of the Year. In his book he has written about his upbringing in the 1990s, years mired in racism, but also about his own escape from his ghettoised surroundings, styling himself somewhat as a ‘self-made man’.

Genre fiction and the fringes of genre

Authors who write genre fiction enjoy a good deal of popularity, especially from readers. It’s worth mentioning the work of Leoš Kyša here, an author who publishes several books annually (both under his given name and his pseudonym František Kotleta). Also popular at the moment is the four-part young adult fantasy series The Listener (Naslouchač) by Petra Stehlíková; in the period in question, the third and fourth entries – Nasterea and Urla – were published (in 2021 and 2024 respectively). In the genre of urban fantasy, the Project Kronos trilogy by Pavel Bareš has also garnered a significant amount of attention (the final entry Kronos’ Legacy [Kronův odkaz] was published in 2021). Besides this series, Bareš has also written two other genre novels: Meta in 2020 and Jimmy the Sloth and his Back-up Band (Lenochod Jimmy & jeho backup band) in 2023. Jakub Hussar’s incredibly ambitious sci-fi novels (0 TU: Volume I, 2021, 0 TU: Volume II, also 2021, and X-Tal, 2024) have also been extremely successful, laying out an exceedingly elaborate fictional universe with a detailed history.

In addition to this, so-called ‘serious’ literature has in recent years begun to be infiltrated by horror fiction, mostly thanks to books like Ignis fatuus by Petra Klabouchová (2024) and Hammering Nails by Vilém Koubek (Zatloukání hřebů, 2024). Importantly for these kinds of books, the gap between so-called highbrow literature and genre fiction has at least partially closed in recent years and, from time to time, one of these genre fiction titles receives widespread acclaim from literary critics who otherwise engage exclusively with so-called ‘serious’ literature (as was the case with the aforementioned novels by Petra Klabouchová and Pavel Bareš, for example).

Another contribution towards bridging the gap between highbrow literature and genre fiction has been made, of course, by the fact that ‘serious’ authors continue to draw on the techniques of genre fiction. Anna Bolavá rooted her novel The Narrator (Vypravěč, 2022) in horror stories (or sometimes fairytales), at the same time effortlessly and originally making use of the unreliable narrator as a literary device. Zuzana Říhová offers a more straightforward (though very sharply written) story in her book Through Pins or Needles (Cestou špendlíků nebo jehel, 2021). Similarly to Anna Bolavá, the author has drawn on horror techniques, rooting this novel about a married couple moving to the countryside in the fairytale story of Little Red Riding Hood.

Another author associated with the use of genre fiction techniques is Miloš Urban, whose novels are usually based on specific genres – like the gothic novel, murder mystery, or horror story – as well as on the author’s own historical research. This is true in the case of Meat Factory (Továrna na maso, 2022), a book set in the abattoirs of Holešovice, a district of Prague. Nevertheless, his novel Dr. Alz (2024) is founded on a completely different narrative principle: the protagonist and narrator is an old man suffering from Alzheimer’s syndrome, who we see mixing up his words and forgetting things, with his attempts to resist the pernicious disease leading to a variety of tragicomic situations.

Postmodernism: is it still relevant?

Across the metaphorical court from first-rate literary bestsellers stands prose that experiments with form and language, prose without any obvious narrative arc, which makes its own construction its central theme. In the context of Czech literary criticism, books of this type have been described as postmodern for many years, despite the fact that the authors in question have often based their books on radically different premises from one another and, additionally, not all of the authors labelled as postmodern have drawn on techniques associated with postmodernism.

On the list of such authors the names Michal Ajvaz, Jiří Kratochvil, Daniela Hodrová, and Václav Kahuda usually appear. All of the above have published new works in the period in question, although in the case of Václav Kahuda and Daniela Hodrová these were their final works. Václav Kahuda published his vast and narratively opulent novel The Ferry (Prám, 2022) shortly before his death in July of the following year. In the case of Daniela Hodrová, the publication of her final book and time of her death were even closer: her final prose work What’s Coming or Journey to The Magic Mountain (Co přichází aneb Cesta na Kouzelný vrch 2024) came out just a few weeks before the author’s passing, with the author even reflecting in her final work upon her own mortality.

Between 2020 and 2024 Jiří Kratochvil published four books, with the author himself describing his short story collection Stranglers of the Goddess Kali (Škrtiči bohyně Kálí, 2022) as his final collection of short stories, and thus a farewell to prose in general. By the following year, however, the author had already sent another two prose works to the presses, both novelistic in scope: A Pocket Novel for Pickpockets (Kapesní román pro kapsáře, 2023) and The Tramp or What The Halfwits Spoke Of (Klošár aneb Co si mamlasové povídali, 2023), both of which came first and foremost from Kratochvil’s own narrative playfulness. It must be pointed out, however, that after Kratochvil was awarded the Magnesia Litera in 2019 for his book Fox Into Lady (Liška v dámu) – and in 2023 added the State Prize for Literature to his extensive list of awards – interest in his work has unmistakably waned, and the aforementioned books received a rather quiet reception upon release, the same being true to a certain extent for his short story collection You Can’t Step Twice into the Same River (Nevstoupíš dvakrát do téže řeky, 2020).

Things went differently in the case of Michal Ajvaz, however, who published, after his enormous, over seven-hundred-page novel Cities (Města) in 2019, a more than four-hundred-page novel called Passages (Pasáže) in 2024. Similarly to Jiří Kratochvil, Ajvaz has also kept to the tried-and-tested literary style and narrative techniques of his previous works. Several pervading storylines interweave throughout the novel, dealing with questions of art and creativity, attacking them from a variety of angles and through various means, but also touching upon things like artificial intelligence and the new perspectives that it can bring to the creative process. This book, which might be referred to as a truly postmodernist work, elicited a widespread and generally favourable critical response overall, and though the number of truly experimental narratives in Czech literature (which are still collectively and often inaccurately described by critics as postmodern) has noticeably declined in recent years, the sun has evidently not yet set on this chapter of Czech prose.

Miroslav Hlaučo has made a notable contribution to the more playful side of postmodernism with his debut novel Whitsun (2024). This incredibly successful book, which was picked up on by various reader opinion polls shortly after its publication, and for which the author was awarded two Magnesia Litera Awards (Book of the Year and Debut of the Year), is set at the beginning of the 20th century in a fictional Czech town. The novel is based on the premise that in this remote little backwater miracles still take place, but with the onset of the 20th century the town must submit to rationality and order, with the story depicting this process through grotesque and even carnivalesque narration.

Another author who has drawn on postmodern narrative techniques is Petr Stančík, who has in no way departed from his thriving, playful, hyperbolic style of writing, for which evocative description and exaggeration are more important than the logical development of the story, in any of his recent works. The author maintained this approach in his novel Pravomil (2021) about the life of Czech war hero Pravomil Raichl, presenting the life story of a real historical individual, albeit with a heavy dose of poetic license and stylisation. In a certain sense it can be said that, in his most recent novel Initiation by Darkness (Zasvěcení temnotou, 2024), the author seems to have already completely abandoned narrative logic: characters experience extreme trauma practically without any reaction, and the treasure hunt upon which the novel is founded serves entirely as a mechanism to get the sprawling, grotesque narrative underway.

Well-established names, well-established methods

Petr Stančík is a good example of a writer with a clearly defined authorial signature, a writing style from which they rarely diverge. Jiří Hájíček is another, an author whose novels are most often set in Southern Bohemia, leading to him frequently being described as a chronicler of Czech village life. After Hájíček concluded his “loose trilogy of moral disquiet” in 2016 with his novel The Rainstick (Dešťová hůl), he published his novel Sailing Ships on Labels (Plachetnice na vinětách, 2020). In contrast to his previous novels, which featured protagonists delving into the past in search of injustices committed by communist regime, this novel about a female university professor orients itself more towards the present. The same goes for his novel Dragon on a Dirt Road (Drak na polní cestě, 2024), in which Hájíček tells the tale of a small rural homestead being taken over by a powerful corporate group. Bianca Bellová is another author with a recognisable signature, though her books (usually novellas) take place across a variety of settings. In her short story collection These Fragments (Tyhle fragmenty, 2021) the author showcased her ability to alternate between different narrative perspectives and flesh out a variety of diverse characters and situations in a relatively small number of pages. Then, in her novella The Island (Ostrov, 2022), set during the early modern period of the Persian Empire, the author dealt uniquely with the theme of narratorial joy and freedom as shown through literature, as well as the power of storytelling. Ondřej Štindl followed up on his previous literary publications with his books Until You Get Dizzy (Až se ti zatočí hlava, 2020) and So Much Ash (Tolik popela, 2022): both novels stood on relatively simple foundations (specifically an ideological, or rather generational, conflict between two characters), but Štindl managed to redirect them towards surprising narrative reversals and conclusions. In the course of each story, characters that were initially at each other’s throats gradually find their way to an understanding of each other, though without the narrative losing its internal logic or plausibility, with both books additionally standing out due to their unmistakable narrative pace and linguistic rhythm.

And last but not least… short stories

In Czech literature, novels have long been more successful than short stories. This applies to both success amongst literary critics, who mostly pay attention to longer prose works, and amongst the juries of literary prizes, who usually place more value on lengthier tomes, as well as to the interest of the public, thanks to whom it is novels that are more commercially successful.

Nevertheless, despite novels being considerably more popular than short prose, short story collections continue to be published and some have even received substantial acclaim from critics: Viktor Špaček’s An Impeccable Life in Humility (2022), which focuses mostly on the lives of male outcasts, received the Magnesia Litera in 2023, as did J. A. Pitínský’s Household Goods two years later, a collection of short, sharply written, and narratively playful prose. The aforementioned Suffering and Other Genres by Dora Kaprálová also received a positive reception, as did Ondřej Škrabal’s Journey to the Billboard (Cesta k billboardu, 2022), a collection of witty short stories set in the global context that frequently makes notable use of real political or social causes. Jan Němec’s collection Lilliputin (2022) presented an interesting contribution to the medium of short prose: in a series of thematically linked stories the author comments on the war in Ukraine, both from the perspective of those following the war from afar and of those who are right at its epicentre. It should also be added that the book was published just months after war broke out and, as such, serves as a sort of experiment by the author into how events that have happened so close to the time of writing should be written about. The short story collection A Thousand Plateaus (Tisíce plošin, 2020) by Sylva Fischerová also received a good deal of attention. The book’s title (a reference to the well-known philosophical text by Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari), as well as the author’s academic background in ancient philosophy and literature, might indicate a text exceptionally demanding of the reader. But even if Fischerová experiments formally in her book, her stories are still based primarily in clear, grounded dialogues. Matěj Hořava’s Stopover (Mezipřistání, 2020) is a special case among short story collections. The short chapters of this fragmented book can be read as individual stories (in fact, some were even published as such) which come together to create a sort of panorama of the (autobiographical) narrator’s experiences during his time living in Georgia, where he works as a teacher, interwoven with echoes of his own past.

The present overview of Czech prose from 2020 to 2024 is selective and, by that metric, not comprehensive. Its main ambition is to review the most prominent publications – those books which were most discussed, and which resonated most within the Czech literary scene, or else acted as inspiration for other authors. If another person had put together this overview, the selection of books and their characterisations would undoubtedly differ. I maintain, however, that a different selection of books would still reflect a certain trajectory that can be traced across the period in question. Although this selection is (as was said at the very beginning of this text) particular, it is still able to indicate where it is that Czech prose writing is heading. In regard to autofiction, the strengthening trend among Czech authors of writing about relevant socio-political issues (which in fact concerns far more than just ‘autofiction’ titles) should be stressed. The aforementioned quartet of polemical books have all clearly aimed to address their readers directly about how our present socio-political situation should be viewed, which could also be said of those books working with dystopian themes, in fact. This distinct focus on the content of literary works has gone hand in hand with a clear departure from formalist games and narrative experimentation, which in the past two decades or so have been mostly exhausted and in the majority of cases are now simply being replicated. At the same time, the popularity of prose writers depicting crucial historical periods and turning points from the 20th century, which was strongest in the last decade or decade and a half, is to a certain extent waning. Other trends, however, persist: an interest in everyday banalities could be mentioned as the most obvious example. This all serves to affirm the thesis laid out in the introduction – that is, that Czech prose writing during the years in question has been not only excellent and ambitious, but also vibrant and manifold.

Translated from the Czech by Samuel Dix

In recent months and years, comics for children and young adults have been experiencing one of their more buoyant and dynamic periods. At least in the Anglo-American cultural sphere, they have been receiving more and more attention from critics and readers alike; hardly a month goes by without a renowned publishing house announcing the creation of another dedicated imprint or division; and as far as sales are concerned, comic books for children and young adults – or, as modern parlance has it , the “YA” audience – have managed to see off competition from all other comic-book genres and categories: so, for example, when Guts, the latest semi-autobiographical graphic novel by Raina Telgemeier (whose books have been brought out in Czech by Paseka), was launched with a million-copy first print run in September 2019, it did not just become the best-selling comics of the week in question, but the best-selling book full stop. Comics for children and young adults have also ventured into areas they had previously steered clear of and have not shied away from difficult subject matter – as well as the more obvious issues connected with adolescence, they have increasingly tackled identity and otherness (construed in various ways) or having to cope with a family crisis, a serious illness or the death of a close relative. And on top of that, they have continued to serve up a hearty dose of cheerful pictorial entertainment – much of it still about funny animals, but frequently more complex and sophisticated than used to be the case.

These trends have been mirrored in the Czech market for children’s books and comics, and so in recent years there has been a significant increase in the number of translations published in this category (and with it the number of publishers incorporating this kind of work into their editorial plans). In the domestic sphere, this wave coming in from abroad has met and merged with local developments prompted by the situation in this country: around the year 2010, Czech comics creators also gradually began turning to the child or adolescent reader, who had not been well catered for between 2000 and 2009 (as discussed in part one). The revitalization of Czech comics for children and young adults that can be observed with delight in recent years thus has its roots both at home and abroad and is connected with the desire of a number of talented creators to create new and interesting content for the child reader as well as with broader changes in the domestic comics cultural sphere.

Comics within magazines for children and young adults

If it was true that, with a few exceptions, the comics content of magazines for children and young adults from the first decade of the 21st century did not offer anything particularly engaging and did not amount to more than purely disposable, utilitarian reading material, a clear qualitative and quantitative shift can be said to have taken place in the following decade. Although translated content continued (and still continues) to be treated in a casual, rather unsystematic way (for example, in the spring of 2019 My Little Pony trotted back into Mateřídouška), between 2010 and 2019 there was plenty of original comics output as well, much of it conceived in a functional and successful way. Traditional periodicals like Sluníčko (Little Sun) and Mateřídouška (Thyme) increasingly began to make use of regular cartoon characters as mascots, and the series Líza a Pupík (Lisa and Tum), written by Eva Bavorová and drawn by Tomáš Suder (which came out in Sluníčko), as well as the tales of a pair of meerkats produced by Libor Drobný, Suri & Kata (Meera and Katy, from the magazine Mateřídouška) went on to prove their enduring appeal with book extensions or compendiums. Their adventures have thus managed to transcend the time frame of the periodical and become a more stable part of the culture of children’s comics in the Czech Republic.

Suri & Kata (Meera and Katy)

In comparison to the beginning of the millennium, when the range of children’s magazines on offer basically stagnated, the period from 2010 to 2019 also saw relatively dynamic changes in this area, which has witnessed an unprecedented expansion in recent years. New magazines like Báječná školka, Nedělníček, Primáček, Puntík and Tečka often advertise comics content right on the front cover and delight in casting cartoon characters in a prominent role as a regular guide to the magazine: in Báječná školka (Fabulous Kindergarten) this has long been the job of the pixies Matýsek a Majdalenka (the scripts by Marie Kšajtová are transformed into comic strips by Antonín Šplíchal), while the pages of the magazine Puntík (Dot) have become home to a prehistoric duo with a rather uninspired name, Dino a Saura by Vendula Hegerová.

A completely new format for this type of children’s reading material is represented by magazines produced outside traditional bricks-and-mortar periodicals publishers as an alternative to mainstream production, which is often viewed by the creators of these magazines as being too commercial, overly slick and banal. Magazines like Hrana (Let’s Play, published from 2012 to 2015) or Raketa (Rocket, since 2014) are largely devoid of advertising, compose individual issues around a theme and build on more active involvement from the reader and more imaginative (and as far as artistic quality is concerned, more consistent and reliable) content. With Hrana, constructed around the tales of three children, Dorka, Prokop, Šíma, the lead comic strip (as well as other artistic content) was produced by Magdalena Bořkovcová, while Raketa features a number of comic strips, with recurring series including Nikkarin’s Dobrodružství Rockyho & Terky (The Adventures of Rocky and Terka), Doktor Racek (drawn by Lukáš Urbánek based on scripts by Milada Rezková) and Matylda a Růžovej vlk (Matilda and the Pink Wolf) by Petra Josefína Stibitzová and Jana Šrámková.

Raketa (Rocket)

The sector of magazines aimed at young adults has developed much more slowly, but even here comics have started to play a more important role again. A regular spot was traditionally set aside for cartoon strips in Scout magazines (drawn by artists such as Jiří Petráček, Miroslav Schönberg, Tomáš Chlud and Jan Smolík), and at least a few pages of comics content were incorporated into the monthly magazine Časostroj (Time Machine), founded in 2011, with the subtitle “a fun journey into history” (again with visuals by Smolík and Chlud). One deviation from established editorial policies was the inclusion of Dan Černý’s teen series Jelita (Puddings) in the magazine Bravo, which had traditionally tended to be free of comics. However, when it came to youth-oriented comic output published in magazines, the lion’s share was provided by a fixture of the Czech periodicals market, the fortnightly ABC – according to its subtitle, “a magazine for the 21st-century generation”.

ABC, whose editor-in-chief has been Zdeněk Ležák since 2010, set itself the goal of carrying on the legacy of the famous series of the 1970s and 80s and once again began to place greater emphasis on sequential comics content published in instalments. This declaration of allegiance to an illustrious comics past was affirmed most openly by new work scripted by Vlastislav Toman, who was editor-in-chief at ABC throughout Normalization and himself produced a number of legendary stories during that time. The question of whether fairly traditionally conceived cycles like Malý Bůh – čas Kruana (Little God – The Time of Kruan) or Příběhy psané střelným prachem (Stories Written in Gunpowder) can appeal to a wider readership than just those who remember the original prototypes with nostalgia is debatable; nevertheless, they provide clear evidence of the editorial ambition of affirming the continuity of the magazine’s comics content (which is also reflected in another “comeback”: the aeronautical comic strip Král vzduchu [King of the Air], which was drawn by Michal Kocián based on a script by another “stalwart of ABC during Normalization”, Václav Šorel). In addition, the old hand Vlastislav Toman constantly makes an effort to come up with new subject matter: in 2019, for example, the magazine published an attempt to resuscitate the otherwise moribund genre of “boys club comics” Parta z bílých domů (The White Towers Gang, artwork by Jiří Filípek).

Nevertheless, apart from these works harking back to the magazine’s glorious past, ABC also carried a large amount of new, original comics content in the decade in question. All kinds of variations on the genre of the adventure story were produced for the fortnightly publication, for example, by the writer Martin Šinkovský and the cartoonist T762 (the detective stories developing a wryly humorous cycle about two detectives Prokop & Buben, or a series about an ancient clash between the Celts and the Romans, Mlžný ostrov zbarvený do ruda [A Misty Island Tinged With Red]); Matyáš Namai drew the martial-arts-inspired story Mistr Šao-linu (Shaolin Master) based on a script by Eduard Štěpař; and Petr Macek (script) and Petr Kopl (artwork) attempted an original take on an urban and pop-culture legend (Pérák: Oko budoucnosti [Spring-heeled Man: the Eye of the Future]) as well as the most famous classic of the “sword and sorcery” fantasy genre in the series Conan a jeskyně života (Conan and the Cave of Life). Jiří Tesař has repeatedly featured in the magazine with self-penned comics (e.g. Tajuplný ostrůvek [The Mysterious Little Island]) as well as collaborations where he only took the role of script writer (e.g. the cycles created with the cartoonist Veronika Sýkorová Zapadlé království [The Forgotten Kingdom] and Co číhá pod vodou [What Lurks Beneath the Water]); and the aforementioned Zdeněk Ležák also made his debut as a scripter with the educational historical series Stopa legionáře (The Trail of a Legionary, artwork by Michal Kocián) on the pages of “his” magazine – more will be said of his other comics work below.

Čtyřlístek, its challenger, and attempts at an “American-style” comic book

In the decade in question, Čtyřlístek (Four-leaf Clover) remained the only homegrown magazine for children that was truly exclusively comics-based, but – as with ABC, described above – it can be said to have undergone a distinct revitalization (and rejuvenation) too. After Jan Endrýs became its editor-in-chief in 2011, the magazine expanded its circle of regular collaborators to take in creators from the younger generation (including several members of “Generation Zero”), who helped to restore some of the earlier originality and appeal to the otherwise slightly stagnating magazine. So, apart from the basically unchanging, time-and-trend-resistant title series about four animal friends from the small town of Třeskoprsky, which even in the fifth decade of its existence was still being drawn by Jaroslav Němeček, the magazine also began to carry work by other artists that was more modern in its conception and represented a refreshing variety of genres and artistic styles: Dan Černý (a warm and funny pastiche of superhero stories from the world of insects, Tryskošnek [Jetsnail]), Tomáš Chlud (the historical quests of two brothers and a robot Cyril a Mikuláš [Cyril and Nicholas]), Lucie Neisnerová (the emancipated female pirate captain Isabela, královna Karibiku [Isabella, Queen of the Caribbean]), Filip Škoda (the prehistoric scallywags Pazourek a Zoubek [Flint and Fang]), Petr Kopl (the serialized wizarding epic Morgavsa & Morgana) and Nikkarin (Hubert & Hugo, a comic strip inspired by the world of computer games and modern pop culture). Apart from the basic series of sixteen issues (or rather twenty, since four editions were brought out in a double-length format and are listed as double issues), the Čtyřlístek universe also developed spin-off magazines: between 2012 and 2019 the puzzle magazine Čtyřlístek Speciál was joined by a quarterly magazine targeted at girls, Ahoj, tady Fifi (Hi, Fifi Here), which, as well as the story of the eponymous Fifinka of Třeskoprsky, provided another publishing opportunity for Dan Černý (with the series Tritonky [Tritons]).

The “comics review for girls and boys” Bublifuk (Bubble Blower), which was dreamt up by Klára Smolíková and published by Triton from the end of 2015, could be ascribed the role of a kind of magazine contender/challenger which aimed to offer a fully comics-based alternative to the traditional Čtyřlístek. The strong authorial line-up consisting mainly of experienced creators from the younger generation (e.g. Kateřina Čupová, Lukáš Fibrich, Karel Jerie, Petr Kopl, Tomáš Kučerovský, Viktor Svoboda, Vojtěch Šeda, Martin Šinkovský, T762 and Petr Šrédl) offered readers an impressive array of new series; nevertheless, the magazine was beset with difficulties from the outset. Instead of an expensive magazine distribution network, it opted to sell direct to customers in bookshops, but many of them did not know how to display the small, slim booklets; the effort to ensure the greatest possible diversity turned out to be rather problematic (some artists found it very difficult to work within the limited number of pages provided to them); and even a quarterly rate of publication proved to be too low. A few years later, the first ambitious attempt at a new anthological children’s comic magazine came to an end after just eight issues in February 2018, and unfortunately most of the series that were underway have remained incomplete.

Bublifuk (Bubble Blower)

Greater longevity and popularity with readers was ultimately enjoyed by two projects which attempted to transpose the publishing model of the “American comic book” (i.e. a magazine of about 24–32 pages with dimensions of roughly 19 × 25 cm) to the Czech setting. As a local paraphrase of the signature superhero genre, the series (and magazine of the same name) Dechberoucí Zázrak (Breathtaking Marvel) by scripter Petr Macek and cartoonist Petr Kopl took on the difficult task of trying to provide original content that was not built on strong franchises underpinned by feature films or merchandising while competing with the translated superhero series that were being regularly published at the same time. Between 2015 and 2017, this monthly magazine published by the Czech News Center (which is also responsible for the daily tabloid Blesk [Flash]) totalled 25 issues, and even though it failed to avoid some fluctuation in the quality of the scripts and artwork, it still convincingly demonstrated both the ability of the creators to produce a regular monthly series and the willingness of the Czech comic-reading public to support a project of this kind.

One comic that stood apart from the usual Czech categories of genre and form was Jirka – komiks Jirky Krále (Jirka – Jirka Král’s Comic), which first came out in 2016. This magazine, which captures entertaining everyday episodes in the life of a successful Youtuber in drawings by Pavla Navrátilová, is virtually the only Czech contribution to the genre of the celebrity comic, which last made a significant appearance in this country in the early 1990s in the form of a translated series about the boy band New Kids on the Block. The child and adolescent readership of this magazine may well be recruited outside the circle of the usual comics readers, but because of its conspicuous and continuous presence on the market (by the end of 2019, the 43rd issue had been published and two book anthologies had also come out) it cannot be overlooked – and it is quite possible that for many young readers Jirka plays the role of a kind of “gateway” comic, as Čtyřlístek has done for decades, providing them with an entry point to other (thankfully, often more accomplished) sequential storytelling through pictures and words.

A flood of (often educational) books

In spite of the exceptions mentioned above, purely comics-based magazines – whether anthological or, following the American model, single-series – did not turn out to be a particularly productive and durable platform in the local conditions either (recently, even long-running translated series like Kačer Donald [Donald Duck] and Star Wars have come to an end). Since 2010 the role of the key publishing format that has been most successful in communicating with its readers and helping reprinted work to reach a wider audience has increasingly been taken on by comic anthologies and books. The wave of collected or selected reprints making high-quality 20th-century Czech comic strips available has continued or perhaps even intensified, and as was mentioned before, there has been a rapid increase in the number of translated titles too. Compared to the previous decade, it has become increasingly common for collected editions of comics to come out in parallel in specialized and non-specialized magazines. For example, of the aforementioned comics, the following cycles have been published in book form: Líza a Pupík, Suri & Kata, Matýsek a Majdalenka, Jelita, Mlžný ostrov zbarvený do ruda, Pérak: Oko budoucnosti, Tryskošnek, Morgavsa & Morgana and Doktor Racek, and other volumes are being prepared for publication.

In addition, there have also been lengthy comics for children and young adults originally published in book form, even though some of these books may have been based on a popular template in another medium. For example, there were numerous comics adaptations or extensions of children’s television cartoons: publications of this kind include Žížaláci (The Wormies) by Jaromír Gál (2011), O Kanafáskovi (Tales of Dimity) by Galina Miklínová (2012), Tarbíci a Marabu (The Gerbils and the Marabou) by Martina Komárková and Bára Dlouhá (2012) and Bílá paní na hlídání (The White Lady Nanny) by Petr Friedl and Pavel Brycz with visuals by an artist who signs himself Vhrsti (2013). Between 2015 and 2018 the cartoonist Martin Krejčí devoted not one but three albums to the rabbits Bob and Bobek, originally by Vladimír Jiránek. Further out on the margins of comics output are books in which stills from the original animations are arranged into comic-strip panels: in 2015 Večerníčkův pohádkový špalíček (Večerníček’s Treasury of Tales), published to mark the fiftieth anniversary of the titular television programme Večerníček (Bedtime Stories), offered several dozen such pseudo-comics stories.

However, most homegrown book-mediated comics for children and young adults belong to a different genre: the vast majority of Czech comics for this age category published on a standalone basis are not only attempting to engage and entertain their readers, but also to educate them. The plethora of educational comics for children and young adults published between 2010 and 2019 can be explained both by creators’ and publishers’ awareness of the high commercial potential of these books (based on the logic that “parents will buy it for their errant offspring”) and by the prevailing but problematic tendency of domestic cultural policy (and its grant programmes) to focus on “big national anniversaries”. Unfortunately, this logic all too often results in the quality of the artwork together with the skill and sophistication of the visuals and scripts taking a back seat to the effort to “bring out something in time to tie in with Charles IV (Jan Hus, 100 years of the Republic, the 30th anniversary of the Velvet Revolution, etc.)”.

These kind of entertaining-and-instructive or unapologetically educational comics can be divided into several categories based on their formal techniques or chosen subject matter. By far the most numerous are works drawing on (mainly national) history and capturing its major milestones and key figures. Apart from Jiří Černý, whose recent books have embraced the legacy of Obrázky z českých dějin a pověstí (Pictures from Czech History and Legends) by Pavel Zátka, Jiří Černý and Jiří Kalousek (such as Obrázky z československých dějin [Pictures from Czechoslovak History], on which Jaroslav Veis collaborated as scripter and Barbara Šalamounová drew the artwork, 2011, or Obrázky z moderních československých dějin /1945–1989/ [Pictures from Modern Czechoslovak History /1945–1989/] with visuals by the cartoonist Lukáš Fibrich), the most productive originator of this kind of work in terms of quantity is the aforementioned Zdeněk Ležák. His popularizing retellings frequently combine comics segments with commentary in the form of illustrated prose and have involved collaborations with various artists: Michal Kocián, Petr Holub, Jakub Dušek, Jiří Zimčík, Jonáš Ledecký. Between 2014 and 2019 he managed to produce and publish a dozen of them through various publishing houses (apart from the two volumes of the aforementioned Stopa legionáře, there were the titles Ve jménu Husa – Zrození kalicha [In the Name of Hus – The Birth of the Chalice], Karel IV. – Pán světa [Charles IV – Master of the World], Tři králové [Three Kings], Kronika bolševismu [A Chronicle of Bolshevism], TGM [Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk], 100 let Československa v komiksu [100 Years of Czechoslovakia in Comics], Sametová revoluce [The Velvet Revolution], Stalin: Krutý vládce Ruska [Stalin: Russia’s Cruel Ruler], Kronika nacismu [A Chronicle of Nazism] and Jan Žižka – Boží bojovník ve jménu Husa [Jan Žižka – A Holy Warrior in the Name of Hus]). Unfortunately, the quality or sophistication of these projects seems to correspond to the quantity; nevertheless, “parental” support, which translates into commercial success, has ensured that this source of a petrified image of history is unlikely to dry up any time soon.

Zdeněk Ležák and Michal Kocián. Photo: klubknihomolu.cz

Fortunately, there are also other artists working in Czech comics for children and young adults who have turned their hand to national history: notably, in recent years the aforementioned well-established duo of Martin Šinkovský and T762 have come up with several interesting comics in which key moments in national history are generally seen through the eyes of ordinary people – in many cases, citizens residing outside the capital (such as 1918 Budoucnost ve vlastních rukách – 1968 Procitnutí do temnoty [1918 The Future in Our Own Hands – 1968 Awakening to Darkness], 2018, or Trikolora [Tricolour], 2019); back in 2012 a remarkable comic-book biography, Antonín Dvořák, was brought out by one of the most respected contemporary Czech illustrators, Renáta Fučíková; other compelling works include the “Hussite” books by Jan Smolík and Klára Smolíková, which came about through a collaboration with museums in Tábor, Husinec and Třebíč (Husité [Hussites], 2012, Jak se staví mesto [How to Build a City], 2014, and Husův dům [The House of Hus], 2015). With other projects – such as the series Češi (Czechs), based on television scripts by Pavel Kosatík – their age targeting is manifest, but they are still among the most interesting things to come out of Czech historical comics in recent years. Also to be commended are two book extensions of the television series Sám v muzeu (Alone in the Museum) in which stories of exhibits from Czech museums by Petra Braunová were given the Jan “Hza” Bažant treatment.

A separate niche of educational comics is made up of books about art: in many cases comics play only a subsidiary part in them; however, they are frequently more successful in combining their didactic and entertainment roles than their counterparts dealing with national history. Probably the most successful work of this kind, Proč obrazy nepotřebují názvy (Why Paintings Don’t Need Names) by Ondřej Horák and Jiří Franta (2014), manages to organically blend a detective story about a theft in a gallery with an everyday story of two siblings spending an afternoon in town with their grandparents and in the process, almost as an aside, explain a great deal about modern art.

Of course, comic books from other genres also crop up from time to time: adventure or science-fiction tales for young adults meet with attempts to take up the mantle of Jaroslav Foglar (whether in the form of a new trilogy by the scripter Josef Blažek and the cartoonist Jiří Filípek from 2017/2018, or an anthological volume of tributes to Rychlé šípy a jejich úžasná nová dobrodružství [The Fast Arrows and Their Wonderful New Adventures] edited by Tomáš Prokůpek in 2018), and there have been efforts to attract very young readers to comics with playful adventures about all kinds of cartoon animals. One unique artist who stands apart from these traditional genre categories but right at the epicentre of readers’ interest is Pavel Čech, who between 2010 and 2019 divided his talents among comics, picture books and fine art. Two of his titles clearly aimed at child or adolescent readers which deserve a mention are a humorous and playful series featuring a Red Indian, Dobrodružství Rychlé Veverky (The Adventures of Fast Squirrel, since 2013, five albums so far), and especially the magnum opus Velké dobrodružství Pepíka Střechy (The Great Adventure of Pepík Střecha, 2012). This 200-page comic book about the trials and tribulations of adolescence and the importance of taking one’s life into one’s own hands represented a major milestone – not only for the Čech’s work, but also for Czech comics for children and young adults in general: it was the very first work of this kind to be awarded a Magnesia Litera prize.

Pavel Čech

Bright prospects

The Magnesia Litera for Pepík Střecha can be correlated with other events and systemic changes which in the period under observation signalled a partial re-evaluation of the approach and attitude of the Czech cultural scene and its institutions to the comic in general, and to its offshoot for children and young adults in particular. Comics for very young readers have been newly designated a separate category in the Golden Ribbon awards conferred by the Czech branch of IBBY, and after years of being overlooked they have also started to achieve recognition from the sector’s Muriel awards. Within the context of Ministry of Culture grant programmes, it is now possible to apply for funding for publishing comic books through a separate grant commission; it is becoming increasingly common for museums and galleries to make use of children’s comics within various exhibition projects; and comic-book titles are regularly showing up in the authoritative selection of Nejlepší knihy dětem (The Best Books for Children). Given the diversity of artists and subject matter, the range of genres and the growing interest from readers, the media and critics, there is every reason to believe that Czech comics for children and young adults will continue to flourish in the decade to come.

To provide an overview of Czech poetry from 2010 to 2020 in the usual way – i.e. by searching for key events, trends, currents, and styles – is by no means a straightforward task. Not that these events and trends were not already discernible at the end of 2020; they were, but the problem lies in the fact that they are not sufficient. It is difficult to define Czech poetry from recent years based on similar poetics or shared ideas. So rather than a detailed map, this text will be more of an aerial image capturing the general drift of individual features and passing over a number of details and differences.

The start of the first decade of the new millennium marked the tail end of discussions within the contemporary Czech poetry scene about socially engaged poetry, with attitudes finally being openly refined regarding its social role. What sparked interest were new trends (conceptual poetry, environmental poetry) which were starting to attract increased attention in the somewhat conservative Czech literary environment. But the most significant change to occur on the Czech literary scene within this decade was due to something beyond its control – the relentless totality of time. Within a relatively short period of time, several notable poets exited the scene forever; figures who had helped shape it over the decades, who were looked up to as great authorities, and who, in some cases, had still been actively contributing towards it till their last days (which is why this article will be structured according to generational lines, or even age/sociological generations, rather than purely literary generations).

The Greats Bow Out

A significant number of poets born back in the 1920s and 1930s left us: Zdeněk Rotrekl, Ludvík Kundera, Bohumila Grögerová, and Zbyněk Hejda. Practically the entire ‘Thirty-Six’ group disappeared, including its most famous member, Václav Havel (along with Jiří Kuběna, Viola Fischerová, and Josef Topol). Nearly all of the ‘1960s generation’ also departed – poets who had come to prominence during the ‘thaw’ of the Communist regime between 1960 and 1968: Jiří Gruša, Antonín Brousek, Pavel Šrut, Stanislav Dvorský, Zeno Kaprál, and Petr Král. Throughout the 2010s, Král had been one of the most artistically active members of this generation, an important voice in contemporary discussions (his essays and critiques are contained in the extensive volume Vlastizrady (Treasons, 2015), and also a great influence on a number of poets from the younger generation (Jakub Řehák in particular) with his post-surrealist poetics.

We also lost some prominent figures from the underground movement of the 1970s and 1980s, and with them their characteristic vigour and provocative expression straddling intimacy, the grotesque, politics, and spirituality. With his collections Semeniště zmrdů (A Breeding Ground of Fuckers, 2012) and Teteliště zmrdů (A Den of Fuckers, 2012), Milan Kozelka (1948–2014) managed to influence several poets from the youngest generation (especially Jan Těsnohlídek), who, among other things, took on board the idea of poetry having a socio-critical function. In Ivan M. Jirous (1944–2011) we lost an incredibly complex as well as influential character who served as a role model of authenticity with his uncompromising attitudes. Jirous even influenced poetry after 2010 with his posthumously published collections – Úloža, 2013; Magorův noční zpěv (Magor’s Night Singing), 2013; and Akrostichy (Acrostics), 2015.

Living Memory

The distinction of the doyen of Czech poetry goes to the still-active and prolific Karel Šiktanc (b. 1928), whose poetry collections continue to cultivate the sophisticated lyricism of language which confidently develops the heritage of Modernist poetry and carefully examines perhaps all stylistic levels of the Czech language. In his collections Horniny (Minerals, 2016) and Ubírati se (To Proceed, 2018), the poet notices metropolitan (i.e. Prague) mundanity, into which he allowsboth a trace of metaphysics and the existential weight of human fate to penetrate through fissures of fragmentary compositions.

From the aforementioned 1960s’ generation, it is Ivan Wernisch (b. 1942) who has made the deepest impression on contemporary poetry and continues with his whimsical and dreamlike postmodern poetics filled with allusions and mystification. With the collections S brokovnicí pod kabátem (With a Shotgun Under His Coat, 2014), Tiché město (The Silent City, 2016), and Pernambuco (2018), the poet has only intensified the characteristic metaliterary distancing of his poetic statement and ironic sneer at poetry as an area of a priori values and grandeur. Not least, for Wernisch the 2010s were a period of reminiscence and a return to his earliest years as a poet with an enthusiasm for the exoticism, absurdity, and playfulness of poetry. Miloslav Topinka (b. 1945) reminded us of his presence on the literary scene with a selection from his modest number of poetry collections, published under the title Probouzení (Awakening, 2015), to which he added the new cycle “Prosvítání” (Enlightenment), in which he continues his lyrical examination of the ties between human existence, nature, and the universe as well as in dialogue with literary traditions and modern science.

Ivan Wernisch. Photo: Barbora Sládečková (CC BY 3.0)

During a decade when the presidential office was occupied by Miloš Zeman, external political circumstances briefly highlighted those writers who had lost a great deal of credit in terms of poetry and morality during the Communist regime. The conferral of a state medal of merit on Karel Sýs (b. 1946) provoked a debate regarding his work (and the work of similar poets), which since 1989 has been dominated by verbal aggression, vulgarity, and a consistent negation of post-1989 developments in Czech culture and society (e.g. Apokalypsa podle Joba [The Apocalypse According to Job], 2013). Jiří Žáček (b. 1945) found himself at the centre of attention in 2017 for his gender-insensitive poetry for children “What are girls in the world for? / For making babies”. In addition to the reaction of the press, a response in poetry form also very quickly followed, the collection K čemu jste na světě (What Are You in the World For?, 2018) by Ondřej Macl (b. 1989), in which the young poet offers dozens of parodies of Žáček’s aforementioned motif.

Baby Boomers

From the generation of baby boomers (born 1946–1963) during this past decade, the work of Svatava Antošová (b. 1957) stands out in her collection Dvojakost (Duality, 2014) due to the openness, urgency, and expressiveness with which the poet portrayed homoerotic intimacy as well as the fundamental division of a person thrown into the vicissitudes of personal emotional dramas while struggling to form a distinct identity of their own. The collection Dvojakost is also an inter-media dialogue between verse and the photographs of Petr Kuranda, portraying female genitals carved into the bark of trees or depicted in different ways in public spaces.

The other poets of this generation have tended to build upon their already established poetics: Miroslav Huptych (b. 1952) enhanced his imaginative, playful, and dreamlike poetics with harrowing experiences gained from working at a crisis centre (Noční linka důvěry [Confidential Night Line], 2012); Vít Slíva (b. 1951) developed his contemplative lyricism focusing on the passing of time (this time with greater emphasis on the brevity of miniature texts, e.g. Návrší [Hillock], 2014); Lubor Kasal (b. 1958) added to his lyrical-epic compositions with the poem Dvanáct (Twelve, 2011), in which he paints another tragi-comic picture of contemporary civilisation – on this occasion on the intertextual basis of Alexandr Blok’s eponymous composition; Sylva Fischerová (b. 1963) also moved towards an epic style in her emotionally urgent yet philosophically and historically nuanced collections Mare (2013) and Sestra duše (Soul Sister, 2015); J. H. Krchovský (b. 1960) also remained true to his popular, stylistically virtuosic, neo-decadent poetics in his collection Já už chci domů (I Want to Go Home Now, 2015).

Sylva Fischerová. Photo: Karel Cudlín

The poetry of Michal Maršálek (b. 1949) was a particularly unusual and unique phenomenon. Practically no one had heard of him before, but in the 2010s, this poet made a very bold entry onto the contemporary scene, quickly gaining the respect of younger generations and naturally becoming part of their debates on poetry as well as their social lives. Maršálek’s poetry collections Černá bere (Black Wins, 2014), Pootevřeno (Half-Open, 2015), and several others which were published in the 2010s, quickly came to prominence due to their expressive minimalism as well as their depth of ideas. Maršálek’s poems are tight-lipped and quiet, focusing on minor incidents of everyday life. Often all they need are a few austere verses with one single observation. The poet almost ascetically removes the majority of conceivable means of expression, but at the same time, we do not sense a lack in meaning when reading his texts. With Maršálek’s entrance into the world of Czech poetry, we once again had the distinctive figure of a poet reflecting on profound philosophical and existential matters.

This generation also contains a strong group of poets who made their debuts after 1989 (Petr Motýl, Petr Halmay, Roman Szpuk, Ewald Murrer, etc.). In the 2010s, the most prominent were Jiří Dynka (b. 1959) and Petr Hruška. Dynka continued in his stubborn search for a language capable of expressing the subtle values of intimacy and the strangeness of life in a postmodern setting. His collections are filled with a boldness of colour, the enchantment with nature, but also with the grim reality of the city as a heavily commercialised space. In his collection, Naučná stezka Olšanské hřbitovy (An Educational Guide to Olšany Cemetery, 2010), he also adds references to politics and history. The metaliterary reflections are also more pronounced, focusing not only on the process of writing, but also on the social life of literature, as in his collection Kavárny (Cafés, 2015) in which he thematises several Prague hotspots of the literary and café scene.

The collections of Petr Hruška (b. 1964) delved deeper into the mini-dramas of family relationships with precise observations of specific situations, though this time with a stronger link to the more general cycle of human existence and fate, torn between desires, intentions, rational reasoning, and how they crumble and disappear over time. In Darmata (2012), Hruška’s figures are more clearly situated within the social world; they avoid banks, they dread loans, they cannot stand politicians’ faces. A new element in the poetics of this influential author is also the occasional use of conceptual approaches (which are developed further in the collection Nikde není řečeno [Nowhere Is It Said] from 2019) – that is, when he appropriates texts from spam emails and reveals the poetic nature of their deformed language.

Petr Hruška. Photo: Rafał Komorowski, Wikipedia (CC BY-SA 4.0)

Generation X

Signs of a willingness to experiment also manifested in the poetics of the representatives of Generation X (authors born between 1965–1985), some of whom made their debuts shortly after 1989. In his somewhat misleadingly titled collection Milostné básně (Love Poems, 2012), Petr Borkovec (b. 1970) revived the genre of natural lyricism, at times using ironic language games and experiments with archaic language referring back to nineteenth-century poetry. Borkovec’s collections from the 2010s are constructed as distinctly heterogenous texts in terms of form, language, and theme. Their common denominator is an immersion in the roots of lyricism, song, sentiment, even at the cost of ironic detachment considered de rigueur in a genre that seems to have exhausted its expressive means. This ‘experimental’ nature of Borkovec’s new work is best summed up in the subtitle of his collection Herbář k čemusi horšímu (A Herbarium for Something Worse), 2018 – “Responses and Centos and Exercises”.

Since entering the literary scene in the 1990s, Martin Stöhr (b. 1970) has also significantly transformed his style. From his Bohuslav Reynek-styled miniatures and his spiritual, rurally situated lyricism, Stöhr moved towards factual yet dreamlike, melancholic images of the city, which merge the perspectives of documentary and memory and are populated by figures whose names are often to be found in contemporary literature. In addition to fleeting thoughts about the passing of time and living in the strange present day, some of Stöhr’s key themes include reflecting upon poetry (particularly in the collection Užitá lyrika [Applied Lyricism] from 2020, where his reflections are lightened by humour and self-irony), writing poetry, as well as meeting other poets.

Other figures from the ‘poetry of the 1990s’ changed less dramatically in their poetics, though they maintained the high standard of their established style: Radek Fridrich (b. 1968) developed his expressive poetry sensitive to the complex fate of North Bohemia and Czech-German relations in his collection Krooa krooa (2011). After a nine-year hiatus, Jaromír Typlt (b. 1973) returned to current Czech poetry with the collection Za dlouho (Not For a Long Time, 2016), in which he continues to be captivated by ambiguity in language, in particular by the sound of language. After an even longer pause, Pavel Kolmačka (b. 1962) returned to the Czech poetry scene in the 2010s with his collection Moře (The Sea, 2010), in which he seamlessly continued his sober, objective lyricism from the end of the 1990s. He observes, at an almost metaphysical level, the microworld closest to him, including his family and the apparent banality of everyday life. He manages to maintain this soothing and rurally unhurried level of perception in his subsequent collections Wittgenstein bije žáka (Wittgenstein is Beating a Pupil, 2014) and Život lidí, zvířat, rostlin, včel (The Life of People, Animals, Plants, and Bees, 2018), which he, however, complements, or rather interrupts, with cacophonous recordings of the hustle and bustle of the modern world. Following her previous attempt at epic poetry, Božena Správcová (b. 1969) returned to a more concise poetic form in the collection Strašnice (2013). However, she persisted in her efforts to create a modern or postmodern poetic mythology, the plots and stories of which are played out in contemporary Prague, transformed, though, into an original, dreamlike, and grotesque time-space. As in his other books from the 2010s, Milan Děžinský (b. 1974) toned down his, until then, characteristic expressiveness in Tajný život (A Secret Life, 2012), instead aiming for a lyricism based on objective description and intensive self-reflection, but also containing abstract philosophical reflections.

This group of contemporary Czech poets (labelled here Generation X – to borrow the sociological term) also features several important authors who were unable to publish their first books during the hectic 1990s and became part of the literary scene in the first years of the new millennium – often not coming to prominence until the 2010s. This was certainly the case for Daniel Hradecký (b. 1973), who made his debut in 2004, but who only gained more widespread attention with his collection 64 (2013), where, with an extreme economy in expression and cold analytical precision, Hradecký examines the fundamental elements of human existence or, more precisely, his own poetic existence: time, carnality, love, the desire to outdo oneself, the network of interpersonal relationships, and, not least, the network of relations between literary texts. In his subsequent collections, Přibližování dřeva (Yarding Wood, 2019) and Jezero (The Lake, 2020) in particular, the poet delves to the core of these themes using the slightly rougher route of the epic-forming and expressive diction of an angry outsider.

Daniel Hradecký. Photo: Josef Chuchma

The poetry of the 2010s also featured distinctive poets who, until then, had presented themselves collectively as the group Fantasía (their first eponymous collection came out in 2008) and who began to gradually appear individually after 2010. In his debut work, Rozevírání (Unfolding, 2011), Adam Borzič (b. 1978) attempted to reinvent a traditional style of spiritual lyricism, but it was with his next collection Počasí v Evropě (The Weather in Europe, 2013) that he came to the attention of the literary public. Here he managed to combine subjective lyrical reflection and self-reflection with an almost documentary look at contemporary Europe and its economic and spiritual crisis in particular. What proved to be quite unique was the concept for the collection Západo-východní zrcadla (East-West Mirrors, 2018). Here Borzič leads a multicultural dialogue between figures of the European Renaissance and medieval Islamic mystics. In his first work, Oheň po slavnosti (A Fire After the Celebrations, 2011), Kamil Bouška (b. 1979) was still following the dominant descriptive trend in contemporary lyricism, but subsequently in Hemisféry (Hemispheres, 2015), he discovered his own darkly expressive voice. If the lyrical confessional ‘I’ is still here at the foundations of the poems, Bouška’s next collection of poetry in prose, Inventura (Inventory, 2018), has a much more complicated communicative basis: its intention is to be nothing less than an inventory of humankind, questioning how much of humanity remains in the contemporary individual – and this by way of an often very cruel negation, beyond which, however, the space for the growth of humanist values seems to open up anew. The third member of the group, Petr Řehák (b. 1978), also developed a very distinctive voice in his first collection Násobit ruce (To Multiply Hands, 2014). A free-spirited, fertile imagination dominates Petr Řehák’s distinctive style, which for this poet leads de facto to a way of thinking that allows him to avoid stereotypes and preconceptions. Here Řehák understands the poem not as an opportunity for confession, but more as a textual object, something irritating, which functions in an obscure manner. Something, however, which convinces us that it is working properly, according to a plan, and is directed towards its goal.

Kamil Bouška. Photo: Jana Plavec

Jonáš Hájek (b. 1984), in terms of his age and first publications (he first published on amateur literature websites), could almost be considered part of Generation Y. His collection Básně 3 (Poems 3, 2013) loosely places him alongside the poets from Fantasía with their partial objectification of lyricism and attempt to shift the focus away from the interior to what surrounds the speaker. Básně 3 is also connected to the work of the Fantasía poets mainly by striving for semantic complexity: the collection contains both personal and private confessions, as well as references to the poet’s life in the community; alongside contemporary verse we find poems with historical subjects, and alongside lyrical monologues are texts which veer towards dialogue and pointing to an untold story.

Not least, the 2010s was a period which saw the arrival of a number of distinctive creative voices on the literary scene. But before we turn to the millennial Generation Y, it is necessary to mention a few very distinctive (and relatively late-arriving) debutants from the previous generation. Ondřej Buddeus (b. 1984) left an unmistakable mark on contemporary poetry with verse which stood out from the contemporary generation (and beyond) thanks to a willingness to experiment and an inclination towards a conceptual approach in the creation of his texts. His collection 55 007 znaků včetně mezer (55,007 Characters Including Spaces, 2011) is a conceptual work of text/art which, already from the most basic material level, strives to do one thing – get the reader involved. For example, the reader is presented with the task of deciphering the unusual method of page numbering, or even prior to that with the task of choosing a specific copy of the book from a series of different colours which it was produced in. As has been mentioned, the text is a concept which attempts to communicate its basic features through its materiality – which undoubtedly includes rationality and an intellectual approach towards reality and texts. Buddeus’s next collection, Zóna (Zone, 2016), is almost the polar opposite of the previous collection: in place of a precisely functioning rational concept, the maximum space possible is given to randomness, deliberate miscommunication, and linguistic deformation. Here Buddeus understands the poem as a space where language can reveal its hidden strengths and by doing so, point out the blurred borders between rationality and randomness, between originality and copying, and between accuracy and error.

Although not directly conceptual in nature, Olga Stehlíková’s (b. 1977) first work, Týdny (Weeks, 2014), is undoubtedly based on a very carefully conceived composition. In her collection structured into sections named after the days of the week, Stehlíková innovatively grasped the mainstream genre of factual descriptive lyricism, but instead of the usual mere documentation of mundanity, she focuses on deconstructing the speech we use to conceptualise and label this everyday experience. The ironic distancing from the poetic statement, which already played an important role in Týdny, was intensified by the poet in her collection of metaliterary puns, Za lyrický subjekt (For a Lyrical Subject, 2018), which was presented as a mystification project under the pseudonym of Jaroslava Oválská, behind which was the poetic duo Olga Stehlíková and Milan Ohnisko.

With their exceptional first books, and especially their subsequent collections, two somewhat later debutants from the 2010s were also Jitka N. Srbová (b. 1976) and Wanda Heinrichová. From the fragile, stylistically pared-down intimate poems of her first two collections – Někdo se loudá po psím (Someone is Hanging Around like a Dog) 2011, and Světlo vprostřed těla (The Light in the Centre of the Body, 2013) – Srbová developed a distinctive poetic concept in Les (Forest, 2016), where the ‘forest’ also comes to embody, de facto, a character, a dynamic actor in the short poetic stories and lyrical situations, and thus prefigured the growing interest in environmental themes in poetry. A similar process of ‘depersonalisation’ and a focus on the objective reality of language can be found in the poetry of Wanda Heinrichová (b. 1968), who in her first collection Nalomenou (2011) still worked her way through a web of cultural references before finally returning to herself embodied in the lyrical ‘I’. In the collection Jehla sestupuje (The Needle Descends, 2018), there is mostly no such return; the subjectivity of the commentary dissolves in the incredibly colourful and disparate linguistic reality of the collection, where genres, styles, and even languages alternate – and everything is only gently held together by a delicate, yet also grotesque atmosphere, and finally only by a network of relationships which move out of the book into the world of literature and its creators.

Wanda Heinrichová. Photo: Jana Plavec

Generation Y

As has been mentioned, a generation appeared on the literary scene in the 2010s which is sometimes described as the ‘internet generation’ (because these young men and women grew up in a world already linked by this global network), though more often it is referred to as the millennial generation or Generation Y. In what way is this group of poets who were born between the mid-1980s and the mid-1990s different from other generations? The qualities attributed to them by sociologists include a heightened sensitivity towards political matters as well as an inclination towards digital technology, liberalism, and tolerance, but also narcissism. It must be said that this characterisation of Generation Y is fairly accurate even when looking at the literary generation. In terms of the relationship between poetry and politics, it could not be more fitting. Millennials are no longer warriors who want to revive socially engaged poetry (as was the case with the previous generation, which made clear the political dimension of their poetry in heated debates at the end of the previous decade). Poets of this generation are not concerned about political themes in poetry – they are concerned about their own life as a whole, part of which also understandably includes politics.

The first poet to challenge the aesthetic and intellectual stereotypes of poetry from the 1990s (which were to determine the poetry discourse well after 2000) was Jan Těsnohlídek Jr. (b. 1987). His first work, Násilí bez předsudků (Violence without Prejudice, 2009), published at the end of the previous decade, was a small revelation, because Těsnohlídek did not hide his ambition to be a generational spokesperson. Indeed the opposite was true, as the poet went on to effectively work with this in both literary and marketing terms. In the first person plural he attempted to express the feelings and frustrations of those who, like him, had grown up in the stormy atmosphere of the 1990s, and for whom the rhetorical background of those childhood years was constituted by the optimistic rhetoric of freedom and prosperity, which, however, reality completely failed to resemble. One emblematic figure which appears in the first books by these young poets is that of the homeless person. The shock from the deprivation and humiliation which someone can fall into without unduly upsetting passers-by is something which has helped shape this generation. This experience of a generation frustrated and disgusted by what was supposed to edify them is also articulated by Roman Rops (b. 1985) in the collections A la thèse (2012) and Maskirovka (2018), though with considerably more exaggeration and irony than Těsnohlídek (indeed, Rops deliberately caricatures Těsnohlídek’s rhetorical and somewhat naïve style). In the collection Pod dlažbou (Beneath the Cobblestones, 2016) by Jan Škrob (b. 1988), this frustration takes on a dystopian dimension in images of a new totalitarianism, where the life of the individual is subjected to constant surveillance and the permanent threat of persecution. However, beneath the layer of absurdity and dystopia lies an obviously profound authentic experience and emotional shock from the encounter with destitution which strips away human dignity.

Jan Škrob. Photo: Petr Zewlakk Vrabec

For these poets, it is not only about the accumulation of negative images, documenting the inhumanity of a society operating on the principles of a neoliberal ideology. The poems all comprise extremely personal commentaries highlighting the fact that the subjectivity in the poetry of this generation is shaped to a considerable degree by the juxtaposition of personal sensitivity and social cynicism. As a result, there is pronounced defeatism, fatigue, and resignation to be found in the debut works by these millennial poets who refuse to be part of a system whose falseness and cruelty were apparent to them as early as childhood.

Generation Y is also labelled the internet generation as these millennials have been surrounded by digital media and its networks since childhood. However, the virtues of this interconnected world – at least according to these poets – cannot and will not be appreciated. The ethos of cooperation and communication connected with the internet and digital culture appears here as another lost cause. Although the digital revolution ushered in an unprecedented level of interaction, it did not provide a way to change the system. This tension between the seeming democratisation of social discourse, which is seductively offered by interactive media, and the power of capital, which is determined not to budge an inch from its fixed position (in fact the opposite), is presented in the collection Proluka (Vacant Space, 2016) by Jan Nemček (b. 1986).

The poets of the internet generation have also spread their criticism of the media to areas outside of digital culture. A regular target of their disapproval and ridicule is the old medium of television. It does not take much to ironically represent bombastic television competition shows – it being enough to move a description of them onto a page in a poetry collection, as Klement Václav Lakatoš (b. 1986) did in his book Kapitalistické básně (Capitalist Poems, 2012). The aim of his verse is not to criticise media culture; instead, it has much more widespread implications – an appeal for authenticity. A desire to tear down the false trappings and distorting filters through which we normally and unreflectively perceive reality and which distance us from it. At the same time, Lakatoš’s collection is the most concentrated, while in terms of language and composition it is the most conspicuous and perhaps even most imaginative example of a poet’s criticism of capitalism to emerge from the work of Generation Y. It is impossible to overlook here the inspiration taken from the playful and imaginative poetics of the historical avant-garde and the neo-avant-garde: readers of Kapitalistické básně become involved through a poem in the form of quiz questions, elsewhere through the challenge to find permutations to Václav Havel’s statement, “Truth and love will triumph over lies and hatred.”

The millennial poets are disturbed not only by the scenes of human deprivation they encounter on the streets, but by the global character of contemporary capitalism in general. They try to come to terms with the tension between a desire to escape, to go somewhere else, and the knowledge that it is impossible to run away, because the world has become a unified global village and there is nowhere to hide from the principles of the system. They look at the impact of global capitalism when they contrast images of attractive consumer goods with badly paid jobs and dreadful working conditions on the other side of the world. This form of ‘global consciousness’ is apparent in the collection Vše o lásce (All About Love, 2019) by Tomáš Čada (b. 1985), where, employing emotional urgency, the banal situations from the life of a young family are juxtaposed with violent scenes from distant military conflicts.

Towards the end of the decade, questions and issues relating to the approaching environmental and climate crisis began to be brought up as part of poetry’s global consciousness. This partially reinflamed old passions; for a time, it was not politically engaged but environmental poetry which became a subject of discussion and debate. Ecopoetry started to appear on the pages of journals and literary websites, and for a while the atmosphere crackled with manifestos and counter-manifestos. The stand-out figure in this context (though also for his purely literary talents) was Jonáš Zbořil (b. 1988) with his collection Nová divočina (The New Wilderness, 2020), the subtext of which embodies an anxiety regarding the imminent environmental crisis, while in the actual text this environmental appeal appears very subliminally in the form of whimsical, imaginative situations, where nature regains the areas which had been taken from it and abused by humankind.

Jonáš Zbořil. Photo: Barbora Linková, Český rozhlas

However, it would be quite misleading to reduce the poetry of millennials to its political aspect. As I have already indicated, its specific character lies in the rediscovered complexity of expressing in poetry form the world and people’s destinies. An advantage for this generation is their distance from major historical events, which thus allows them to combine the personal and the social, the temporal and the eternal, the erotic and the political, and a number of other seemingly incompatible dualities. Meanwhile, for many poets it is clear that the social element does not dominate at the expense of subjective, intimate elements. This applies, for example, to Marie Feryna (b. 1993), who first wrote under a male name with a male identity (Před setřením [Before Wiping], 2016). She marginally (not activistically) addresses the issue of transition in the collections Osa (Axis, 2018) and Black Screen (2020), though the main theme of her collections forms a reflexive and, in terms of imagery, darkly expressive, almost blasphemous lyricism embedded in the language of poetry and a sensitivity towards metaliterary issues. The proportion of English passages in her poems gradually increases, not only due to intertextuality, but more as a generational gesture towards her peers for whom the macaronic form of Czech-English communication is found in everyday speech. A similar style of lyrical spokesperson is found in the figure of Marek Torčík (b. 1993) and his collection Rhizomy (Rhizomes, 2016), where we also find the distinctive use of Czech-English multilingualism: a young intellectual speaks to us from the collection, switching between languages with ease (even within one sentence) and proudly announcing his cosmopolitan or post-nationalist view of the world. And I will conclude this incomplete overview of the Generation Y poets with a collection where multilingualism also plays an important role, the author of which is also of an intellectual bent, albeit in a completely different context. The poetry collection Miluji svou babičku víc než mladé dívky (I Love My Gran More than Girls, 2017) by Ondřej Macl (b. 1989) describes the poet’s relationship with his Slovak grandmother and thoroughly examines the archetype of this figure throughout the history of literature as well as in each person’s life. In terms of genre, it is an unusual mixture of intimate lyricism, memoir, essay, and intertextual literary game.

This article, in which I attempted to provide a rough outline of the characteristics of Czech poetry which appeared over the past decade, is also incomplete. For a more exhaustive overview of Czech poetry in the 2010s, I would recommend the series Nejlepší české básně (The Best Czech Poetry), which was brought out annually by the publishing house Host until 2019. There is still too little time that has passed since the period I have described to be talking about trends, currents, and directions. One thing, however, is certain – between 2010 and 2020, a substantial amount of good poetry was created in the Czech Republic which is well worth tracking down.

Completed in Žižkov in December 2020 with support from Pavel Janoušek’s Praemium Academiae.

Translated from the Czech by Graeme Dibble.

Following an absence of two decades, the Czech Republic has returned to the International Book Festival in Budapest with its own stall. Let’s take this opportunity to look back at what has been happening on the Hungarian book market in recent years and which works of Czech literature are being translated, published and read.

What does it take for a book by a Czech author to be published in Hungary? Determination. Someone has to really want the translation to come about, because publishing Czech authors is rarely a profitable venture for publishers. Of course, I’m not talking about the three great figures of Czech literature that almost everyone in Hungary has heard of. If you stop a Hungarian on the street and ask him whether he knows any Czech writers, ninety percent of the time the answer will be: Hrabal, Hašek or Kundera. The more knowledgeable might supplement the famous trio with the following: Čapek, Havel and Holan. The connoisseurs include members of the Bohemia Friendship Club (Bohemia Baráti Kör). This association of Hungarian friends of Czech literature was founded in 1993, is in constant contact with the Czech embassy and the Budapest Czech Centre, and is actively involved in promoting Czech culture in Hungary. The society’s activities include organizing regular themed trips to the Czech Republic, publishing the Bohemia magazine (twice a year), publishing books with Czech subject matter, and organizing the annual Czech Ball in Budapest. In 2003 the Bohemia Friendship Club was awarded the Gratias Agit prize for promoting the good name of the Czech Republic abroad.

The cult of Hrabal is very strong in Hungary. It can be stated without hesitation that his work is constantly read in Hungary. There is even a Bohumil Hrabal Table Society (Asztaltársaság), which meets in the Hrabal Pub. A few months ago, a commemorative plaque to Bohumil Hrabal was unveiled in that very place – in accordance with the author’s instructions, of course (i.e. at the height at which dogs pee). In 2014 many events were held in connection with the centenary of Bohumil Hrabal’s birth, including a conference whose participants included Hrabal experts from Hungary and abroad. To mark the occasion, the Európa publishing house prepared a reissue of seven volumes of Hrabal’s best-known work. A renaissance in the publishing of Kundera’s work can also be witnessed over the last three years. Owning these volumes is now very fashionable in intellectual circles, so publishers have no trouble selling these books. The same cannot be said of other classic writers or contemporary authors – publishing their work does not pay off for any publisher from a purely commercial point of view.

Why is this the case? Why haven’t other authors entered into the consciousness of Hungarian readers? Is there any point in trying to promote the dissemination of the literature of our nearby neighbours? In one interview the poet, translator and Bohemist István Vörös formulated his opinion on the subject thus: “Our two nations both seem to get along all too well without the other’s values. However, that ‘all too well’ is just an illusion – we are suffering from a serious vitamin deficiency which results in chronic diseases. The complications of these diseases are a lack of contact with reality, unrealistic ideas about the world, self-hatred which turns into xenophobia, self-deception stemming from stupidity, nationalism and an absence of humanity.”

Finding the pearls of the deep

So how can readers and Hungarian publishers who are open to new things and are not afraid to take a risk find genuine Czech literary pearls? There are a few possibilities – in the first scenario, the publisher either already speaks the local language or has learned it and is able to keep an eye on the Czech book market himself. In the second scenario, the publishing house will employ an editor with a good command of the Czech language and place the burden of this worthy task upon his shoulders (see, for example, Kalligram, Európa, Ulpius-ház). In the third scenario, publishers will go round international book fairs (e.g. Frankfurt, Bologna) or follow the awarding of literary prizes. As far as these prizes are concerned, the one with the greatest international renown is the European Union Prize for Literature. After Tomáš Zmeškal was awarded it in 2011 for the novel Love Letter in Cuneiform and Jan Němec in 2014 for the novel A History of Light, Hungarian publishers fell over themselves to secure the publishing rights to these works.

Tomáš Zmeškal speaking at the 21st International Book Festival in Budapest. Photo: Jaroslav Balvín.

I hope I’m not selling a pig in a poke when I say that those who are pushing hardest for the popularization of Czech literature are its translators. Among them we find a good few campaigners who spend a long time knocking on publishers’ doors with one book or another that they consider worthy of publication (whether it is a new or classic work) before one of them finally takes the bait and publishes it. Another factor that facilitates the publishing of Czech fiction in Hungary is the existence of all kinds of grants, which provides a strong argument for the translators making the rounds of publishing houses in this way.

The form of grant that Hungarian publishing houses are most familiar with is the one offered by the European Union. In the past, the grants to support the translation of Czech literature offered by the Ministry of Culture of the Czech Republic were mostly taken up by the ‘big publishing houses’ like Kalligram and Európa. Smaller players rarely applied for this subsidy. However, these days the structures of the publishing industry are undergoing a transformation and a growing number of smaller publishing houses are opening up to Czech fiction (e.g. Typotex, Galaktika, Noran Libro, Napkút etc.). Indeed, this was one of the main reasons for the launch of a project entitled Translate It! at the Budapest Czech Centre in the autumn of 2015.

Translate It!

The annual Translate It! exchange is a forum where Hungarian publishers can meet with translators. Translators pitch selected works of Czech literature from various genres (by classic and contemporary authors) directly to publishers in the form of a presentation and extracts from a translation. The first gathering, which was held on 12 October 2015 at the Budapest Czech Centre, also involved the personal participation of two Czech authors: Marie Iljašenko and Marek Toman. This year’s guest at the exchange, which is to take place on 5 October 2016, will be Petr Stančík. The first year has already borne fruit – twice as many publishers applied for the Ministry of Culture’s translation grant for the year 2016. And the results suggest that this will be a record year in terms of the number of Czech books published. Thanks to this gathering, a number of books found a publisher or obtained financial support. The real success stories include the Anthology of 19th Century Czech Poetry which was created at Eötvös Loránd University and edited by Veronika Hée, as well as A Winter Book about Love by Dora Kaprálová and Petr Stančík’s novel Mummy Mill. The translator of this last book, Gábor Hanzelik, described the meeting with publishers thus: “It is an unprecedented event which sets off a process that results in a Hungarian readership that is acquainted with Czech literature.”

Translate It! 2015. Photo: Czech Centre Budapest.

Thanks to this exchange of ideas and in connection with the presentation of the Czech Republic as part of the Book Festival in Budapest, a Translate It! brochure was created in the spring; it contains a representative sample of as yet untranslated works from contemporary Czech literature published in the last 15 years. This overview, which aims to encourage the creation of translations, includes authors who have already had some of their work published in Hungarian translation (e.g. Patrik Ouředník, Kateřina Tučková, Miloš Urban), and whose names are therefore known to Hungarian readers, as well as authors whose books are still awaiting translation. The majority of the more than sixty selected works (novels, collections of short stories or poems, essays, biographies, comics, books for children and young adults) have been awarded one of the prestigious literary prizes (State Prize for Literature, Magnesia Litera, Josef Škvorecký Prize), have had exceptionally positive reviews or have already been translated into other foreign languages and thus have a good chance of also appealing to the Hungarian reader. This is a unique guide for publishers and others in the trade, which they can use as the basis for decisions about which works to include in their publishing plan and where and how to secure financial support for the publishing of a Hungarian translation. Through this publication, the Budapest Czech Centre hopes primarily to raise interest in publishing Czech literature within the country. However, the guide is also a unique source of information about contemporary Czech literature and anyone with an interest in the subject can enjoy leafing through it. It was the work of sixteen translators, who wrote brief profiles of the individual authors (and illustrators) and translated short extracts from works they had chosen. In addition to bibliographical information, it also provides publishers with contact details for copyright holders and translators.

Lost in Babylon

How does someone actually become a translator of literary texts? At present there are two universities in Hungary offering courses in Czech Studies: at the University of Szeged those interested in Czech culture can obtain a Bachelor’s degree, and at the Eötvös Loránd University in Budapest, where the Czech Studies department celebrated the sixtieth year of its existence last year, those interested in the Czech language can pursue their studies all the way to PhD level. Unfortunately, the Czech Studies section at the Péter Pázmány Catholic University was closed down several years ago, even though a good few members of the current generation of young translators of Czech literature were educated there (e.g. Márton Beke, Borbála Csoma and Zsuzsanna Juhászné Hahn). In the Hungarian–Czech language combination, the teaching of translatology or literary translation is only carried out on a theoretical level (i.e. not at all); these two minor languages are not able to generate a sufficient number of students to make it worthwhile offering a specialism of this type. In most cases, therefore, translators learn the profession by themselves, trying it out first-hand in practice, since in the course of their university studies they have the opportunity to take part in at most a few specialist seminars focused on translation. And yet, despite all of this, for the time being there are still plenty of skilled translators from Czech!

This year, with the aim of establishing a tradition, the László Németh Translation Camp, focusing on literary translation, was held for the first time at the Folk High School in Lakitelek. “In individual workshops divided according to European languages (Czech, Croatian, Polish, Romanian, Serbian, Slovak, Slovenian, Ukrainian) the young translators participated in seminars where they worked under the guidance of renowned literary translators on works of fiction which had not yet been published in Hungarian translation. During the afternoon they then had the opportunity to attend specialist lectures on subjects like the literature of Central and Eastern Europe or the theory of translation. The translations which were created as part of the camp, together with the texts of the lectures, will be published in an anthology,” explains Andor Mészáros, a historian and Bohemist who, together with Csaba G. Kiss, was one of the professional guarantors of the camp.

Translators at the László Németh Translation Camp. Photo: Czech Centre Budapest.

Grants and competitions for translation contribute significantly to allowing talented young translators to present themselves to the public. One of them is the Susanna Roth Award, which is open to translators up to forty years of age who have not yet had a translation of a book published. The prize is offered jointly by the Czech Centres and the Arts and Theatre Institute in Prague with the support of the Czech Ministry of Culture. The Hungarian winner in the first year was Zsuzsanna Juhászné Hahn, who has made a name for herself thanks in part to the prize. In April of this year, her translation of Petra Soukupová’s book To Disappear (Eltűnés) was published as part of the 23rd international book fair in Budapest, followed by her translation of Dora Kaprálová’s A Winter Book about Love (Egy férfi. Válasz Esterházy Péternek) in June. She is currently busy working on a translation of Jan Němec’s book A History of Light (A fény története), which is due to be launched in the spring of 2017. “As someone starting out as a translator, I would prefer it if the interest in Hungarian literature was as great as at the height of Hrabal’s fame. Those days will never return, but I think that the subsequent downturn is also a thing of the past. There are more and more publishing houses which are making the decision to publish Czech books, which is due in large part to grants provided through the Czech Ministry of Culture’s programme and the EU’s Creative Europe programme. Another encouraging aspect is the proactive approach taken by the Budapest Czech Centre, which issued its first publication at the Book Festival – the Translate It! brochure, which offers a Hungarian presentation of approximately sixty Czech books which are worthy of attention.” We believe that the translating career of the second year’s winner, Anna Steinbachné Bobok, is set to take off in a similar way.

2016 Susanna Roth Award workshop. Photo: Czech Centre Budapest.

In this context we should also mention the competition held annually by the National Library of Foreign Literature (Országos Idegennyelvű Könyvtár, OIK) to mark the International Day of Languages, in which a different language takes centre stage each year. The only condition is that entrants have not yet had a translation published in book form. In 2011 a jury mainly consisting of poets assessed the translation of Karel Šiktanc’s poem The Second Day from the cycle Adam and Eve. The winner from 42 entrants was Sándor Szalay, and all the translations which came out of the competition were then published in a supplement to the September 2011 issue of the art and literature journal Napút.

It is possible to apply to the arts foundation Cédrus Művészeti Alapítvány on an ongoing basis for financial support for literary works or translations of them or related academic research. Twice a year, applicants can seek support for work of theirs which has not yet been published in book form. The work submitted is assessed by a jury composed of section heads from the journal Napút. The work of selected applicants is then published on the magazine’s website. Every year in November the foundation also holds a competition with a prize for the best piece of work, and the Napút publishing house then publishes some of the submitted works at its own discretion, sometimes even in book form.

The Mihály Babits Translation Grant is offered with the backing of the Ministry for Human Resources by the non-profit organization Magyar Alkotóművészeti Közhasznú Nonprofit Kft. Young translators can apply for financial support for the translation of a work of fiction (prose or poetry), a critical essay, or a paper from the field of sociology or philosophy, from any source language into Hungarian. The professional guarantor of the grant is the Petőfi Literary Museum, which is responsible for its implementation.

Another option for Bohemists, more specifically those who are already working as translators of Czech literature, is the Bohemistics Seminar, which this year also played host to four Hungarian participants. There is also the residency programme Prague City of Literature, in which one foreign writer or translator comes to Prague every second month for an eight-week stay.

Online vs offline

And where else can translations be published? In addition to book publishing, it is also worth discussing the various possibilities offered by online or offline publishing. Surfing the Slavonic waters, we come across the website Szláv Textus (Slavonic Text), established in 2013. In the form of a blog, it tells you “everything you wanted to know about Slavonic literature, films, music and culture.” The main authors of Czech-themed articles are Gábor Hanzelik and Radmila Hrisztov. The website also offers excerpts from literary works, most of which are from recently published books.

The literary portal Litera has been providing cultural content for fourteen years now. It is a public-service initiative whose main aim is to publish high-quality literary, critical and journalistic texts, i.e. reports from the web aimed at connoisseurs and lovers of literature. In 2005, the creative team behind this website were awarded the Pulitzer Prize. They regularly publish interviews and recommend articles, including reports from the field of Czech culture. The editor-in-chief of the website is Gabriella Nagy, who is also the curator of texts for the literary event Literature Night.

The objective of the Bábel Web anthology and its sister website Magyarul Bábelben (Hungarian in Babylon) is to allow users to sample literature from various countries around the world through translations into different languages. On this website we can read parallel excerpts of prose or poetry in the original language and in translation. The content of the website is the responsibility of volunteers – editors, authors and translators who post original texts or translations for which they have either obtained copyright permission or own the copyright themselves. Here we can find texts by the likes of Markéta Pilátová, Emil Hakl, Petr Bezruč and Jan Werich alongside each other.

The website Versum describes itself as an online platform for international poetry which follows contemporary trends, voices and directions in world poetry, as well as the most interesting contemporary foreign poets. It is an online literary magazine which gives readers an insight into contemporary international poetry and, in doing so, keeps revisiting the theme of the translation and translatability of poems from many different angles. The Czech poets whose poetry is cited here include Petr Hruška, Jan Skácel, Egon Bondy, Michael Lorence, Oldřich Mikulášek, Jiří Orten and Lenka Kuhar Daňhelová.

In addition to publishing poems, short stories or extracts from novels, printed literary journals also frequently bring out special issues dedicated to specific themes or the literature of a particular country. Special editions dedicated to Czech literature were published in 2012 by the poetry journal Parnasszus (Parnas), in 2004 by the journal Jelenkor (The Present), in 2007 by the journal Nagyvilág (The World), and in 2014 by the journal Helikon. In 2006 the journal Csodaceruza (The Magic Pencil) introduced its readers to the world of Czech children’s literature.

Another journal which deserves a mention is the Hungarian version of the cultural review Lettre Internationale, which sadly brought its 25 years of operations to a close this year with a symbolic final 100th edition. This literary quarterly provided writers and translators with an opportunity to publish their work; it played an important role as an intermediary between publishers and writers; it was a discussion forum and a common platform for the activities of various creative groups; and it helped to give the wider community of readers a grounding in Hungarian and international literature and culture. “Over the years we presented Czech authors in Lettre in the context of Visegrad. We regularly published excerpts from forthcoming translations by well-known translators (Zsuzsa V. Detre, Márton Beke, Borbála Csoma and István Vörös). One of our longstanding authors and translators, István Vörös, also recommended to us one of his students, Zsuzsanna Juhászné Hahn, with whom we went on to work with regularly. For a number of years Mrs Otília Barna, living in Prague, would recommend authors who had just published their first books and translate excerpts from their work for our journal. On the last occasion she provided us with an overview of the work of Filip Topol and wrote a major essay about him. The translator of Topol’s books was Péter Koleszár, who we got to know thanks to these translations, and – alongside Flóra Peťovská, who came to public attention through her translation of Dora Čechová’s work – he became one of our best translators from Czech,” commented the former editor-in-chief of the journal, Éva Karádi, on working with translators from Czech. “Often it’s the translators themselves who choose and recommend a work by a contemporary author they are interested in. Over the years we published overviews of contemporary Visegrad literature in the winter editions of Lettre, and on occasion we would also publish the work of writers participating in the Visegrad residency programme (e.g. Dora Kaprálová). Quite often, authors would come to the attention of publishers precisely because we had published some of their work in the journal.”

On to the festival!

The idea for the First Novel Festival (Európai Elsőkönyvesek Fesztiválja) was the brainchild of Mrs Éva Karádi. It is a gathering, organized as part of the International Book Festival in Budapest, with guest writers from across Europe who have already published their first novel or book of short stories, and who are destined for great things according to the critics. In past years, guests from the Czech Republic have included Viktorie Hanišová, Dora Čechova, Tomáš Zmeškal, Jaroslav Žváček, Petr Čichoň, Jan Nĕmec, Marek Šindelka, Markéta Pilátová, Jonáš Tokarský, David Zábranský, Jaroslav Pížl, Hana Andronikova, Petra Hůlová and Ivan Krejčí. It has also become customary for the most important literary/social journal Élet és Irodalom (Life and Literature) to publish a special supplement dedicated to first-time authors a week before this event. This allows readers to familiarize themselves with the works of these authors, who they can then meet in person at the panel discussions or numerous other events held as part of the Book Festival. The fact that many of the authors who had excerpts of their work read in Hungarian at the event went on to be published is testament to the success of this initiative. Examples include David Zábranský’s novel A Weakness for Every Other Beach (Mindig más strandra vágyik), translated by László G. Kovács and published by L’Harmattan as part of the Valahol Európában (Somewhere in Europe) series, Petra Hůlová’s novels Through Frosted Glass (Homályos üvegen át) and All This Belongs To Me (Nagyanyám emlékezete), and Marek Šindelka’s prose debut, The Mistake (Hiba), all of which were translated by Otília Barna and published by the Európa publishing house.

The International Book Festival in Budapest (Budapesti Nemzetközi Könyvfesztivál) is traditionally held in the second half of April and is only a year younger than the Prague trade fair Book World. After twenty years, the Czech Republic once again had a national stall at this event. The whole event was supported, coordinated and organized by the Budapest Czech Centre, with financial support from the Czech Ministry of Culture. The focus of the Czech participation was a stall displaying Czech books translated into Hungarian (which were also for sale), as well as outstanding, though as yet untranslated, Czech works, mainly fiction, children’s literature and comics. In addition to the Hungarian translation of Petra Soukupová’s To Disappear (Eltűnés), another two works by contemporary Czech authors were also published as part of the Budapest Book Festival: The Žítková Godesses by Kateřina Tučková (Üldözött istennők, translation by Borbála Csoma) and Darmata by Petr Hruška (Mondom neked, translation by István Vörös). Another Czech guest was Viktorie Hanišová, whose literary debut, Anežka, was presented at the trade fair as part of the First Novel Festival. There were also book signings and meetings with guest authors at a stall called #nemcsakhrabal (#notonlyhrabal). In a separate room, there was a discussion on the topic of contemporary Czech literature. Taking part in this, alongside the guest authors, were Radim Kopáč from the Ministry of Culture and István Vörös, the leading Hungarian Bohemist. There were also evening programmes: as part of the Night of the Small Booksellers some Czech literary treats were prepared – public readings of Czech literature by well-known Hungarians (e.g. the critic Géza Csákvári, the director Nemes Gyula and the young poet Kata Nagy) as well as a literary Pub Quiz (testing the participants’ knowledge of Czech literature).

#notonlyhrabal. Photo: Czech Centre Budapest.

The older brother of the Book Festival is Book Week (Ünnepi Könyvhét), which celebrated its 87th anniversary in June of this year. It is always held in Budapest, though over time an increasing number of larger Hungarian towns have gradually begun to join in the event. For the past 15 years, the Days of Children’s Books (Gyermekkönyvnapok) have run in parallel with the Book Week. It might seem strange to organize two such large book events so close together, but the enormous interest from the public suggests otherwise. Outside the hectic pre-Christmas rush, it is during this period that the greatest number of new books is published and that they find their way into households. Whilst the Book Festival contains national stalls from various countries alongside the stalls of Hungarian publishers, at the Book Week the spotlight is on Hungarian literature. Nevertheless, three publishing houses brought out translations of Czech authors: the children’s book publishers Móra published Ivona Březinová’s novella The Boy and the Dog; Galaktika publishers, who focus mainly on science-fiction, published Petr Stančík’s fantastical novel Mummy Mill; and the publishers Typotex brought out A Winter Book about Love by Dora Kaprálová, inspired by the recent death of the novelist Péter Esterházy (who was in turn inspired by the aforementioned Bohumil Hrabal, to whom he dedicated his book The Book of Hrabal).

From the list of institutions which have helped to promote Czech and other foreign literature in Hungary, it is important to mention the largest literary museum in Hungary – the Petőfi Literary Museum (Petőfi Irodalmi Múzeum), which, as the Budapest host organization of the Visegrad Programme for Writers in Residence, provides successful applicants from the ranks of writers, poets, literary historians, journalists and translators with the opportunity to meet and work with each other and present their works to the public. The most recent Czech guests were Dora Kaprálová, Marie Iljašenko and Petr Maděra. This museum is also the organizer of the international literary Budapest Transfer Festival, which has been attended by guests from more than 20 countries between 2006 and 2015. As part of the festival, which is also supported by international cultural institutions, there are various literary programmes, meetings and public readings as well as organized walks around the city, light-art shows and concerts. The theme of the festival, which is different every year, determines the choice of guests – Kateřina Tučková was enticed to Budapest in 2011 by the theme of stories rewritten, Tereza Jandová in 2014 by the theme of urbanization, and Viktor Faktor, Alexandr Guha and Pavel Maurer in 2015 by the theme of gastronomy. Unfortunately, however, due to a lack of financing, this year’s festival, the 9th in the series, has had to be cancelled.

Budapest Transfer 2015

The question of how to get a book by a contemporary author to the readers themselves was one of the first to be asked by the new director of the Budapest Czech Centre, Lucie Orbók: “It’s all about the people. The promotion of a book or a contemporary author doesn’t just happen all by itself. It’s necessary to hold some kind of event which will attract a large number of people and present the literature in an unusual way. For example, through the Literature Night, which is the flagship of the Czech Centres and has expanded to include many European cities over a period of ten years. This year we were behind the event in Budapest and the results surprised even us: a total of 22 countries took part, and the city of Budapest got involved in the project as did the famous József Katona Theatre. There were queues everywhere and the average visitor age was around 35.” The Czech author chosen was Ondřej Neff with his dystopia The Darkness (Sötétség, translation: Otília Barna). An excerpt from the book was read out in a one-hundred-year-old subway train. Literature Night had been held twice before in Budapest (2011, 2012), in each case just before the book trade fair. Unfortunately, for many reasons, neither event was a success; both of them had low attendance figures and lacked coherence, which was why the Budapest EUNIC Cluster decided against continuing with the project. However, following this year’s successful restart, a date for next year’s event has already been set for 30 March 2017. The objective this time is to make contact with partners from regional towns and expand this unique event from the workshops of the Czech Centres to the whole of Hungary.

Is there life after Hrabal?

Unfortunately, in Hungary not much is known or written about contemporary Czech literature. However, this is not to say that books by contemporary authors are never published. It would appear that we are currently witnessing an upward trend. Research by the Czech Centre indicates that on average seven Czech books are published annually in Hungary. The most frequently translated living authors have been Patrik Ouředník, Jáchym Topol and Milan Kundera. In recent years the greatest successes have been Ouředník’s Europeana (translation by László G. Kovács) and Jan Novák’s novel So Far So Good (Eddig megvolnánk, translation by Márton Beke). Publishers view the publication of Czech and other foreign-language literature, in particular poetry, as a cultural mission for which they need help from various grant programmes. The books normally have a print run of up to 1,000 copies and are considered successful once half of these are sold. And what guarantees success? It is difficult to express this in universal terms, but in general it is about the right combination of the following components: the title, cover, subject matter, a visit by the author, good reviews and especially reader recommendations.

Translated by Graeme and Suzanne Dibble

Cover image: Detail from the cover of the Hungarian edition of A Winter Book about Love by Dora Kaprálová

This summary is neither an in-depth analysis nor an exhaustive list of the major contemporary poetics, trends, poets, anthologies and poems aimed at specialists in Czech literature. It sets out to describe the main trends in contemporary Czech poetry in a straightforward manner, without recourse to theoretical terminology or even a strict definition of the word “contemporary” (roughly from 1989 to the present), and will attempt to suggest similarities and affinities in the methods of poetic expression employed by the poets who have been selected.

General features of contemporary Czech poetry

In terms of the productivity of authors and the number of contemporary poetry titles published, this area of literature has been faring surprisingly well. However, as is true elsewhere in the world, large numbers of books do not necessarily mean large numbers of readers, let alone sales. However, in comparison with the 1990s, when Czech poetry was in decline and people were sceptical about its very chances of survival, it now has a very stable, rich, productive and varied “creative base”. There is also no shortage of literary criticism, though this tends to take the form of sporadic reviews rather than sustained critical attention. Czech poetry receives regular publicity through selected radio programmes, series of authors’ readings presented in various ways, poetry festivals, competitions and prizes, and most importantly, literary journals, both printed (Tvar, Host, Souvislosti, Psí víno, A2, H_aluze, Pandora, Aluze, Revue Protimluv, Revolver Revue) and electronic, as well as literary websites, specialist blogs, Facebook pages (for analysis and a summary of digital Czech literature, see studies by Karel Piorecký, e.g. here), and niche publishers and editions. It is rare, though, for new poetry collections to be translated from Czech into foreign languages and vice versa.

Host magazine

However, as the Czech poetry scene becomes more fully developed (poets know each other, follow each other’s careers and read each other’s work), there is a danger of it becoming insular and rather unwelcoming (some people would go as far as to describe it as “toxic to humans”), as it constantly feeds off petty or more serious internal conflicts and animosities, often of a personal nature. Occasionally these explicit or hinted-at rivalries, whether non-programmatic or deliberately designed to court controversy, may result in a constructive polemic; mostly, however, they are unproductive if not downright destructive and do not contribute to any creative development or help to form a new style. The inaccessibility of the poetry scene makes it relatively difficult to “establish” oneself as a poet and be accepted by “colleagues/them”, something which had previously been associated with a standoffish attitude to young “beginner” poets, and with poets from the so-called regions being made to feel marginalized and unsophisticated. Now it is clear that this notional division between the centre of poetry (Prague?) and the periphery (the regions) is neither meaningful nor justifiable. In fact, it has been replaced by a paradoxical willingness to publish almost anything, including poetry of dubious quality.

In other words, contemporary Czech poetry is partly defined by the way that the poetry scene is organized – it is shaped by lively literary activity, as well as by its limitations, by the need for controversy and by the policies of publishers and grant bodies. The “marginal” status of poetry, or its existence on the periphery of readers’ interest, is seen as proof of its imagined “elitism” or complexity, which still stigmatizes this art form today. This is strongly qualified in the Czech Republic by the energy of the poetry community, in particular the activities, mutual support and friendship of authors mainly in their 30s, whose commitment to “the poetry cause” is huge and greatly contributes towards raising its profile (albeit only among the initiated) and putting it on an equal footing with other, more accessible forms of art. It seems that the willingness to resign oneself to having a small readership disproportionate to the large number of poetry collections being published prevails over any clumsy attempts to promote poetry using various methods, in particular by combining it with more attractive or “accepted” art forms in order to bring it to the attention of the general readership or culture-loving public. Apparently that 1% of the Czech population which “consumes poetry” is enough, as is the laughably outdated form of the printed poetic text, regardless of the fact that poetry is now “trendy”, just like home cooking.

The role of poetry is also increasingly being consolidated and highlighted at cultural events focusing mainly on other art forms, particularly music festivals (Colours of Ostrava, Štěrkovna) and well-attended series of poetry readings organized as part of literary festivals or around traditional literary cafés (Fra in Prague, Skleněná louka in Brno, the Les absinth club in Ostrava, etc.). An important role in raising the profile of poets’ work is also played by poetry awards, including the State Prize for Literature, the Jiří Orten Award and the Magnesia Litera for Poetry, as well as the poetry competitions Orten’s Kutná Hora, Václav Hrabět’s Hořovice, the Vladimír Vokolek Literary Award, the František Halas Literary Award in Kunštát, etc.

A reading at café Fra. Photograph: Ondřej Lipár/Fra.

There is a special character and perhaps also a discernible poetic to the “circles” of poets around small and large publishers of contemporary Czech poetry (Fra, Perplex, Dauphin, dybbuk, Host, editions from the journal H_aluze) and individual literary periodicals.

The poets grouped around the literary websites (Totem, Písmák etc.) are a chapter in their own right. In the world of the website, anyone can set up their own nick (an author’s avatar) and anonymously publish their texts, which can then be assessed and discussed by other registered users. The quality varies widely due to the quantity of work published each day (almost half a million texts have been published on the Písmák website since it began). In retrospect, however, it is clear that for writers born in the 1970s and 1980s, literary websites had a role to play during the early phase of their creative development – particularly in forming a critical basis for their work and in their search for a distinctive poetic voice amongst the deluge of instant poetics.

The oldest and largest literary website, www.pismak.cz, was established in 1997, so it is now in its 20th year. The second largest, www.totem.cz, was established just two years later. Gradually, they were joined by a number of others, including Literra, Blueworld, Epika and Saspi. For a decade, the phenomenon of literary websites was of little interest to academics and critics. This all changed in 2008 when Karel Piorecký published an article in the fortnightly journal Tvar called Where the Present Begins (Kde začíná současnost, 2008/no. 20), in which he attempted to describe this poetry community for the first time.

* * *

It may be a sweeping statement, but it would seem that traditional lyric poetry, in all of its guises, is on the decline in favour of expansive, prose-style narrative epics. Contemporary Czech poetry is not characterized by humour and playfulness, nor by long poems or lengthy poetic compositions, even though some poets are clearly attempting them. Similarly, Czech poetry no longer places such an emphasis on romantic and erotic poetry, which is part of the lyrical tradition (notably Jitka Srbová, Jiří Dynka, J. H. Krchovský, Svatava Antošová, Adam Borzič, Elsa Aids, Simona Racková, Tereza Riedelbauchová; occasionally Kamil Bouška, Jakub Řehák, Milan Ohnisko and Ondřej Hanus). Instead it would appear that there is an established place in Czech poetry for nature lyricism and poetry with a sense of place (locality/city/region) – Radek Štěpánek, Petr Maděra, Pavel Kolmačka, Vít Janota, Ondřej Hanus and many others.

Contemporary Czech poets do not usually follow current international trends, and when they do it tends to be the more experimental poets. In terms of the basis, spirit and focus of their work, Slovak and Polish poets along with some members of the Anglo-American poetic tradition have most in common with Czech poetry. However, there continue to be deliberate creative responses to the work of the greatest poets in Czech history – today we can find traces, allusions and echoes, but also obvious imitation, of a tradition that goes back to Reynek, Skácel and Holan; of the poets from the middle generation, the most emulated is Petr Hruška, followed by J. H. Krchovský, Miloslav Topinka, Petr Král, Ivan Wernisch, Petr Borkovec, Jaromír Typlt and a few others. Karel Kryl and Filip Topol are still influential in the sphere of songwriting, although new, original poetic texts set to music by professionals are surprisingly rare. In recent years, a good many authors from the younger generation have directly reflected on the present day, both in terms of social criticism (“engaged poetry”, sensitive towards current events in society, which it strives to be an active part of) and intimate–empirical work (modern-day civilism).

Petr Král. Photograph: HTO/Wikpedia.

Generational differences do not play a particularly important role in contemporary Czech poetry either, and it cannot be said that poets born in a particular decade consistently have a distinctive poetic, even though it is possible to spot certain similarities between members of the generations mentioned below, most notably with the generation that began publishing work in the 1990s, and the generation of thirtysomethings who brought out their debut works in the first decade of the new millennium. However, the poetry scene does begin to fragment at the most general level when it comes to the overall view of the meaning and purpose of poetry: at one extreme lies the inward conviction of poetry’s elite, supreme status and absolute autonomy, while at the other is the outward belief in the power of poetry as a way of animating and stimulating society (“engaged poetry”). However, advocates of poetic autonomy dismiss this kind of “role” as an encumbering and profaning of poetry, akin to the notorious “mission” which poetry was assigned during the 1950s and Normalization.

Nevertheless, it has to be said that there is something fairly distinctive about the creative generation born in the 1980s and especially during the 1970s, as well as the highly respected group of authors who were born in the 1960s, made their debuts in the 1990s and were labelled the “incubator of (future) Czech poetry”. The style of the “nineties mainstream”, which also crossed over into the noughties, was characterized with a touch of hyperbole by Petr Boháč (Tvar, 2007, no. 20): “It wouldn’t be hard to sit down and write a collection of poetry in the style of contemporary everydayness. If I really went for it, I could have it finished in five days. The structure of the poems is fairly obvious: someone goes to a window, there’s a storm or the sun is shining or it’s muggy, there has to be some kind of poetically depicted memory, but in one verse at the most, and finally it has to have a wider message which reverberates in the silence. Like I say, five days, five hours and five minutes – you could probably announce a competition for it. Then you could send it to Balaštík [the editor-in-chief] at Host and there’d be another poetry collection by a promising new poet.” Only a few names remain outside of this stream, the most important being Božena Správcová, Vít Kremlička, Petr Hrbáč and Jaromír Typlt.

Among the most significant collections published at the turn of the millennium were those written by the poets Kateřina Rudčenková, Marie and Irena Šťastná, Jitka Srbová, Viktorie Rybáková, Simona Martínková and Janele z Liků.

Kateřina Rudčenková. Photograph: Pavel Horák/Wikipedia.

From the “generation of lone runners” (a term coined by literary critic and academic Petr A. Bílek) who made their debut in the 1980s (Sylva Fischerová, Miroslav Huptych, Svatava Antošová, Vít Slíva and Lubor Kasal) and did not adhere to a single style of poetry or even a manifesto (like all of the generations which followed, including the surrealists, whose methodological orthodoxy is authenticated by members using an obscure key), most of its “members” continue to publish poetry regularly.

Therefore, in the Czech Republic, with a few exceptions (groups loosely associated with the literary journals Psí víno, H_aluze and Weles), the main creative force is individuals rather than trends/schools/streams in poetry. In addition, it would appear that poetry manifestos, which were still quite numerous in the 1990s (Borkovec, Typlt, Reiner), are no longer in vogue (one exception is the Fantasía group, although they no longer publish jointly). Respected poets from the middle generation are working alongside numerous enthusiastic creative poets from the younger generation and the still-active older generation, i.e. the generation of living legends, poets born in the 1930s and 1940s (Miloslav Topinka, Petr Král, Jiří Kuběna and Karel Šiktanc). With a few exceptions, surprisingly little of the diversification within the poetry community comes from attempts to follow on from the trends, schools, streams and traditions of 20th-century poetry.

These exceptions include the surrealist and surrealist-influenced poets (František Dryje, Kateřina Piňosová, Bruno Solařík, Roman Telerovský etc.), who make up a strong, distinctive group with its own forum in the form of a journal (the review Analogon) which bears this label. However, there are creative individuals within this group who use similar principles of an open imagination and free association (Petra Strá, Zuzana Lazarová, Jakub Řehák, Pavel Ctibor, and most recently Ondřej Hanus). There are only a few representatives of poetry based on imagination, fantasy, myth and legend, which is related to surrealism and appears more intermittently within poems or collections (Adam Borzič, Božena Správcová, Lubor Kasal, Bogdan Trojak, Ivan Wernisch and Miroslav Černý). There are other authors who favour personal, family or ancestral myths (Janele z Liků, Josef Mlejnek, Martin Poch etc.).

In addition to the surrealist poetic, there is also a relatively large number of collections of civilist poetry, though the poets do not form a homogenous group. Intentionally or unintentionally, they are influenced by the work of Group 42 (Jiří Kolář, Ivan Blatný, Jan Hanč), and they are linked to empiricism and the everyday with their images of the city, night walks, the de-poetization of poetic language, i.e. something more akin to the style of a news report, the use of the language of the street, the heightened importance of the mundane, and the predominance of free verse – something which is very common in contemporary Czech poetry in general. This very strong poetry “group” of like-minded poets (among the most respected are Petr Hruška, Petr Borkovec, Milan Děžinský, Petr Halmay, Štěpán Nosek, Vít Janota and Dan Jedlička, as well as Pavel Novotný for his language experimentation) is perhaps undermined by the descriptiveness or banalization of its themes, uniformity and interior monotony, and difficulties associated with attempts to link a poetically mediated version of the everyday with a symbolic and metaphysical “wider message”; this is, of course, the criticism levelled at it by its opponents and detractors, criticism which should really be directed at the imitators (“followers”) who produce a watered-down version of this style, rather than its leading representatives.

Some other trends in poetry have persisted in a more sketchy, unsystematic manner within specific anthologies or individual poems by authors who have not been clearly “labelled” and are not comfortable with these stylistic pigeonholes (neo-decadence, expressionism, romanticism – Bohdan Chlíbec, J. H. Krchovský, Jaroslav Pížl, Luděk Marks; dadaism, absurdity and parody have virtually disappeared – Božena Správcová, Lubor Kasal, Ivan Wernisch, Marian Palla; echoes of the underground – Vratislav Brabenec; and the Beatnik or rock-rebel style – Karel Urianek, Václav Böhmsche, Daniel Hradecký, Milan Kozelka).

Like the civilist poets, the experimental authors do not form a cohesive stylistic/thematic group apart from their numerous personal friendships; their platform, although this is never openly admitted and is sometimes explicitly rejected, is the journal Psí víno. Alongside the young experimenters who welcome conceptual tendencies and marginal artistic disciplines, and who follow similar trends in contemporary European poetry, there is the generation of poets from the 1970s who associate themselves with the experimental fashions of the 1960s (Jaromír Typlt, Pavel Novotný, Michal Šanda, Radek Fridrich and Robert Janda) and the avant-garde, or are even a part of it (Ladislav Nebeský, Miloslav Topinka, Jiří Gold and until recently Bohumila Grögerová). Then there are the lone artists who blur the lines between different art forms (literature, theatre, music, performance, visual and fine art), for example, Jana Orlová and the physical poet Petr Váša; or who place a substantial, strongly rational emphasis on “newness”, interdisciplinarity, multigenre or multimedia forms (Ondřej Buddeus), i.e. an approach guided by the intellect and appealing to multiple senses. Contemporary Czech poetry also includes posthumous publications and works by formerly unknown or inaccessible authors of experimental poetry from the 1960s (Josef Honys, Vladimír Burda and Zdeněk Barborka). However, today’s experimenters make use of different artistic approaches, with linguistic and stylistic innovation forming only a part of this.

An increasingly large section of Czech poetry is made up of works which are time-specific, incidental, socially and politically engaged and critical, focusing on contemporary social problems both at home and abroad. Among those poets who take a critical look at contemporary reality and the general problems of civilization are Vít Janota, a one-time member of the Fantasía group (Adam Borzič, Petr Řehák, Kamil Bouška), Jakub Řehák, Jan Těsnohlídek jr (the anthology Cancer [Rakovina]), Jonáš Hájek, Svatava Antošova, Petr Štengl and the books/authors from his publishing house; most recently Karel Škrabal, Marie Feryna, Jan Nemček, Tomáš Čada, Pavel Zajíc etc. In terms of its focus and effect, this poetry seems to be superseding the earlier work of Czech songwriters and folk singers which had a broad appeal and powerful impact (Karel Kryl, Jaromír Nohavica, Jaroslav Hutka, Jiří Dědeček, Vladimír Merta and Nerez).

If we look more closely at the pigeonhole of “traditional lyric poetry”, in comparison with experimental and conceptual collections (especially post-2010) it has been on the decline and is viewed more as an anachronism, even though there are isolated examples of individuals returning to the formal methods and classical structures of poetry (most often the sonnet and the very popular haiku). However, in contemporary Czech poetry, fixed structures and classical metrical schemes are associated less with “traditional lyrical content” (Vít Slíva, Věra Rosí, Daniela Vodáčková) and more with various updated forms, or sometimes even parodies (Radek Malý, J. H. Krchovský, Ondřej Hanus, Norbert Holub, Milan Ohnisko). The question is how the term traditional lyricism is perceived and interpreted, and whether it might not actually be an illusion.

Poetry of a spiritual, metaphysical and existential nature is quite well represented (Pavel Kolmačka, Martin Josef Stöhr, J. E. Frič, Tomáš Reichel, Miloš Doležal, Adam Borzič, Petr Maděra, Pavel Petr, Věra Rosí, Marie Šťastná, Ladislav Puršl and Michal Maršálek). Spiritual poetry is mainly based on Christianity and problematizes Christian spirituality (I. M. Jirous, Roman Polách, Ondřej Hanus), or is edifying and seeks to communicate without pathos (Zdeněk Volf, Pavel Kolmačka, Zuzana Gabrišová), or is inclined towards mysticism and exaltation (Adam Borzič) or other religious teachings (Vít Kremlička, Ladislav Puršl). Writers of philosophically oriented, reflective poetry, such as Josef Hrdlička, Daniel Hradecký, Michal Maršálek and Josef Mlejnek, sometimes combine this tendency with an interest in spirituality.

Romanticizing poetry or the poetry of the new pathos is often associated with Adam Borzič, although this expressive position is shared by numerous poets from the older generation, albeit with a more inward-looking focus.

Poetry following in the Seifert–Hrubín–Skácel tradition constitutes only a small part of what is generally high-quality and well-regarded Czech literature for children: Radek Malý (winner of a Magnesia Litera) and Pavel Šrut (recipient of the State Prize for Literature), as well as the very active Jiří Žáček and Jiří Dědeček. Another aspect of this is the relatively large number of children’s songs (lyrics) by Vladimír Merta, Zdeněk Svěrák, and the music-theatre groups Kašpárek v rohlíku and Buchty a loutky. Three anthologies of Czech poetry for children edited by Petr Šrámek, summarizing the history of this industry in a “crucible” (2009, 2012), were also well received.

Pavel Šrut on the cover of the English edition of his collection ‘Paper Shoes’. Photograph: Carnegie Mellon University Press.

In our opinion, the past decade has not witnessed any major or noteworthy shift within the Czech poetry scene, with the exception of a certain exploitation of everyday empiricism, modern forms of poetic engagement with topical subjects which affect the whole of society, and a (probably temporary) rise in experimental, transitional and multimedia forms of poetry and artistic expression in general.

Certain loose groupings of authors, without a unified focus but with a more general poetic affinity, have formed around literary periodicals (Psí víno, H_aluze, and the surrealist journal Analogon) and publishing houses (esp. the circle of writers with Fra publishers, whose dramaturgical direction is provided by Petr Borkovec, and the circle of writers around the review Weles). Productive, actively publishing authors from the Czech poetry scene, classed as part of the “Prague café” and lacking a specific regional basis, continue to be influenced by the domestic classically lyrical, surrealist and experimental tradition, the Czech metamorphosis of civilism and the most distinctive figures in poetry from the past century (Holan, Skácel, Zábrana, Reynek) – but also by faith in the power and effectiveness of the unique poetic narrative, which in recent years has often been tinged with time-specific elements, especially in response to current global issues and a resurgence in religious conviction.

In a cross-section of all the styles of poetry described – even though the boundaries between them are usually blurred and they blend together in various ways in the work of individual authors or even in individual anthologies – the intention is to identify what is truly important, to search for answers to profound, existential questions, to move towards ethical values, towards truth, purity, authenticity and spiritual and aesthetic beauty – albeit interpreted in various ways. There are very few Czech poets who create lightweight, airy, or even cheerful poems. A traditional characteristic of Czech poetry would appear to be the way of working with language, placing emphasis on it or even directly reflecting on it within the poem.

For another cross-sectional look at contemporary Czech poetry, we would recommend the annual publication The Best Czech Poems (Nejlepší české básně) brought out by Host, including its forewords and afterwords, which is always compiled by two respected editors, as well as overview articles published in journals by literary critics (Jiří Trávníček, Jan Štolba, Miroslav Balaštík, Pavel Šidák, Karel Piorecký and Jakub Řehák).

Individuals in poetry

We would also like to present a brief round-up of the work of the leading figures in the contemporary poetry scene. In addition to the venerated leading lights of the older generation (Bohumila Grögerová, 1921–2014, František Listopad, 1921, Karel Šiktanc, 1928, Jiří Kuběna, 1936, Jiří Gold, 1936, Stanislav Dvorský, 1940, Petr Král, 1941, Ivan Wernisch, 1942, Miloslav Topinka, 1945, Michal Maršálek, 1949, František Dryje, 1951) and the middle generation (Vít Slíva, 1951, Svatava Antošová, 1957, Lubor Kasal, 1958, Jiří Dynka, 1959, Vít Kremlička, 1962, Pavel Kolmačka, 1962, Bohdan Chlíbec, 1963, Petr Motýl, 1964, Petr Hruška, 1964), these include “younger” poets aged between 40 and 50 (Radek Fridrich, 1968, Božena Správcová, 1969, Petr Borkovec, 1970, Vít Janota, 1970, Jaromír Typlt, 1973, Ladislav Selepko, 1973, Dan Jedlička, 1973), the strong generation of authors aged between 30 and 40 (Simona Racková, 1976, Kateřina Rudčenková, 1976, Věra Rosí, 1976, Viktor Špaček, 1976, Miroslav Černý, 1977, Radek Malý, 1977, Ladislav Zedník, 1977, Jakub Řehák, 1978, Adam Borzič, 1978, Martin Poch, 1984, Ondřej Buddeus, 1984, Jonáš Hájek, 1984), and the youngest, aged around 30, born in the late 80s (Ondřej Hanus, Marie Iljašenko, Olga Pek, Zuzana Lazarová, Jan Nemček, Alžběta Stančáková, Jonáš Zbořil, Roman Polách, Jan Delong), as well as those starting out in poetry (Matěj Lipavský, Jan Škrob, Marie Feryna), although this categorization is not without its problems.

Two living legends with similar sources of inspiration and creative outlooks, Petr Král and Stanislav Dvorský, share surrealist roots as well as an affinity with the poetic of Group 42. Their influence on contemporary poetry has mainly been through the major creative figures of the 70s generation, including Jakub Řehák and, to a lesser extent, Kamil Bouška. Of the two, Petr Král, winner of the State Prize for Literature, is more consistently active on the literary scene, regularly publishing his own original works, essays and polemics.

In Miloslav Topinka’s relatively small but concentrated body of work there are two key themes: “the crack” and “the void”. The poet is not seeking self-affirmation in ordinary, everyday experiences; he is trying to break through these boundaries and arrive at something that lies “beyond” (Duchamp’s fourth dimension); his poetry and his essay-writing complement each other to a rare degree. Miloslav Topinka’s poetic mindset is akin to the work and personality of Arthur Rimbaud. Like him, Topinka sees the poet’s own existence as his central work. He received the Jaroslav Seifert Award for the experimental collection The Crack (Trhlina).

Karel Šiktanc is the author of an impressive and still unfinished body of work which has won him many awards. He occupies a unique position in the contemporary literary scene, as he has done since the nineties. In the early 1990s, when the structure of society was being overturned and new figures were coming to the fore from the generation of poets from the 1960s and 19670s led by Petr Hruška, Petr Borkovec and Pavel Kolmaček, Karel Šiktanc remained completely outside of this growing mainstream. In addition, the publishing policies of Host and Weles resulted in a levelling out of the poetry scene (as was described in the noughties by Petr Boháč and others), in the publication of increasingly similar collections and in the gradual reduction of the substantial poetic statement to a mere “image” (or decoration, ornament…). During this time Karel Šiktanc maintained his artistic integrity and wrote verse which makes an undeniably powerful artistic statement.

Jaroslav Erik Frič is one of the leading lights of the Moravian poetry scene as an active organizer of underground festivals, musician, publisher – including samizdat publishing – busker and blogger. His role as a cultural activist of the multigenre type is beyond question.

František Listopad lives permanently in Portugal. Since he began writing, he has sought to overcome the boundary between the subject and poetry. In his early work, freeing language of all pathos and striving for the essential truth of poetry was crucial to him. His later work is more existential in its focus, dealing with themes such as exile, growing old and home.

Bohumila Grögerová is a legendary poet, and not only because of her long-term collaboration with Josef Hiršal, which resulted in several major literary works. From the 1990s, one of the leitmotifs of her own poems became the ageing body (which is defied by the ageless spirit). Her poetry collection Manuscript (Rukopis), which takes the form of an intense diary narrative by a person nearing the end of their life (and yet a narrative free of any sense of resignation), was awarded the Magnesia Litera for Poetry and for Book of the Year.

Ivan Wernisch has built up an impressive body of poetry, winning awards such as the State Prize for Literature. From his dreamy beginnings, typified by the now cult anthology Winter Palace (Zimohrádek), which presented a self-contained world of magical myth, he gradually moved on to less dreamlike realms. His later work is decidedly existential, often employing elements of humour, absurdity, paradox and various neologisms, and he has also compiled three anthologies of work by forgotten poets from the history of Czech poetry. He is the recipient of numerous poetry awards.

Jiří H. Krchovský has been a constant presence in Czech poetry for three decades. The author’s formally strict poems (with their distinctive dactylic verse) in almost 20 collections including volumes of collected poems are unmistakeable — existential anxiety, alienation, loneliness and sexuality are some of his major themes. The poems are suffused with decadent irony, expressionist overtones, macabre and cemetery motifs as well as humourous and insightful messages. He is one of the few Czech poets whose poems have become part of popular culture (for example many of his poems are popular among secondary school students). In 1992 J. H. Krchovský received the Revolver Revue prize.

Michal Maršálek has written a very extensive and compact body of poetry consisting of economical poems of an existential nature imbued with an Asian contemplativeness. With his ten collections of poetry, he is a core author at Dauphin publishing house.

Petr Hruška has established a whole new direction in contemporary poetry – the aforementioned “civilist” style. It is possible to come across collections which have been fruitfully inspired by Hruška, as well as others which set out to imitate him. He himself has stated that “poetry has to excite, amaze, surprise, unsettle, demolish the existing aesthetic arrangement and create a new one.” All of this without any unnecessary lyrical ornamentation. He is the recipient of several important literary awards including the State Prize for Literature and the Dresden Poetry Award.

Petr Borkovec made his mark as a distinctive figure in poetry in the early 1990s when he won the Jiří Orten Award for his second collection. In his early collections he created lyric poems which were inspired by Reynek. His older works show the influence of the foreign poets he has translated (he has received a number of prestigious literary prizes for his translations). This artistic period was characterized by a gradual move away from classical figures in poetry and a focus on describing and recording. Today it is possible to talk about a “Borkovec style” in Czech poetry, which can be seen in the poetics of several poets from the 1970s and 1980s (e.g. Bouška, Řehák, Hájek, Lipavský).

Pavel Kolmačka is undoubtedly one of the most distinctive poets of his generation. From the first collections, which show the rural influence of Reynek’s work, his poetics have gradually become more civilist. In his exceptional collection The Sea (Moře), he intensively captures the moment of becoming a parent, and in Kolmačka’s latest powerful poetry collection, Wittgenstein is Beating a Pupil (Wittgenstein bije žáka), there is a socio-critical and ironic undertone to his poetry.

Characteristic features of Petr Halmay’s poetry are pragmatism and descriptiveness. However, in contrast to this apparently impersonal approach, his early work reveals the existential anxiety of the lyric subject stemming from the experience of finding oneself alone in a world of deception. In Halmay’s more mature work, his poetics open up to more general themes, for example, the conflict in the former Yugoslavia (Being [Bytost]). In the collection Tail Lights (Koncová světla), there is an inclination towards epic poetry, with micro-stories often being inserted into the texts. In his latest book of poems, Ice Crawler (Ledolam), the poet’s language is working towards its purest, most constrained form of expression; the poems are characterized by scepticism towards the ephemeral phenomena of the contemporary world.

Štěpán Nosek became known for two collections of distinctive, strongly delineated poetry. He avoids any kind of ornamentation in his work. In his books Negative (Negativ) and At Liberty (Na svobodě), he records everyday situations and observations with an almost photographic precision. There is nothing in Nosek’s poetry which is there just for effect; the tension which is painfully present within it comes from hints and often from the spaces between and after the verses, rather than from the verses themselves.

Petr Motýl is a supremely lyrical poet. Since the beginning (the mid-1990s), he has been strongly influenced by the work of Ivan Wernisch, while later he drifted between factuality (the collection Crazy Fridrich (Šílený Fridrich) and more dreamlike lyricism. In his work, the legacy of Ivan Blatný and Group 42 is combined with traditional Czech lyricism (in the spirit of Seifert).

Vít Slíva, unofficial Brno poetry guru; while working as a secondary-school teacher, he “raised” several important poets from the 1990s who were grouped around the journal Weles. He himself owes a debt to the poetic of Vladimír Holan, though his own personal contribution and temperament helped him to go beyond this and create coherent and original work with a profound feeling for the stylistic quality of the verse. Like all distinctive poets, Slíva also exerted a strong gravitational pull, though the poets who were enchanted by Holan’s legacy as mediated by Vít Slíva did not achieve his greatness and their work from the 1990s is characterized by the construction of poems according to a scheme: observing the backdrop of the world, reflection, a general or spiritual message. Vít Slíva was awarded a Magnesia Litera for Poetry.

Milan Ohnisko’s work combines honesty, playfulness, absurdity and irony, lightness as well as gravity. He frequently uses a play on words as a prelude to making a perfectly rational point. A collection of his poetry was published in 2012 under the title Och!

Ladislav Selepko is a poet who has been writing, though not publishing, for several decades. His work is influenced by surrealism and consists of a remarkable number of self-contained cycles and collections. It is unusual for such a distinctive poet to make his debut at a relatively advanced age, as he did with the collection Nineteen Cities (Devatenáct měst), which is basically an anthology of all his previously unpublished work.

Milan Děžinský’s poetry typically emphasizes the poetic image. Whether on an intimate level or one of nature lyricism, it acts as a basis for philosophical reflection and meditation. As a distinctive representative of the middle generation of poets, he has been nominated three times for the Magnesia Litera for Poetry, and he was the first Czech author to be awarded the international Václav Burian Prize.

Božena Správcová has written three collections of poetry and several poetic songs. In her work she often employs the principles of a game; her texts create an entire world with its own metaphysical, poetic myth. In this respect the collection Strašnice is particularly outstanding, with the poet’s artistic principles coming together to create a rich, varied and profoundly human mystical space.

Svatava Antošová’s early poetry was strongly influenced by beat and rock poetry. There are verses filled with explicit carnality, pataphysics and a hallucinogenic atmosphere. A similar openness – including in sexual matters – can also be found in the author’s later work. The poet has an exceptional talent for bound verse and for presenting her poetry, which she puts across to audiences very effectively, including her performance pieces.

Alongside Josef Hrdlička, Daniel Hradecký is one of the few contemporary poets who uses meditative philosophical reflection in his work. Critics typically compare his work to that of Ivan Diviš and Vladimír Holan, and he distils the essential from both of them – Holan’s submersion in philosophy and Diviš’s wide-ranging energy.

Jaromír Typlt immediately came to the attention of critics and readers with a distinctive book that encapsulated his first three published collections, Lost Hell (Ztracené peklo, 1994). His early collections emphasize imagination, freedom, association and going beyond the boundaries of text towards sound and image. Typlt’s later work increasingly began to focus on ways of extending the spoken word into other media, thereby giving rise to collections of unique sound recordings, stage performances, short films and improvisation. This propensity towards using various channels to convey poetry is still present in Typlt’s work.

Kateřina Bolechová is a writer of economical, civilist-oriented – and yet raw – poetry, mostly written with uncompromising irony and candour. Her collection The Ceiling Above Me Will One Day Disappear (Strop nade mnou jednou zmizí, 2016) showed that she was also a writer of long compositions and poetry in prose, which was sensitively accompanied by her own collages.

In his earlier collections, Martin Reiner set up a contrast between a Parnassian, classicist form of verse and communication that was rooted in the present and often bitterly ironic. In his most important collection Décimas (Decimy), there is a stronger tendency towards humour and playfulness. His later works are marked by a more civilist tone and a certain reconciliation.

At the beginning of the 1990s, Martin Stöhr, together with Pavel Petr, was characterized as a spiritual poet. Typical of Stöhr’s verse from this period is the restrained language and the use of rhyme. Lyrical motifs from nature are often combined with Christian ones. Later, in the collection Temporary Residence (Přechodná bydliště, 2004), the author’s relationship with God becomes more problematic. The rhymes begin to disappear and more attention is paid to the transience and rootlessness of events in the world. Stöhr’s latest poetic creation, Laughter from a Dream (Smích ze sna) is freer in style than the previous ones and contains frequent allusions to the work of other writers.

Jiří Dynka attracted attention with his experimental work in the mid-1990s. His early poems typically made use of the typography of the verse: frequent changes in font as well as lettering size, strings of adjectives etc. Despite the demands it places on the reader, this is lyric poetry with a strong focus on human existence. He gradually moved away from experimentation to more traditional forms of verse, but the lyrical focus remained. Thematically, Dynka has increasingly turned to carnality, both in terms of pleasure and the opposite – pain and sickness. In his most recent collections, again essentially lyrical, we find ourselves in the chronotopes of Prague’s cemeteries, parks and cafés.

Vít Janota has written seven extremely compact poetry collections, for which he was nominated for the State Prize for Literature. In all of them he managed to skilfully combine “engagement” in the contemporary world with metaphysics and existentialism. His body of work also contains a long poem published as a book and a new anthology of conceptual poems based upon the names of Prague streets.

Dan Jedlička is concerned with the everyday in all its guises. This theme is viewed with irony and humour, but also with a lightness of touch – somewhere in the background are the constantly recurring motifs of alienation, absurdity and other existential matters.

Radek Fridrich, recipient of a Magnesia Litera for Poetry, has written seven collections of poems inspired by the landscape of North Bohemia, in particular the area of the former Sudetenland. The fate of the Sudeten Germans, the landscape of his home town of Děčín and the intermingling of languages provide material for an exorcism and for the creation of local myths and poetic stories about people both real and imagined.

In the 1990s, Vít Kremlička had already positioned himself outside of the mainstream, going against the conventional poetics of the time. He was one of the few who confronted the burning issues of the day; for example, the war in Bosnia. However, he is not a mere agitator – first and foremost, he is a poet endowed with an unquestionable gift for musicality and inventiveness, as he has proved in his work, which includes experimental sonnets and “detective poems”. He has been awarded a number of literary prizes for his poetry, including the Jiří Orten Award and the Revolver Revue Award.

Radek Malý, recipient of several Magnesia Litera prizes, is an excellent stylistic poet and translator, as well as a highly regarded author of children’s poetry.

Jakub Řehák is without a doubt one of the most significant poets of the generation born in the 1970s. After his promising debut work, The Lights Between the Boards (Světla mezi prkny, 2008), came A Trap for Brigita (Past na Brigitu), which evoked an unusually positive response and secured a Magnesia Litera for Poetry. Řehák has managed to combine the poetics of authors following in the tradition of Vratislav Effenberger and Group 42 with contemporary trends – e.g. emphasizing the character of the writer’s artistic statement in the manner of the Fantasía group (paradoxically, Řehák was the most successful in realizing this group’s manifesto). Řehák recently brought out his third collection.

The poetry of Adam Borzič is characterized by the emotive, impassioned intensity with which it is put across. Nor does it eschew the “new pathos” (which is in complete accordance with the manifesto of the Fantasía group, of which Borzič, along with Bouška and Petr Řehák, was a founding member). In his work, Borzič takes a sensitive view of the wider problems of the contemporary world, which he sets within a more general mythical framework, linking them to diverse spiritual and philosophical reflections and insights.

The cornerstone of Kamil Bouška’s poetry is his emphasis on image and expression. Civilist-oriented, generally applicable texts alternate with raw and harrowing narratives.

The poems of Viktor Špaček abandon established lyrical approaches and are closer to the work of Petr Hruška in terms of their civilist poetic. In contrast to Hruška, however, Špaček is more “insolent” and vitriolic in describing the problems of the contemporary world – interpersonal relationships, alienation, isolation, ageing, etc. His work marries a talent for observation with a sense of irony.

Marie Šťastná’s work ranges from a certain lyrical spontaneity to a completely purified form of expression. She received the Dresden Poetry Award in 2010.

Kateřina Rudčenková attracted attention with her very first collection, Ludwig, which was inspired by Thomas Bernhard’s novel. From this strong, successfully stylized debut, the poet gradually moved towards more civilist-oriented and intimate areas, and it is in this vein that she wrote her best poetry collection to date, Walking on Dunes (Chůze po dunách), for which she was awarded the Magnesia Litera for Poetry.

Simona Racková is the author of emotional, personal and, at the same time, civilist narratives. Through them, Racková, like Sylvia Plath, delivers a strong message about the status of the female lyric subject in this world, which she confronts in various roles. She won the Dresden Poetry Award for her poems in 2016.

Jitka Srbová has written three collections of poetry so far. Together with Vít Janota, she is one of the core authors at the Dauphin publishing house. She has a fine sense for the expressive potential of situations and a well-honed sense of humour and is a wonderful observer of people and the situations they find themselves in. Her most recent poetry collection, The Forest (Les), in particular attracted a great deal of attention.

Josef Straka is one of the most well-established poets from the middle generation and plays an active part in organizing the literary scene. In his raw, existential texts, he describes the position of the poetic subject in today’s world. His verses are borne upon a wave of spontaneity and tend towards a deliberate quality of monotonal litany; the power of conscious narrative is placed before the creative use of language.

Tomáš Reichel’s two published collections showed him to be a spiritually oriented author. One of his basic motifs is a journey of initiation during which the lyric subject confronts his own internal contradictions (for example, spirituality versus physicality). The decadent tradition provided the starting point for his stylistically polished verse. However, Reichel later moved away from writing poetry.

One of the leading poets in the circle around the Weles journal is Vojtěch Kučera, whose poems are characterized by their unpretentiousness and a certain degree of minimalism. These are short records, fragments of conversations and everyday situations. Taken as a whole, Kučera’s texts form a kind of poetic diary. One remarkable experiment is the collection of texts entitled Stillness (Nehybnost), in which the author links together virtual and printed media in an original way.

Ladislav Puršl is the author of three poetry collections, but it was the second, entitled Map of the Newts (Mločí mapa), which really brought him to attention. In it we find an urgent lyricism replete with motifs of death, the landscape and spirituality.

Robert Fajkus is part of the circle of poets grouped around Vít Slíva and the journal Weles. His lyrical poems offer a personification of the landscape with spiritual overtones, but also with a romantic lyricism. With a light and easy touch – albeit often in hints – he expresses the fundamental questions of human existence.

Petr Maděra’s poetic is akin to the nature lyricism of the poets grouped around Weles. He has written three collections of poetry so far, the first two being clearly influenced by the poetic of Vladimír Holan. A more civilist tone permeates his third collection – Filtration Papers (Filtrační papíry).

Bogdan Trojak was most active in publishing poetry in the mid-1990s and in the first decade of the 21st century. He has now gone back to writing for children. His work is typified by his sophisticated and inventive use of language and his ability to build a viable poetic myth imbued with a magical atmosphere (e.g. the collection Uncle Kaich Is Getting Married [Strýc Kaich se žení]).

Jan Těsnohlídek jr’s surprising debut work brought a generational narrative by a teenage poet to the Czech literary setting and secured him the Jiří Orten Award. His next collection, Cancer (Rakovina), continued in a similar vein, although it had lost that suprapersonal bloom. He recently published a third collection of poetry, The Main Thing Is To Save Yourself (Hlavně zachraň sebe), in which he manages to successfully present his own feelings about life as generational ones.

Kateřina Kováčová received the Jiří Orten Award for her debut work, Nests (Hnízda), in which she builds on lyrical nature motifs which serve as a background to the powerful narrative of the lyric subject. In her next book, I Sensed a Forest (Sem cejtila les), the subjectivity is artfully dissolved into a game with language; together the poetry collections form a coherent mythical space.

Irena Šťastná has written three collections in which the lyrical earthiness of rural chronotopes mingles with the raw narrative of the lyric subject.

Věra Rosí won the Jiří Orten Award for her debut work. In subsequent collections she once again demonstrated her refined sense for regular form and rhythm, as well as for the symbolism of the landscape and the movement within it as a way of illustrating states of being and thought.

Jonáš Hájek has written three poetry collections to date. His debut work, Debris (Suť), for which the author received the Jiří Orten Award, clearly brings together the influence of a number of poets – mainly Petr Hruška, Vít Slíva, Petr Borkovec and the German expressionists. It had a mixed reception. Nevertheless, it was evident that a poet had entered the scene who thinks very seriously about poetry, has absorbed poetic traditions and consciously attempts to follow on from them. Hájek’s second collection, National History (Vlastivěda), was more descriptive. His third book of poetry, Poems 3 (Básně 3), presents stylistically sophisticated texts and is open to the world and current issues.

Marie Iljašenko demonstrated her unquestionable talent through her debut work, Osip Is Heading South (Osip míří na jih, Host 2015). Her poetry combines the influence of Joseph Brodsky with other sources of inspiration that have not yet been explored in the Czech context, thus bringing a fresh new European voice to contemporary poetry.

Martin Poch is one of the most distinctive poets from the 1980s generation. With complete assurance, his poetry brings together opposites: high and low, absurdity and seriousness, unrestrained physicality and coldness. It is a poetic full of contradictions – and that is where its potential stems from. One remarkable aspect of Poch’s poetic is the process that takes place within the language: his best work can be described as a poetic event in the sense that Petr Král spoke about (e.g. in The Best Czech Poems of 2011).

One of the most distinctive talents from the younger generation is Ondřej Hanus. In his work he moves from stylistically refined verse that successfully brings the poetic tradition up to date, to a freer and more civilist narrative which still continues to place great emphasis on the precise use of poetic figures. His work combines a distinctive, individual vision with stylistic virtuosity, the earthly with the spiritual. He received the Jiří Orten Award for his collection Scenes (Výjevy).

Ondřej Buddeus is a versatile writer who aims primarily for originality and purity. He has absorbed modern global trends into his work. He typically works with a concept and a premeditated plan; he combines economy of language with a sophisticated game that he plays with the reader. He is the recipient of both a Magnesia Litera and the Jiří Orten Award.

Tomáš Gabriel’s debut work contains a civilist poetic replete with irony, questioning the essence of the phenomenal world. In his second collection, Gabriel energetically embarked on a deconstruction of ingrained approaches to poetry, sometimes verging on parody and farce. He does not shy away from aphorisms or linguistic barbs. With a touch of hyperbole, it could be said that some of the more free-flowing passages pose a trap for the reader.

Roman Polách is a promising young poet whose debut work transformed everyday phenomena and traces of memory with a spiritual/reflective tone into a kind of silent incantation.

Pavel Bušta made his poetry debut with Doublets (Dvojtváří). Two different attitudes merge with each other within the book: a “serious” one, whereby the poet’s subject has a distinctive cultural and historical resonance, and an ironic one, which casts doubt on the nature of modern worldly vices.

Jonáš Zbořil is the author of the powerful poetry debut Podolí. The book contains rich imagery, veined with the sensitivity of the poet’s subject, as it takes us on a walk through the city streets and the paths of memory and the internal landscape.

Zuzana Lazarová is the author of the slim, mature debut work The Iron Shirt (Železná košile). Hers is a hard, unapologetic style of verse, artfully employing linguistic structures and also fruitfully inspired by surrealist approaches.

General characteristics of contemporary Czech poetry by Olga Stehlíková
Individuals, passage about literary websites in the introductory synthesis by Ladislav Zedník

Our thanks go to Ondřej Hanus for his comments.

Translated by Graeme Dibble
Cover photo by Jitka Hanušová

Books for child and adolescent readers have traditionally held a very strong position in Czech literature, and original Czech works can boast an excellent reputation internationally. Proof of this can be found in the titles of Czech origin on the IBBY honour list, exceptional recognition awarded at Bologna Children’s Book Fair or awards for translated editions given by the literary bodies of individual nations.

As we look back at the last decade, we are delighted to observe that the market share of literature for children and young people is increasing; clearly, publishers see a future in children’s books. Confirming this trend are the books produced by larger, well-established publishers founded in the 1990s, which focus largely on literary fiction or popular science for adults (Argo, Host and Paseka), but whose lists today include a growing proportion of books aimed at child, adolescent and young adult readers that branches off from standard production; these books are also collecting domestic and foreign literary prizes. The position of children’s graphic novels is also being consolidated and the range of concertina books for the smallest readers has grown substantially.

The Czech publishing houses particularly specialising in titles for children and young people traditionally include Albatros (the oldest and largest publisher, which has been systematically publishing kidlit since 1949; over the last decade it has brought out approximately 150 titles a year, including translations), Meander (founded in 1995 and publishing around 25 titles annually, primarily original Czech books), Baobab (a family publisher founded at the turn of the millennium focusing largely on picture books, publishing around two dozen titles per year) and Prague-based Labyrint’s Raketa imprint (founded in 2004; two-thirds of the approximately twenty books it publishes annually are kidlit, including graphic novels).

Over the last decade, the already mentioned Brno-based publisher Host has produced a varied and ever-growing selection of kidlit. Host was the first publisher to introduce Czech readers to best-sellers from Poland and Ukraine (Mizielinski, Dziubak, Bula) and the market success of both translated and domestic titles has resulted in a greater focus on original Czech books for children. Today Host has published around four dozen kidlit titles, including graphic novels and YA, with translated books still predominating; however, those originally written in Czech are exceptionally high in quality and are frequently nominated for industry prizes, such as the Golden Ribbon [Zlatá stuha], The Most Beautiful Czech Book of the Year or the Magnesia Litera prize.

Paseka is unrivalled in the kidlit field primarily due to the titles The Oddsockeaters (Lichožrouti, 2008–2013) by Pavel Šrut and Dustzone (Prašina, 2018–2020) by Vojtěch Matocha. Since 2015 it has also systematically published graphic novels, including some big international names as well as significant Czech artist-writers, such as Štěpánka Jislová, married couple Tereza Kopečká and Tomáš Kopečký, and Jindřich Janíček, whose popularity is growing in the Czech market.

Prague-based publisher Argo (which publishes Tove Jansson and David Walliams in Czech translation) has grown its list of original Czech kidlit, principally since 2020, and has enriched it with first-time authors and graphic novelists, including in particular the outstanding Tomáš Peřina, Martin Čepa and Kateřina Čupová.

However, small independent publishers founded in the new millennium have also contributed to writing the history of Czech kidlit between 2015-2025, and they have made the greatest effort to boost bibliodiversity in the Czech book market: Bylo nebylo founded by Anna Pleštilová and Helena Černohorská, 65. pole founded by Tomáš Brandejs (both in 2007), Verzone founded by Veronika Benešová Hudečková (in 2010), Běžíliška founded by František Havlůj and Šárka Svobodná (in 2013), LUX founded by Michal Štěpánek (in 2017) and POP-PAP founded by Marcela Konárková Vostřelová (in 2017). The Roma literature publisher KHER also started to focus on child and adolescent readers in 2022. Isolated titles about dying and death are contributed to Czech literature by publishing house Cesta domů [The Way Home], which supports the home hospice charity of the same name.

From quarantine to controlling emotions

The Czech book market shrank due to the global covid pandemic and accompanying socio-economic changes. The number of books published in the last decade has fallen from a total of approximately 16 000 volumes in 2015 to roughly 13 000 in 2023/2024, according to the Report on the Czech Book Market, drawn up every year by the professional organisation The Association of Czech Booksellers and Publishers. The children’s and young people’s literature sector (both originally written in Czech and translated, both fiction and non-fiction) constitutes around a tenth of the total production of Czech books.

Experiences of the pandemic have also appeared in several children’s book titles, of which the most distinctive – across genres and age ranges – is Marka Míková’s The Coat and the Handbag (Kabát a kabelka, 2021, Argo), illustrated by Galina Miklínová, which was awarded a Golden Ribbon and the Magnesia Litera prize 2022. This humorously told fantasy story depicts two ordinary items, an old pink handbag and an overcoat, falling in love and wandering together through Prague’s empty streets. The richly illustrated interactive book by journalist Irena Hejdová The Deed Ran Away (Skutek utek!, 2022, Host, illustrated by Veronika Zacharová), for pre-schoolers and younger schoolchildren, takes as its theme the demands placed on family life during lockdown, when schools were closed and working from home was mandatory. The silent book Gran (Babi, 2023, Host) by Martina Trchová is an extraordinary artistic achievement – a picture album reflecting intergenerational separation, a granddaughter’s longing to see her grandmother and the desire to stay in touch using memories and the imagination. A special mention in the Bologna Ragazzi Awards 2025 turned the international spotlight onto this book. Ideas about the impact of digitalisation on our lives and on the limits of state responsibility and freedom were reflected in František Tichý’s Recruit 244 (Rekrut 244, 2022, Baobab).

Another of the pandemic’s repercussions for kidlit – with no explicit references – is the obvious increase in books devoted to children’s feelings, emotionality and psyche. These titles frequently anticipate other readers, that is, adult guides who can both support child readers and also learn how to approach emotionally fraught situations as they read. A wealth of translations in this field supplements popular science and interactive publications: Ester Stará, all illustrated by Milan Starý: The Book of Feelings (Kniha pocitů, 2022, Pasparta); Super Máňa (Super Máňa, 2023, Pikola); Super Máňa and Big Dog Love (Super Máňa a velká psí láska, 2024, Pikola); Lenka Blaze: Softy (Cíťa, 2022, Blaze.je); Mum and Dad Aren’t Together Any More (Máma s tátou už nejsou spolu, 2024, Blaze.je, Most Beautiful Czech Book of the Year prize) but also Noemi Cupalová’s story book about respect Karlíček and the Wasps (Karlíček a vosy, 2021, Běžíliška, illustrated by Hana Šradějová, Most Beautiful Czech Book of the Year prize) or interpersonal relationships and self-acceptance Stupid Vendula (Blbá Vendula, 2024, Běžíliška, illustrated by Eva Horská). Cupalová’s writing focuses on conflict behaviour, and in her newest book, for children of around ten, called Stupid Vendula, she provides two parallel versions of the story in columns of different colours: Vendula is having problems at school, at home, with her friends, until at a certain moment she realises that she can either continue to coast along in her vicious circle of anger and negative emotions, or she can take responsibility for her life, pluck up her courage and attempt to break through the obstacle barrier.

Fear of the dark and of otherness

Fear and attempts to understand or overcome it are frequent themes in kidlit (Martina Špinková: Fear, a strange fellow (Divný brach strach, 2015, Cesta domů), Jana Šrámková: Zuza in Gardens (Zuza v zahradách, 2015, Labyrint, illustrated by Andrea Tachezy). There is a surprising number of remarkable titles about fear of the dark: a loving look at an uncanny walk through a summer night is provided by artist Marie Štumfová’s Klárka and the Night Garden (Klárka a noční zahrada, 2023, Portál); while David Košťák’s When the Dark Pours In Through the Keyhole (Když se klíčovou dírkou rozlije tma, 2023, Knižní stezka k dětem, illustrated by Anna Kulíčková) is a celebration of children’s imaginativeness in which a child’s bedroom comes to life after dark. The graphic novel artist Toy Box works with a child’s imagination that can see real danger in many forms in a piece of dark fabric caught on a tree after a night storm in the book Dark (Tma, 2021, Paseka). Dora Kaprálová inserts a motif of existential angst, plus backdrops that border on horror, into the night story Mr Nobody and the White Darkness (Pan Nikdo a bílá tma, 2022, Baobab, illustrated by Darja Čančíková) about children meeting a monster.

Jana Šrámková’s poetically written Fánek the Star Sailor (Fánek hvězdoplavec, 2022, Běžíliška), is imbued with particularly strong emotions – anxiety, love, hope – with mysterious, playful illustrations by the originally Belarusian artist Margharita Khavanski; it was the winning title in the books for children and young people category in the Magnesia Litera prize of 2023. Fánek’s dad is leaving to work abroad, and in the real world only occasional letters and telephone calls enable contact with him, with memories and internal monologues in Fánek’s head. The boy deals with his pain and loneliness using his imagination and dreams about the stars and starships. The pared-back text is shot through with Biblical allusions and messages about the power of forgiveness. Jana Šrámková partially references the motifs in her previous book for small children Brothers in the Field (Bratři v poli, 2017, Běžíliška, illustrated by Markéta Prachatická), in which the inseparable friends ground squirrel and vole also dream of travelling into space, but Dageš must patiently wait for Mapík until he “returns” from hibernation.

A number of stories also reflect otherness or deviations from the norm perceived in the most varied of ways and complex life situations facing the child protagonists. In this respect, the book series There’s a catch (Má to háček), jointly published since 2016 by Albatros and Pasparta, can only attract praise. Around a dozen books for younger school-age readers cover subjects such as parental divorces, shared custody, bullying in school, illness, learning disabilities and the like. The psychological novel by Ivona Březinová Roar Quietly, Bro (Řvi potichu, brácho, 2016, Albatros/Pasparta, illustrated by Tomáš Kučerovský), aimed at older readers, has as its protagonist a twin boy with autistic spectrum disorder. Březinová, an experienced kidlit author, introduces this topic to Czech literature with sensitivity and understanding. Questions of gender identity are presented with a high level of empathy and artistic invention by Marto Kelbl in her graduation work Neither Girl nor Boy (Ani holka ani kluk, 2023, Paseka) now published as a book. This illustrated story with graphic-novel elements and a number of educational inserts shows non-binary identities in a broad historical and social context. The author’s other books also deserve attention: the collection of palindromes There and Back (Tam a zpět, 2023, Meander, Golden Ribbon 2024) or her illustrations to the book about discovering the world for the smallest readers The Beginning and the End by Michal Štěpánek (Začátek a konec, 2023, Lux).

Publishing house Kher dedicates exemplary care to the Roma literary tradition. In recent years it has published several noteworthy titles for readers of all ages: Eva Danišová’s playful picture book One, Two, Three (Jekh, duj, trin, 2025), with elements of Romanes, is aimed at preschoolers, while older children will be captivated by the bilingual fairytale Stray Dog by poet and groundbreaking Roma feminist Tera Fabiánová (Čavargoš/Tulák, 2023, illustrated by Magdalena Rutová, translated by Milena Hübschmannová), which depicts life in a Roma settlement from the perspective of a stray dog. Growing up in the normalisation period is autobiographically recorded by Michal Šamko in his first book Maypoles and Totem Poles (Májky a totemy, 2023, illustrated by Petr Polák), while the experience of being an outsider in the modern Czech Republic as seen by two high school students, one half-Roma and the other half-Vietnamese, is informed by a considerable dose of irony in the socially critical novella, Me, Tran and Everything Else (Já, Tran a všechno ostatní, 2025, illustrated Sára Paldanová), by new author Martin Kanaloš, and is aimed at adolescents and young adults.

A subtle environmental appeal

Ecology, sustainability and human attitudes to nature have become a hot topic in children’s books, alongside mental health and the acceptance of otherness. Rather than being primarily educational books, the environmental appeal forms part of a more complex message. Kidlit provides the ideal opportunity, because it has long been indebted to nature motifs – flora and fauna are an integral part of how children discover the world around us.

Lucie Hášová Truhelková’s Grandpa in Pink Trousers (Dědeček v růžových kalhotách, 2021, Albatros, illustrated by Andrea Tachezy) is aimed at pre-school children and was nominated for a Golden Ribbon. The pink on the cover literally glows – first and foremost it denotes Grandpa’s eccentricity, but ultimately his trousers become a placeholder for fast fashion. While the ecological link is entirely obvious, the book’s key theme is the relationship between Grandpa and his grandson. Nor is the felling of rainforests the main theme in Michal Šanda’s Rio the Polar Bear Saves the Rainforest (Lední medvěd Rio zachraňuje prales, 2023, Meander); the polar bear sails to warmer climes on a small iceberg, where he helps his new friends by preventing the destruction of the jungle.

A fairytale explanation of climate change is provided by Frostbite (Omrzlina, 2024, Host), by sisters Kateřina (text) and Zuzana (illustrations) Čupová. The quirky child narrator adds humour to this dynamic story, which introduces middle-grade readers to the Frozen Nation and explains why the world is losing ice. Incidentally, relationships with nature also make an appearance in Zuzana Čupová’s writing début Trees (Stromové, 2024, Knižní stezka k dětem). The writing in this playfully anthropomorphic, encyclopaedic overview of trees in the Czech landscape won a Golden Ribbon 2025.

The much-praised family book The Bicycle (Kolo, 2024, Paseka, Golden Ribbon 2025) by poet and translator Ondřej Buddeus, with distinctive illustrations by Jindřich Janíček, also touches on sustainability. Aimed at children and adults alike, this exceptionally informative, playful non-fiction book scores points for both text and graphics, and investigates its central theme – the bicycle – from many perspectives. It covers urbanism, ecology and the social context in addition to the history of cycling and its health benefits. The message of concertina book The Little Red Ball by Michal Štěpánek (Malý červený míč, Lux, 2024, illustrated by Filip Pošivač), about a little boy searching for his lost ball with the help of a stray dog, is also that there is no need to throw out everything that is broken. This book, for readers aged two and over, highlights the importance of patience and of helping each other.

A space for strong characters

We find nature overlapping into metaphysics in many recent books; this is an exceptionally strong tradition in Czech kidlit, and the books have also been recognised internationally (let us mention Josef Lada, Jiří Trnka, Vojtěch Kubašta, Miroslav Šašek, Květa Pacovská and Petr Sís). Emphasis on the informational, educational side is frequently indivisible from the books’ distinctive aesthetics, meaning they can be described as artistic-scientific publications. The last decade has demonstrated that this approach is exceptionally attractive to young creators and artists who, inspired by a rapidly changing society, create an original response to it.

Tereza Říčanová is a renowned artist whose work is associated with the publishing house Baobab. Her appealing illustrated guide This is Istanbul (To je Istanbul, 2019, Baobab) follows in the footsteps of the famous series of illustrated guides to European metropolises that Miroslav Šašek started to publish as early as the late 1940s. More frequently, however, Říčanová focuses on the theme of the close connection between human beings and nature and natural cycles, be this agricultural work with animals, in Ms Říčanová’s Cow (Kráva Říčanová, 2021, Baobab), shortlisted for the Magnesia Litera prize, or the more subtle position of her latest The Forest (Les, 2024, Baobab), a sovereign artistic achievement that also showcases the author’s feeling for language, almost poetic in places, yet entirely comprehensible. Zbyšek wanders through the woods on a sort of pilgrimage, on which he listens intently, up to the moment when a monster appears and tears the forest to shreds with its teeth and claws. Zbyšek later works to restore it. Characterised by a heady atmosphere, the book stimulates perception via the senses and ultimately gives hopeful information about the resilience of nature’s natural order.

A is for Antarctica: A View from the Other Side (A jako Antarktida. Pohled z druhé strany, 2019, Labyrint, Magnesia Litera prize, Golden Ribbon) by conceptual artist David Böhm convincingly conveys the information that there are places where human beings may never have set foot. This playful, informative encyclopaedia makes use of a whole range of artistic techniques and folding pages to provide an interactive experience that overlaps into philosophy. Böhm blends scientific knowledge and existential questions – this time with regard to the timeline of life on this planet – in another of his books Now. Before You Finish Reading this Sentence, 21 Children Will Be Born on Earth (Teď. Než dočteš tuto větu, narodí se na Zemi 21 dětí, 2023, Labyrint). He is also a contributor to the internationally recognised title The City for Everyone: A Beginner Urbanist’s Manual (Město pro každého. Manuál urbanisty začátečníka, 2020, Labyrint, text Osamu Okamura, illustrated by David Böhm and Jiří Franta, photography by Pavel Horák, Bologna Ragazzi Award, Czech Grand Design 2021).

The large-format book I, Octopus (Já, chobotnice, 2022, Baobab), by Magdalena Rutová also conveys a powerful environmental appeal. Rutová won the Illustrator of the Year prize in the Czech Grand Design awards, and the book also won a Golden Ribbon and the Bologna Ragazzi Award 2024. The likeable eponymous animal heroine no longer wants to live in the sea, but wishes to discover the human world so she can write a book about it. Her adventures and her view of what goes on around her will ultimately inspire the planet’s human inhabitants. Let us also mention Magdalena Rutová’s success as a writer as well as an illustrator. She exemplifies the type of illustrator whose artwork develops and puts the finishing touches to a text, which is proved, for example, by The Unreal Adventures of Florentin Flowers (Neskutečná dobrodružství Florentina Flowerse, 2019, Baobab, text by Marek Toman), Tomatoes and Bananas (Rajčaťáci a banáni, 2023, Host, text by Petr Váša), in the bilingual book Stray Dog (Čavargoš/Tulák, 2023, Kher, text by Tera Fabiánová) or the enchanting story about the overlap between the human and animal worlds, The Parrot and the Vixen (Žako a Stopotvorná, 2024, Baobab, text by Alžběta Dvořáková).

Tereza Ščerbová also chooses protagonists from the animal kingdom. Her YA philosophical fairytale Kooki (Krtník, 2016, Host, Golden Ribbon 2017) shines artistically and is concerned with searching for your own identity.

Guides to the worlds of mice, insects and fungi

A number of other significant nature-themed books from the last decade also have a didactic dimension. Tereza Vostradovská’s large-format publications Playful Science (Hravouka, 2016, Běžíliška, Golden Ribbon 2017) and Playful Journeys (Hravocesta, 2021, Běžíliška) also deserve attention. The detailed, realistic illustrations and playful tasks for pre-school and younger primary school readers also serve as useful learning materials. The story of the little mouse who decides to create her own encyclopaedia about nature is supplemented by an app for mobile devices, so it can also be used for outdoor activities.

Aneta Františka Holasová’s Ipsík’s Tale (Pohádka o Ipsíkovi, 2016, Běžíliška) also encourages the readers’ desire to learn to read and write while realistically reflecting the life of insects. The theme is not far removed from that of her début, Lumír Keeps Bees or the Honey Spelling Book (Lumír včelaří aneb Medový slabikář, 2013, Labyrint), which was devoted to the annual cycle of bees; she also remains faithful to nature motifs in her role of illustrator, e.g., for The Herbalist (Bylinkář) and The Secret of the Old Garden (Tajemství staré zahrady) by Monika Golasovská, 2019 and 2022 respectively, both published by Labyrint. Tereza Marianová’s work also focuses on flora and fauna. Her trilogy of verses about plants, Flower Boards, Shrub Boards, Tree Boards (Květolelo, Keřolelo, Stromolelo, 2022–2023, Meander) is aimed at the smallest readers, while Street Rascals (Uličníci, 2023) is devoted to urban wildlife. She has also treated, in an encyclopaedic fashion, the subjects of Czech hunting Oh Dear Oh Deer (To jsem z toho jelen, 2019, Pikola) and horse-racing The Grand Story of the Grand Pardubice Steeplechase (Velký příběh Velké pardubické, 2020, Albatros).

Many artistic and educational books are encyclopaedic in nature and frequently result from a long-term creative collaboration between the author and the illustrator. For example, publishing house Baobab have issued a number of impressive titles from the workshop of Jiří Dvořák and the Slovak artist Daniela Olejníková. The Vermin Book (Havětník, 2015) is full of lice, fleas, mites, caterpillars and all sorts of other insects, yet it is also poetic, adventurous and informative. How We Live (Bydlíme, 2019) again demonstrates how humans and animals create their own homes. However, the apex of their collaborative work so far is Myco. The Complete Bulletin from the World of Fungi (Myko. Kompletní zpravodaj ze světa hub, 2023). The Magnesia Litera prize confirmed its quality in 2024, as did the main prize in the non-fiction category of the prestigious international Bologna Children’s Book Fair. These awards highlight innovative graphic design, scientific accuracy and attractively presented contents. These books foreground Jiří Dvořák’s strengths: communicating encyclopaedic subjects via stories, poetic approaches to language and playful ideas – framed on this occasion in the form of a bulletin about mushrooms created by the mushrooms themselves.

Illustrators reanimating history

Artistic-educational children’s publications frequently focus on history. In recent years we have observed a tendency to mediate historical themes primarily using stories with a journey-through-time motif, or directly in the biographical graphic novel genre. However, such works also include titles with a significant artistic element in their storytelling. The large-format book Áďa Fell into the Canal (Áďa spadla do kanálu, 2018, Albatros) by graphic designer Sylva Francová, aimed at younger schoolchildren, accompanies a little girl around Prague’s historical sites (and has a framing story with a problematic sibling relationship as its theme).

The prize-winning illustrator Renáta Fučíková is the most prominent producer of picture books that process historical material. Her educational titles effectively seek ways to make the subject as accessible as possible to the modern reader. For example, her book Shakespeare (2016, Vyšehrad, Golden Ribbon 2017) introduces a dozen of the playwright’s plays, enriched with a comprehensible interpretation touching on sources of inspiration and the cultural-historical context. Over 400 illustrations capturing the ambience of the eras described put the finishing touches to the written text. She has also turned the spotlight on other greats of world drama: Molière (2017, Golden Ribbon), Chekhov (2021) and Goethe (2024), and she covers the period of ancient Czech history in the book Queens and Pilgrims: Stories of the First Millennium (Královny a poutníci. Příběhy prvního tisíciletí, 2023, Albatros). As an illustrator she has worked with a number of experienced writers, such as Radek Malý (Franz Kafka: A Man of His and Our Time, Franz Kafka. Člověk své i naší doby, 2017, Práh) and Markéta Pilátová (The Little Girl on the Postage Stamp, Holčička ze známky, 2024, Práh; Birds of Passage: Stories of Czech Exile and Immigration, Tažní ptáci. Příběhy českého exilu a imigrace, 2025, Universum).

Rising stars from two centres

Renáta Fučíková is also a superb educator – she is the head of the Didactic Illustration studio at the Ladislav Sutnar Faculty of Design and Art, University of West Bohemia in Plzeň (Pilsen), where she transmits her rich experience to students gradually establishing themselves as a strong new generation of illustrators. These newcomers are gaining ground both as individuals (Marto Kelbl, Tereza Marianová and Štěpánka Jislová) and in joint projects, including the excellent titles Heroines. The Stories of Significant Czech Women (Hrdinky. Příběhy významných českých žen, 2020, Universum, Golden Ribbon), Velvet Effect: 1988–1992 (2020, Albatros, texts by Petr Švec and Renáta Fučíková) about the course and context of the Velvet Revolution, or The Unforgettable 1920s: A Guide to the Essential Decade in Modern History (Nezapomenutelná dvacátá. Průvodce zásadním desetiletím novodobých dějin, 2023, Universum) about the young Czechoslovak Republic’s heyday.

Graduates of the Academy of Arts, Architecture and Design in Prague are also becoming known as distinctive illustrators. Nikola Logosová (Illustrator of the Year 2019 in the annual Czech Grand Design awards) has provided intensely colourful illustrations for the concertina book Recorded Delivery (Rekomando, 2015, Běžíliška, text by Robin Král), the story The Eve of St Nicholas by Lukáš Csicsely (Předvečer svatého Mikuláše, 2017, Meander), the history of medicine in seven days Watch Out, A Doctor! by Petr Svobodný (Pozor, doktor!, 2019, Běžíliška), the “handbook” to human personalities and professions I, a Human Being by Olga Stehlíková (Já, člověk, 2021, Albatros) or Petra Soukupová’s two-volume series The Weird Kids’ Club (Klub divných dětí, 2019, 2023, Host). Her authorial début, the illustrated World Atlas – Europe (Atlas světa – Evropa, Lux) was published in 2023, and introduces the landscapes, places of interest, inhabitants and culture of individual European countries using original, mosaic images.

Nikola Hoření, also a graduate of the Academy of Arts, Architecture and Design in Prague, has focused on collaborating with publishing house Meander, where she has demonstrated her abilities as an author of concertina books about experiencing emotions: Karla is Crying (Karla pláče), Hubert is Angry (Hubert se vzteká), Ida is Happy (Ida se raduje) and Tonča is Scared (Tonča se leká) (2020–2023). She deployed her expressive, seemingly naive style in Michal Šanda’s poetry collection for the smallest readers, How do you do? (Rukulíbám) or the poetic story Lilly, the Hang-Glider is Flying! (Lilly, letí rogalo!) by Jaroslav Kovanda (both 2020, Meander), which combines poetry with graphic-novel inserts.

The talented Jakub Bachorík was awarded the Graphic Designer of the Year award in 2016, while he was still studying at the Academy of Arts, Architecture and Design in Prague. Bachorík has yet to write his own book, but he and his original artistic style have been involved in a number of titles by other authors. He and Kateřina Přidalová worked together on the popular science book What actually is design? (Co je vlastně design?, 2021, UMPRUM), he illustrated the story of the boy with burns The Boy in the Fire (Kluk v ohni, 2021, Cesta domů, text by Marka Míková) and he left an unmistakable mark on the artistic-educational publications Bridges (Mosty, 2024, Labyrint, text by Magda Garguláková) and A Book Full of Food (Kniha plná jídla, 2025, Host, text by Petra Tajovský Pospěchová).

Prizewinning illustrator, graphic designer and graphic novelist Lucie Lučanská won the Serpa International Award for picture-books in 2023, for title In the Tent (Pod stanem, 2025, Baobab), the poetic hundred-day peregrinations of two siblings in search of adventure. Her dissertation was transformed into The Book of Perceptions (Kniha vnímání, 2022, Lux), which won first place in the Most Beautiful Czech Book of the Year award in 2022, in the Bibliophilia and Book-Objects category.

Fictional worlds for proficient readers

The prerequisites for reader appeal in stories aimed at boys and girls on the edge of adolescence are adventures and tension, often associated with a conundrum (technical, mystical, historical, personal), pacing and thoughtful composition, and also strong characters who do not act stereotypically but overcome various obstacles. Authors who have made their mark in this genre over the relevant decade primarily include Vojtěch Matocha, František Tichý, Marek Toman, Petra Soukupová and Bára Dočkalová, whose books always contain high-quality illustrations.

The latter, Bára Dočkalová, whose novels are published by Labyrint, turns the spotlight on interpersonal relationships: her protagonists are allowed to mature, to become determined to discard their fears about what is expected of them and, first and foremost, to be themselves. Each book takes the readers into another environment and provides them with vividly narrated and engaging stories. The Secret of Pebble Mountain (Tajemství Oblázkové hory, 2018, illustrated by Petra Josefína Stibitzová) is a fantasy novel that takes two supposed enemies into another world; The Battle of the Baseball Diamond (Bitva o diamant, 2022, illustrated by Jindřich Janíček) takes place in the remote American mountains among children who are keen baseball fans, and the most recent, which was awarded the Magnesia Litera prize, Bone (Kost, 2024, illustrated by Zdenka Holub Převrátilová) recalls Slavonic traditions and gives undertones of horror to family history. Interpersonal relationships are the domain of Petra Soukupová, whose books are published by Host. In 2017, she created one fictional world for two separate novels: the detective story Who killed Snowy? (Kdo zabil Snížka?, illustrated by Tereza Ščerbová) is aimed at children, while Best For Everybody (Nejlepší pro všechny, 2018) is an adult drama of relationships. She worked sympathetically with difference, in harmony with the general trends in kidlit of recent years, in her subsequent publications Weird Kids’ Club (Klub divných dětí, 2019) and The Weird Kids and the Sad Cat (Divné děti a smutná kočka, 2023, both illustrated by Nikola Logosová). This is also true of the book Sydney: (The Two of Us from B.) (Sydney: (My dva z B.), 2020, Baobab, illustrated by Juraj Horváth), by publisher Tereza Horváthová, who presents the daily lives of socially marginalised children realistically but with hope. She offers up the same subject to younger readers in the book Wishes (Přání, 2022), illustrated by Michaela Kukovičová. The protagonist of Olga Stehlíková’s book Mojenka (2022, Host, illustrated by Andrea Tachezy) also experiences a challenging social situation – her daily life is destabilised when one of her parents becomes seriously ill. The book’s artwork was awarded a Golden Ribbon in 2023. Incidentally, Stehlíková’s Reference Dictionary (Výkladový slovník, 2023, Host, illustrated by Michaela Casková), a conceptually original work for younger readers, was also crowned with success: the publication won a Golden Ribbon and was selected for inclusion in the international catalogue The White Ravens.

Explorations of space and time

The adventure story genre is competently represented by Marek Toman. His funny, even parodical action books contain literary and cultural puzzles, taking readers to the Wild West in Cross-eyed Jim’s Patisserie (Cukrárna u Šilhavého Jima, 2018, Baobab, illustrated by František Loubat), or to the harsh environment of a pirate ship in The Unreal Adventures of Florentin Flowers (Neskutečná dobrodružství Florentina Flowerse, 2019, illustrated by Magdalena Rutová), or depicting the lives of American emigrants in Nožička and Wohryzek (Nožička a Wohryzek, 2022, illustrated by Jan Trakal). In terms of sales (though theatre and film adaptations have also played their part), the book, or rather books, of the decade is the trilogy Dustzone by Vojtěch Matocha (Dustzone, first volume published in 2018, Paseka, illustrated by Karel Osoha), which updates the tradition exemplified by Jaroslav Foglar in a modern and accessible fashion. The story’s protagonists repeatedly set out for the title’s secret quarter, where technology does not work and where they face real dangers that they must handle without the help of adults. The fictional world of the now-completed trilogy is currently being reimagined as a sort of chronicle in graphic novel format. The series The Chalk Figure (Křídový panáček, collected instalments published in 2023, illustrated by Karel Osoha) won the Muriel prize and was followed by Weird Walks (Podivné procházky, from March 2023, illustrated by Ester Kuchynková, Kateřina Čupová).

Books about travelling into the past enjoy using literary load-bearing strategies in which the child heroes find themselves with no modern technology and unable to turn to their families for help. Gateways to the past come in many different forms – the protagonist of Lucie Paulová’s novel Alma and the Picture World (Alma a Svět obrazu, 2022, Paseka, illustrated by Kateřina Čupová) goes through a picture to the age of the First Republic; the twins in Petra Hůlová’s Foxy Eyes (Liščí oči, 2021, Argo, illustrated by Nikkarin) arrive in August 1968 through a hole in the bathroom floor and Martin Čepa’s trio of heroes are transported through a large stone bell to the last days of World War II in The Bell (Zvon, 2024, Argo, illustrated by Richard Fischer). The children are in familiar places, but under unfamiliar conditions, and they have to rely on each other to get back home.

Otherwise, Stanislav Beran also works with a portal to the past in the novel Lost in the Air (Ztracený v povětří, 2023, Host; the sequel, Fear Over the River (Strach nad řekou) was published in 2024, both illustrated by Ján Kurinec). His protagonist passes through a metal cabinet into different eras in time, but the core of the plot unfolds in the present. The child’s experience is thus not only gained while travelling into the past, but also corresponds to the memory of adult characters.

The notional literary peak of historically motivated fiction belongs indisputably to František Tichý and the first two volumes of his free trilogy, Transport Beyond Eternity (Transport za věčnost, 2017, Baobab, Magnesia Litera) and The Labyrinth of Unfinished Encounters (Labyrint nedokončených setkání, 2020, Baobab, all illustrated by Stanislav Setinský), inspired by family correspondence and other authentic documents reflecting the lives of children and adolescents under the Protectorate. The trilogy is completed by the dystopian science-fiction story Recruit 2044 (Rekrut 2044, 2022), which is set in the near future. These sublimely well-composed, multi-layered novels combine strong adolescent characters with questions of personal responsibility and integrity.

Martin Vopěnka has continued to publish science fiction for children and young people over the last decade; his wide-ranging novel The New Planet (Nová planeta, 2015, Mladá fronta) won a Golden Ribbon. The books of Václav Dvořák are also exceptionally popular with readers. His most famous titles of the period include his self-published series The Kids from the Planet Písečnice (Písečníci, 2018, 2022) and the standalone novel I, Finis (Já, Finis, 2020, all illustrated by Jakub Cenkl). The artwork in the book Já, Finis – a readable science fiction story about boys who disappear on their eighth birthdays – was awarded a Golden Ribbon, and the text was awarded the “Readers’ Kosmas Prize”, which is part of the Magnesia Litera.

Graphic novels as the supreme storytelling format

The graphic novel scene has also professionalised over the last decade; this was reflected in the foundation of the Czech Graphic Novel Academy in 2018. The Academy is now responsible for awarding the annual Muriel prize for graphic novels, which of course includes a children’s graphic novel category. A strong generation of graphic novel creators is making strides in publishing graphic novels for both children and adults. The trends in these spheres are similar to a certain extent, resulting in an overlap in the target groups. For example, history-themed graphic novels may appeal to pre-teens, teens and adults. The graphic novel is thus establishing itself as the supreme storytelling format in the Czech context too; a format that enables the communication of complex themes directly and comprehensibly using strong visual elements.

The number, quality and variety of genres covered by original Czech graphic novels continues to grow and doubtless as a result we have in recent years detected a blurring of the boundary between the graphic novel and the illustrated book. Authors who combine artistic techniques (Renáta Fučíková for example, in the book Chekhov & (Čechov &) uses graphic novel elements to retell the stories of individual plays), and illustrators of prose (Klára Smolíková and Kateřina Illnerová: Dalila and the Lift with No Doors, Dalila a výtah bez dveří 2024) and educational books (Ester Stará and Milan Starý: The Book of Feelings, Kniha pocitů 2022) are exploiting the potential of graphic novels as a vivid interpretational tool. The Alliance of the Valiant by Ester Stará and Jiří Franta (Aliance udatných, 2024, 65. pole) combines text and graphic-novel passages in equal measure and is aimed at readers aged approximately ten and over. The point is not only to add interest. The division also functions from the story’s perspective – the graphic-novel sequences depict the alternative reality of a video game into which the main hero regularly falls when struggling with problems of ordinary life (family relationships, bullying).

Stable positions and new blood

The Brno-based painter and illustrator Pavel Čech, a fixture in the Czech graphic-novel scene, is primarily famous for his fondness for watercolours, ink and pastels. He continues to publish the graphic-novel cycle The Adventures of the Speedy Squirrel (Dobrodružství rychlé Veverky) – the most recent part was published in 2023 and parts 1-5 came out in a collected edition in the same year – and he also delighted fans of Jaroslav Foglar with his graphic-novel story The Redhead (O Červenáčkovi, 2019). The wordless graphic novel And (A, 2016, Petrkov) represents a new departure in his work. This parable about the mechanisms of autocracy was awarded the Muriel prize and a Golden Ribbon.

However, many new individuals have also emerged from the graphic-novel scene of the last decade. One of the best creators is Michal Menšík, who publishes under the pseudonym Nikkarin. In recent years he has also devoted himself to illustrating Czech and translated books, including Foxy Eyes by Petra Hůlová (Liščí oči, 2021, Argo), and Kiki’s Delivery Service (Doručovací služba čarodějky Kiki, 2024, Albatros) by the Japanese writer Eiko Kadono; however, he made his début as a screenwriter and cartoonist in one, as long as fifteen years ago, with a graphic-novel fantasy series (from 2009, Labyrint). He received a Golden Ribbon for the humorous graphic-novel fantasy for young adults Super Spellsword Saga: The Legend of Infinity (Super Spellsword Sága: Legenda o Nekonečnu, 2019, Labyrint) and he also contributes ongoing comic strips to the children’s magazines Four-Leaved Clover (Čtyřlístek) and Rocket (Raketa). Some of his well-loved stories also waited some time for a collected edition in book form: Hubert & Hugo (from 2021, Labyrint, three volumes, of which the most recent won the Muriel prize in 2024) follows the fortunes of two climbers, a father and son, while The Adventures of Rocky and Teri (Dobrodružství Rockyho & Terky), issued collectively with a bonus about the alien trio Uno, Duo, Tria (2022) describes expeditions in a spaceship and more.

Other successful series originally published in magazines and reissued several years later in book form include Matylda and the Pink Wolf by Jana Šrámková and Petra Josefína Stibitzová (Matylda a Růžovej vlk, 2023, Labyrint, Muriel prize) or Guinea Pigs in Action by Klára Smolíková and Ester Kuchynková (Morčata v akci, 2022, Crew), which originally appeared in the magazine Tečka [Full Stop].

Superheroes and robots

Kateřina Čupová made her début on the one hundredth anniversary of Karel Čapek’s play R.U.R. with a large-format graphic-novel adaptation (2020, Argo), which has attracted international attention. She has also won success at home with her subsequent book, the inventive Cook, Little Pot, Cook! (Hrnečku, vař!, 2022, Argo, Muriel prize 2022), which endows traditional fairytale characters with superhero elements.

In the graphic novel Supro: Heroes on Credit (Supro: Hrdinové na dluh, 2023, Crew), life is breathed into other superheroes by screenwriter Štěpánka Jislová, one of the most distinctive Czech graphic-novel artists of recent times. Her work for adult audiences Bald (2024, Graphic Mundi; Bez vlasů, 2020, Paseka) and Heartcore (2025, Graphic Mundi; Srdcovka, 2023, Paseka) has been highly successful, but she has also applied her ideas and playfulness in a graphic-novel guide to Czech sayings called Sayings and Proverbs (Přeřekadla, 2021, Meander). As an artist, Jislová has also contributed to historical graphic novels, aimed at a broad spectrum of readers, that raise awareness of Czechoslovak history – this includes, in addition to Milada Horáková by Jislová and Zdeněk Ležák (2020, Argo) Tricolore by Martin Šinkovský (Trikolora, 2019, Albatros) or Štefánik by Gabriela Kyselová and Michal Baláž (2021, Labyrint).

The trilogy William and Meriwether (William a Meriwether, Labyrint) by screenwriter Taťána Rubášová and artist Jindřich Janíček represents dystopia and science fiction for young people in Czech graphic novels. In The Remarkable Robot Expedition (Podivuhodná robotí expedice, 2016), which was included in The White Ravens selection, two robots travel around the one-time United States and find the remnants of human presence there. The sequels The Unexpected Robot Exodus (Neočekávaný robotí exodus, 2019) and The Distressing Robot Existence (Strastiplná robotí existence, 2023), expand into existential themes associated with human civilisation, ecology and ethics. The trilogy is enlivened with balanced humour and the emphasis gradually shifts to searching for your own place in the world and the basis of friendship. Jindřich Janíček’s creative approach successfully updates the adventure genre with a combination of interwar tradition and modern visual simplicity (small wonder that he was named Illustrator of the Year in 2022 by the Czech Grand Design awards). This approach functions convincingly both in his graphic novels aimed primarily at an adult audience, such as R for Runner (B jako běžec, 2021, Paseka), To the West on the Northwest Line (Na západ severozápadní linkou, 2022, Paseka) and in his illustrations to domestic and translated titles, such as Bára Dočkalová’s The Battle of the Baseball Diamond (Bitva o diamant, 2022, Labyrint).

A good example of a successful collaboration between a talented artist and experienced writer is the entertaining graphic novel Tibbles the Cat (Tibbles, 2021, Meander, Muriel prize 2021) by David Dolenský and Michal Šanda. A subtle ecological point is the punchline to this story of a cat (anti)hero, who moves to an island with his owner, where they discover a new bird species. Before any ornithologist manages to visit the island, however, the tomcat has wiped them all out. Let us add that Dolenský’s other (non-graphic) novels also deal with consideration for and relationships with the natural world, including his début Rufus the Woodsman (Rufus zálesák, 2020, Baobab) and the loose continuation of this wiry, idiosyncratic man’s story, Rufus the Fisherman (Rufus rybaří, 2023, Baobab, text by Jaroslav Tvrdoň).

Playful poetry and wordplay

The tradition of rhyming poetry for children is currently being nurtured primarily by Robin Král, Radek Malý and Ester Stará. Child readers can encounter the poet, translator and songwriter Robin Král’s playful poems in nearly four dozen books, predominantly concertina books. His most striking poetic achievements are associated with the publishing house Běžíliška, where he started his successful poetry career with the 3D concertina book Oh, Ferdinand! about bat friends, illustrated by Andrea Tachezy (Ferdinande!, 2013, Golden Ribbon for the artwork, IBBY Honour List). He won the Magnesia Litera and a Golden Ribbon for his collection The Inventionary (Vynálezárium, 2015, illustrated by Jana Hrušková), in which he playfully brings together the world of inventors and literary theory (selected poetic forms such as calligrams, rondels and rispetti describing 53 human inventors). His other successful titles include A Cat in Cross-Section (Řez kočkou, 2018 and 2024, illustrated by Tereza Vostradovská), the narrative encyclopaedia Beware, A Doctor! (Pozor doktor!, 2018, illustrated by Nikola Logosová), the celebratory poetic composition Long Live the Queen! (Ať žije královna!, 2024, Knižní stezka k dětem, illustrated by Barbora Burianová) or the concertina books published by Meander, of which we will name only the most wide-ranging – a uniquely artistic treatment in the pop-up book At the Fair (Na pouti, 2024, Meander, illustrated by Andrea Tachezy).

The poet and German translator Radek Malý also writes poetry for children published by Běžíliška, often in a Mikroliška edition for the smallest readers and then, for example, the concertina book Nine Dormice in a Den (Devět plchů v pelechu, 2016) or the picture book Losses and Finds (Ztráty a nálezy, 2024), both illustrated by Andrea Tachezy, or by Meander, e.g. concertina books and reprints of the successful titles To Where Laughter is Allowed in (Kam až smí smích, 2009 and 2015), or The Children’s Little Poetic Dictionary in Examples (Poetický slovníček dětem v příkladech, 2012 and 2023) or indeed by Albatros, including All Sorts of Banter for Boys and Girls (Všelijaké řečičky pro kluky a holčičky, 2017, illustrated by Alžběta Skálová), Postcards from Unnoticed Towns (Pohlednice z nespatřených měst, 2022, illustrated by Jan Laštovička), where, however, he has in recent years mostly made a name for himself with educational titles: An Atlas of Extinct Animals (Atlas vyhubených živočichů, 2019), An Atlas of Endangered Animals (Atlas ohrožených živočichů, 2020), An Atlas of Prehistoric Animals (Atlas prehistorických živočichů, 2024).

The playful poems of Ester Stará, an experienced and award-winning kidlit author, will entertain and inform in the best sense of the word. She writes verses with funny, rhymed punchlines for schoolchildren Onions Make Everyone Cry (Každý bulí nad cibulí, 2017, Paseka), but also about means of transport and animals for the smallest readers: such as the hand-made art books by publisher POP-PAP Let’s Goooooooo! (Jedéééém!, 2018), Baa Moo Oink! (Meky mek! 2022) and Elle the Inquizzzative Bee (O zzzvědavé včele Elle, 2024). Stará, an experienced special educational needs teacher and speech therapist, is also the author of a number of didactic publications and books of fairytales that help to develop reading and communication skills, including The Greatest Wish (Největší přání, 2017, 65. pole) and Smoky and Beanie (Šedík a Bubi, 2019, Pikola, included in The White Ravens selection).

Perceiving the sense and nonsense of the world around us

The poet Petr Borkovec turns his attention onto the transience, fragility and ordinariness of things in his concertina books titled Things in Our Lives (Věci našeho života, 2017, Cesta domů, illustrated by Adriana Skálová) and Things We Lose (Věci, které ztrácíme, 2020, 2023, Meander, illustrated by Petra Josefína Stibitzová). The “herbarium of dreams” Blue Agave (Modrá agave, 2021, Baobab) that accompanies artist Michaela Kukovičová’s picture album is dedicated to “secretive beings aged 12 to 18”. In 2024, publisher Běžíliška brought out a collected edition of Borkovec’s poetry with the title Wet Blue Wellies are a Kingfisher (Ledňáček jsou modré mokré holínky, 2024), comprising the volumes Everything is in the Garden (Všechno je to na zahradě, 2013), What They Dream About (O čem sní, 2016) and the best-of collection Each Thing has Something in Common with Happiness (Každá věc má něco společného se štěstím, 2019) plus the newly published composition Benjamin Murka.

Daniela Fischerová’s most recent nonsense poetry includes the collections Tattooed Aunty (Tetovaná teta, 2015, Meander, illustrated by Jaromír Plachý) and The Sea Cow with a Ukelele (Ochechule s ukulele, 2018, illustrated by Jakub Kouřil), and humorously reflects children’s experience with the modern world and the world of fairytales. The charming onomatopoeic rhymes and wordplay of this author, who writes for both children and adults, can also be found in several volumes in the Repolelo series, published from 2019 by Meander Crash! Bang! Wallop! (Plác! Tác! Bác!), The Unprecedented Spectacle (Nevídaná podívaná), The Flying Tram (Tramvaj letí) and Nine Aunties on a Day Out (Devět tet jde na výlet).Today this remarkable series numbers six dozen titles and is particularly distinctive in creative terms because it brings together young artistic talent (Jakub Bachorík, Anna Kulíčková) and established Czech poets (Ivan Wernisch, Michal Šanda, Ivan Binar, Robin Král). Several volumes present innovatively illustrated folk riddles or sayings: Folk Dance Tra La La by Ester Nemjó (Kalamajka mik mik mik, 2019, Meander), What’s That? by Zuzana Čupová (Co to?, 2024, Meander); others have no text whatsoever, such as Hubert is Angry (Hubert se vzteká, 2021, Meander) or Karla is Crying (Karla pláče, 2021, Meander) by Nikola Hoření, Our Little Pig (Naše prasátko, 2020, Meander) by Jaromír Plachý, but there are also books where the same person is both writer and artist (Tereza Marianová). The bilingual Romanes-Czech fairytale Boiled Eggs (Vařená vejce – Tade jandre, 2024, co-published with Kher, illustrated by Zuzana Mašková) is an outstanding achievement, telling the story of a Roma boy who outwits a lazy farmer.

We could name yet more remarkable titles; however, an overview article cannot do justice to the subject. Our aim was, first and foremost, to highlight the breadth and variety available and also to mention the international reception and success (The White Ravens, IBBY, Bologna Children’s Book Fair) of specific books, which only confirms that Czech creators have plenty to offer to a foreign audience, primarily because they respond with sensitivity and originality to the world in which today’s children are growing up, yet consciously work with the strong traditions underpinning Czech kidlit. Alongside the established literary greats, a significant younger generation is gaining ground with readers and, as a result, the shared literary space is becoming ever more varied in terms of authors, language, genre and themes.

Dozens of excellent books were published in the Czech Republic in 2015, all of which undoubtedly deserve to be translated and read abroad. In the next three monthly features we will present those we consider to be the most important books of the year, books which have been popular with readers and critics in the Czech Republic and which we believe will also appeal to international audiences. We begin this month with literary fiction, followed by books for children and young adults in March and genre fiction in April.

Contents

Petra Soukupová: Under the Snow

Anna Bolavá: Into Darkness

Chaim Cigan: Little Mr Talisman

David Zábranský: Martin Juhás or Czechoslovakia

Markéta Baňková: Triviality; A Romance in the Age of Genetics

Iva Pekárková: Roast Zebra

Roman Ráž: Spa Hopes

Ludvík Němec: Indulgences for the Next Night

Matěj Hořava: Distilled Spirit. Stories from the Banat

Petra Soukupová

Under the Snow
Pod sněhem

(Host, 373 pages)

Petra Soukupová is one of the most successful young Czech authors, consistently popular with readers and critics alike. Under the Snow, is caustic, ironic and highly readable prose about those universal themes — family and relationships. Soukupová is succinct and considers her words carefully. Her latest novel begins with a seemingly ordinary situation: one winter day three sisters get into a car and head for their parents’ place, where they will celebrate their father’s birthday. Daughters, a baby, a dog, an iPad and a hangover. Only a few miles into the drive the atmosphere grows tense and at this stage the sisters are unaware that more unpleasantness awaits them at their parents’ home…

Soukupová’s previous books have been published in Italian, Polish, Slovene, Bulgarian, Croatian and Bosnian and a Polish translation of Under the Snow is already in preparation. Although Under the Snow was published less than a year ago, it has already sold 15,000 copies and is expected to be nominated for the Magnesia Litera and Czech Book awards.

Praise

“By combining spoken words and thoughts and by switching characters — each of the sisters is a narrator — the author turns an ordinary story into a thrilling read. Every conflict — arguments about who sits where, a stop at a petrol station, changing a tyre — is seen from multiple perspectives.”

— Magdalena Čechlovská, iHned

Links

Author website: www.petra-soukupova.cz
Foreign rights: www.dbagency.cz
Publisher: nakladatelstvi.hostbrno.cz

An excerpt can be found here.
 

Anna Bolavá

Into Darkness
Do tmy

(Odeon, 232 pages)

What Anna Bolavá achieved with this book happens very rarely: Into Darkness is her prose debut, yet everyone agrees that it has none of the common shortcomings of first novels. Bolavá uses a proven mainstream technique: take a loner, an outsider with an unusual hobby (collecting herbs in this case), and skilfully transform this innocent pastime into a functional and profound existential metaphor. From the beginning, this story of a lonely, ill woman who has dedicated most of her life to collecting, drying and providing medicinal plants, has apocalyptic undertones. Despite the slow, seemingly dispassionate pace, a strange unease bubbles under the surface. The translation rights have already been sold to the Polish publisher Książkowe Klimaty and the book is sure to receive nominations for the most prestigious Czech literary prizes.

Praise

“Into Darkness is remarkably magical and powerful prose.”

— Petr A. Bílek, Respekt

“Anna Bolavá has managed to construct a dramatic tale on the foundations of one person’s story, the symbolism and straightforwardness of its plot resembles a modern myth.”

— Petr Nagy, iLiteratura

Links

Publisher: www.odeon-knihy.cz

Excerpt ▼

I take a deep breath and plunge into the tangle of trees. Each branch of the walnut tree is already slightly scarred. Either by me or by a cat. The beasts are everywhere that I can’t reach. They leap from branch to branch, emitting strange, shrill sounds. Sometimes they snarl somewhere very close by, but as soon as I turn around they’re gone. I rarely see them, so it’s impossible to count them. Here amid the branches they play a strange game which I don’t understand and which doesn’t seem to be a kind of amorous cat chase. It is more likely they’re all preparing to do battle. Perhaps they are chasing me, but I’m not going to worry about that. There’s only one thing I’m concerned about right now: filling my basket, maintaining my balance, not getting scratched and getting back down. And apparently I’m supposed to look after the cats! They never take their eyes off me, and it seems more like Marcela gave them orders to look after me. The black ones are the worst. You can’t see them and they definitely attack from behind. The white ones appear to be nice, they are fat, not so agile, and they hardly ever make a sound. But then they have those blood-red eyes. I can never look into them. They hypnotise me and could cause more damage than you’d expect. I won’t look at them, I’ll mind my own business. I climb down with a full basket and take the second one. All the time the feline creatures wail their insane songs until my head begins to spin. This is a conspiracy. Their cries pierce my head , issuing a challenge to the drug-subdued pain there. They want to gang up with it. And the pain goes along with it. It rises to the surface and spreads far and wide like an enormous exotic flower. One of those which you can’t pick. Because they offer no practical use, only destruction. However, I’m determined that I’ll fill the second basket, come what may. And I’ll even have enough strength to empty it out in the loft, I have a vent there which I leave half-open so it lets in fresh air. I can do it. After all, this is me.

(Translated by Graeme Dibble)

Chaim Cigan

Little Mr Talisman
Malý pan Talisman

(Torst, 160 pages)

Today we know that Chaim Cigan is the pseudonym of author and rabbi Karol Sidon. However when Altschulova metoda (Altschul’s Method), the first book to be published under this ambiguous name, came out in 2014, the search for his true identity became a major topic in the Czech literary world. While the aforementioned Altschul’s Method is part of an extensive tetralogy, our choice for this selection has a much more modest length. At the same time it retains all the features which make Cigan one of the most compelling contemporary Czech authors: fairytales for adults, neo-mythical stories, the supernatural, pop culture… Little Mr Talisman, with the help of a magic prayer shawl and prayer straps, is able to fly and help people who are unable to help themselves. You will find out a good deal about the Jewish faith, Jewish customs and Jewish mysticism and be reminded that things can often appear to be quite different from how they actually are, that good deeds do not always have to turn out well, and that it is better to look at everything from several perspectives.

Praise

“Unlike pre-war Jewish folklore, preserved thanks to many excellent writers, Little Mr Talisman is undeniably contemporary.”

— Marek Toman, MF Dnes

“Jews also have their superhero who helps them in times of need. And it’s not golem. It’s Mr Talisman. (…) The informal approach and understanding of minor everyday troubles, whose nature is generally tragicomical, resembles Karel Čapek’s storybooks.”

— Pavel Mandys, Hospodářské noviny

Links

Author website: www.karolsidon.com
Publisher: www.torst.cz

Excerpt ▼

In the English city of Birmingham there lived a tailor by the name of Mr Talisman. He had a tailor’s workshop on the first floor of a grand building that belonged to him – right on the main street, if you please, though not in the centre – and a shop on the ground floor. If someone had their clothes made at Mr Talisman’s, it meant that they were a better class of people.

The Talismans had one son, Augustin, but only in a uniform in a framed photograph, because many years before he had been eaten by a leopard in Africa. That was perhaps the reason why Mr Talisman loved children so much, although Mrs Talisman could not stand the sight of them for the same reason. She looked after the shop and practically never went into the workshop, and if it was necessary to measure any girls over twelve years old for a dress, one of the seamstresses would do it.

When clothes were being made for children, the whole family would set off to the tailor’s. It looked like a trip to the doctor’s or to the photographer’s. However, this trip was a much more pleasant one. Although the children had to stand up straight as if they were at the photographer’s and not fidget when Mr Talisman was measuring them or trying new clothes on them, he then gave them some chewing gum as a reward. He was also referred to as little Mr Talisman because he was small in size, like a large baby.

(Translated by Graeme Dibble)

David Zábranský

Martin Juhás or Czechoslovakia
Martin Juhás čili Československo

(Premedia, 570 pages)

Have you ever read a story about a boy who would from time to time take trips into the wide world while still inside his mother’s womb? And what if these trips influenced world events? Zábranský has written a book which provoked a lot of discussion last year and has received many enthusiastic reviews. This lengthy novel skilfully combines many types of storytelling: reviews have compared it to Rabelais and Sterne but also Márquez and Latin American magic realism. The setting is however in southern Bohemia instead of Márquez’s Macondo. The founding of Czechoslovakia, the Great Depression, collapse of Czechoslovakia, World War II, expulsion of Germans, another Czechoslovakia, we watch all this from the perspective of small-town heroes. However, the local settings and events only serve as a backdrop for universally understandable humour. “You aren’t reading a report about the past. You are watching a narrator-illusionist, who is trying to assemble a suggestive whole from individual characters, places and events […] without feeling the need to address the fact that certain elements are from the real world, others are derived from myths and some are pure phantasmagoria,” writes Petr A. Bílek in his review for the Respekt magazine. Zábranský already has one Magnesia Litera award and we can expect at least a nomination for Martin Juhás.

Praise

“Zábranský’s new, weighty and playful novel stands out as an exceptional and remarkable work — even when we consider it in the context of the last twenty years of Czech literature. […] The novel is a lavish feast of different types of storytelling. Reminiscent of Rabelais, Sterne, Vančura but also Márquez and the whole of Latin American magic realism.”

— Petr A. Bílek, Respekt

“Martin Juhás or Czechoslovakia is a great novel. I’m not afraid to say that it will become a significant milestone in the development of historical literature.”

— Marek Dobrý, Lógr magazín

Links

Email: zabranskydavid@gmail.com
Publisher: premedia.sk

Excerpt ▼

Just a few days after meeting the love of his life, Reitmajer the architect met with great misfortune: one summer’s evening in the year of our Lord 1921, while lying on the grass beside the Štěkeň weir, he was kicked right in the balls. Those responsible for this act were a group of flirtatious, pot-bellied little communists covered in blood, vomit and ice cream, envious examples of “le petit communiste”. It was “coitus interruptus radicalis”. (Coitus interruptus was Judita’s condition sine qua non if she were to sleep with Reitmajer at all; the condition of sine qua non copulare, we might perhaps say, so that if the interruption could come about in a different, less painful way… And so on). First of all the communists kicked the architect in the head and then between the legs.

At the hospital in Strakonice, which Reitmajer and Judita got to on the back of a brewery truck that was returning from delivering beer to the surrounding villages, the doctors examined Reitmajer and told him that he would never be able to have children. But as for erectile function, that should remain the same.

Although Judita never once visited Reitmajer in hospital, the architect’s interest was undiminished, and no sooner had the doctors allowed him to go home than he was trying to win over Judita again. He posted a crazy note in her letter box in Baar Street telling her, without a hint of self-esteem, about his new indisposition or rather disposition. “Indisposition or disposition? It depends how you look at it!” were Reitmajer’s exact words. “It would definitely be an advantage for you. I’ll never be able to, or have to, depending on how you look at it, have children, Judita!”

What was Judita supposed to say to that? “That guy’s crazy, Muffi,” explained the beautiful woman to her dog, promptly throwing Reitmajer’s note in the bin.

One morning in November, Reitmajer finally ventured through the gate into Judita’s garden. Judita quickly opened the window and shouted into the garden: “Lunatic! Lunatic! Impotent! Impotent!”

(Translated by Graeme Dibble)

Markéta Baňková

Triviality; A Romance in the Age of Genetics
Maličkost; Romance z času genetiky

(Argo, 256 pages)

Markéta Baňková is a cosmopolitan, cultivated author who is also an audiovisual artist and graduate of graphic design and new media from the Academy of Fine Arts in Prague. Straka v říši entropie (The Magpie in the Realm of Entropy), her debut collection of fables, won a Magnesia Litera award, was nominated for the Josef Škvorecký Award and has been translated into Polish. In Triviality, Baňková again combines prose with scientific themes which shape and illustrate the story. This time her topic is biology. Hidden under the mask of black humour is an examination of human identity, a puzzle which is especially pertinent with new discoveries in genetics and the associated question of free will. Are we slaves to our genetic makeup? Are our thoughts influenced by parasites? Or does the society we grow up in have the greatest influence? The main character, Tomáš, a genetics student raised by adoptive parents, is searching for his own roots. Science forms his worldview, but this lens can distort his personal, especially romantic, relationships…

Praise

Picked as one of the best books to buy for Christmas by the editors and reviewers of the Respekt magazine.

Links

Author website: www.bankova.cz
Publisher: www.argo.cz

Excerpt ▼

NOW

When I was about ten, they began to leave me alone in the evenings. They would kiss me goodnight and go off to visit somebody. I would lie in bed, looking into the darkness. The shelves with the boxes, the suitcase on top of the wardrobe and the dressing gown on its hook seemed bigger in the dim light. Quietly expectant. But I wasn’t afraid. I waited until the garden gate clicked shut and the voices from the street grew faint. The barking from the neighbours’ gardens accompanying my parents’ steps died down. I sat up. I listened to the ticking alarm clock and the roar of blood in my head and I felt the seconds passing until the time when my parents would return home.

I was looking forward to it, and yet at the same time I wanted to hold onto this moment. Not that it was more important than other ones. But I had it all to myself. And so I tried to engrave it into my memory in as much detail as possible. Today – though slightly blurred – it is still there: a child’s bed in a dark room, a car occasionally passing by the window and projecting moving strips of light onto the wardrobe. They would appear, expand, freeze for a moment, abruptly slide at an angle onto the walls, and the room would once more be plunged into darkness. Outside a solitary bark could be heard, soon joined by others from the southern part of the village, and then barking began to sound from the east, the north…all the dogs loudly demarcating the borders of their village territory at once. And I made up my mind: “I must remember this moment all my life.”

Time. I think about it, but not like other people who only complain about the lack of it. It fascinates me. I move my fingers through the gloom, as if it were possible to catch hold of the present disappearing into the past. Even now I still try to do it through my memory or I use a camera to help me. But no matter how hard I try, the next second NOW is gone.

Mind you, I could happily have done without the NOW of this Saturday morning. The floor was swaying and in the half-blind mirror of the chipped bathroom cabinet I saw a familiar, somewhat weary face. I shuffled back from the bathroom to the bedroom. In the next bed a pair of socks were sticking out from the duvet; I used to enjoy making fun of the holes in them, which revealed the toes, but now I was keenly aware of their festering odour. The three bare toes of Stinker, a maths/phys student, protruded from the holes like a monument to our grubby coexistence.

Three years in a shared room in a hall of residence. It was just as well he was away a lot. Resigned, I breathed in. I’d already given up on speeches calling for hygiene to be maintained. The female visitors who we never ceased to hope would come round might have thought he was no longer alive and had begun to decompose, especially as he spent so much time lying around in bed. No, don’t think about how much worse he would smell if…

I lay down. A waterfall of images tumbled beneath my closed eyelids:

A girl’s pale neck in the flickering light of street lamps. A heavily made-up Frog describing the details of a love triangle. The clumsy movements of a drunken Martin. The plait of a girl’s legs on a seat.

The deep rumble of the bar.

“So tell me about the party!” Stinker sat up in bed and put on his glasses. “Dish the dirt!”

(Translated by Graeme Dibble)

Iva Pekárková

Roast Zebra
Pečená zebra

(Mladá fronta, 272 pages)

Pekárková studied microbiology in the Czech Republic but emigrated in 1983 shortly before she graduated. She travelled to the United States, where she had a number of jobs, including bartending, social work and taxi driving in New York City. In 1997 she returned to Prague, but then left again in 2005, this time to London. “Her move into exile gave rise to the major themes in the author’s work: the position and perspective of a foreigner, a person’s ‘multiple’ identities after leaving home, and the fundamental need to understand ‘the other’ (person, town, country, culture, events),” was how academic Vladimír Novotný characterized Pekárková’s work which has been translated into English and German.

Czech literature has very few voices covering multicultural topics based on extensive experience. What we value most in Roast Zebra is its insight and skilful writing; Pekárková wants to communicate a message. Her prose is succinct, witty, impartial, she writes with a light hand. In this novel she writes about a modern-day phenomenon no-one has yet written about, that is, ‘black-and-white’ relationships within the Czech Republic. She knows what’s going on in Prague streets and nightclubs as well as in sleepy Czech towns whose inhabitants may never have seen a ‘live’ black man. All of her protagonists are based on real-life characters with one thing in common: their partners of choice are black. In dashes of black and white, as well as many other colours, Iva Pekárková describes their destinies with both depth and humour.

Praise

“It’s as if Pekárková wrote with her body, her own senses, instinctively. Her writing is full-blooded, mighty.”

— Radim Kopáč, iDnes

Links

Foreign rights: www.praglit.de
Publisher: www.mf.cz

Excerpt ▼

Veronika’s first child was always laughing. She would push the pram around the streets, through the park, awkwardly manoeuvre it onto the tram (she always hoped that there wouldn’t be some well-meaning, clumsy type waiting at the stop, who would grab hold of the pram, almost tipping the child out, and insist on “helping her to get on”, continuing to do so until the tram left with an irritated ring of the bell) — and a loud baritone laugh could be heard from the pram. Veronika’s first child was like one of those toys that roar with laughter when you press a button. Strangers — passers-by in the street, old grannies in the park, passengers on the tram — would turn towards the sound, and after a moment’s hesitation the penny would drop and they would smile at both of them, and some of them would even burst into hearty laughter like Veronika’s child. That was all it took for somebody to give the two of them a dirty look. (That is, assuming they hadn’t seen Veronika’s child.)

Veronika’s child laughed when she brought him to her breast and almost choked with laughter in a torrent of milky bubbles when she burped him on her shoulder and then put him down in his cradle, that is the wicker dog basket with the pawprint design on the upholstery, because it was cheaper than a cradle and since she was young Veronika had always been accustomed to buying what was cheaper.

Veronika’s child laughed when he lifted his head in the cradle, and laughed when he was learning to take his first steps and all of a sudden sat down on his bottom. Veronika couldn’t help herself: she laughed along with him. She laughed when he threw up on her shoulder after he’d been fed, she laughed when she turned him over in the cradle with the pawprint pattern, and later she laughed when she picked him up out of the dust and blew on his knees. Veronika laughed her way through Ikenna’s early childhood. It was wonderful, just wonderful.

But other things weren’t so wonderful.

(Translated by Graeme Dibble)

Roman Ráž

Spa Hopes
Lázeňské naděje

(Akropolis, 432 pages)

Roman Ráž is an author from the older generation of Czech writers (b. 1935), who has experience not only as a prose author but also as a radio, television and film scriptwriter. His books have been published in Polish, German and Romanian. Spa Hopes is the second part of a planned trilogy of novels which follows the fates of one family in Slaňany, a Moravian spa town, over the course of the 20th century. Ráž explores the strained relationship between the Czechs and the Germans, while steering clear of painting a black and white picture. He allows a Sudeten German woman to report the horrors of displacement and he does not hide the love between his Moravian cousin and a young man from the Hitler Youth. Ráž portrays the epoch free from any partiality, with a proven mixture of memories, newspaper reports, letters and diary entries. The first volume of the trilogy, Lázeňské dobrodružství (Spa Adventures), in which Ráž focused on World War I and the following three years of battles between the left and the right over the new Czechoslovak state was nominated for the Josef Škvorecký prize.

Praise

“[Ráž] refutes the comfortable division into killers and victims, as well as rejecting collective guilt. Take, for example, Hitlerjugend member Rolf, who moves into a small hotel in Slaňany towards the end of the war: he lost his entire family because of Hitler and his gentlemanly behaviour is clearly influenced more by his spontaneous love for the granddaughter of Maria Klánská than his mandatory loyalty towards the Führer. When he takes off his uniform to go swimming, it’s suddenly not at all clear what side he’s on.”

— Radim Kopáč, UNI

Links

Foreign rights: www.praglit.de
Publisher: akropolis.info

Excerpt ▼

Come evening, the front pages of all the newspapers will be describing the triumphant journey of Carol II through the streets of Prague and no one will notice that I’ll miss my train because of this spectacle.

I frantically consider my options.

I won’t return to Kateřina. It would only cause confusion. One should not say farewell twice. I’ll find out when the next train leaves and go to Fanta’s Cafe. I’ll spend hours there, but what does that matter?

I should also send a telegram to Tomík about my late arrival. Maybe they will deliver it to him, maybe not, they probably won’t catch him at home. Who knows where he will be when he finishes work in the shop? I don’t suppose he returns home when I’m away, let alone stays there with his model aircraft or to play the piano. He’s sure to be making full use of my absence and enjoying his leisure as he pleases.

But what does please him? What can he be doing?

I’ve had similar questions a couple of times now. Was it out of fear for his safety? No, there is certainly no danger for him in Slaňany. What does he actually do in his free time? He can’t be visiting the Balcar’s that often!

“They say he’s the last European gentleman,” the chauffeur smirks.

He interrupts my thoughts.

“Who?”

“The Romanian king! Or was it his son? I read the other day that he has transformed Bucharest into the Paris of the east. He made some sort of boulevards there. They’d be handy here right now. Prague is still a provincial town. Vienna on the other hand…!”

I stop listening. I know what Vienna is. But I don’t know what Tomík is doing in Slaňany.

Then the car finally starts moving. We are approaching the National Museum. The pavements are even more packed, crowds of people line the streets, the open windows of houses are full of faces. We move closer.

“Come, madame, we can’t continue, we’ll have to wait until he passes.”

The chauffeur is already outside and opening the car door for me.

At first I get out slowly, then I move faster, the excitement has got to me too, I’m deafened by screams, shouting, cheers, I stand on my tiptoes to see over the tangle of waving people and I see him!

Dressed all in white, he looks amazing, medals and decorations glitter on his chest, it feels like I’m watching a famous actor, he crosses the square, greets us from his open car with a raised arm…

Simply a king!

Then his vehicle disappears and we hastily return to the taxi. The chauffeur starts the car, blows the horn, pushes slowly forward through the street, two policeman in white gloves stop pedestrians to allow him to pass, yes, taxis always have the right of way a taxi driver once explained to me, after all, their job is to get people to their destination on time.

Another policeman is literally hurrying us along, it looks like I may still catch my train…

“Well, that agreement of ours is small, but we should be grateful, even though Yugoslavia and Romania aren’t exactly great partners, destroying them would be as easy as einz zwei drei for Hitler and his Wehrmacht, but it’s better than nothing. Did you know that Carol is offering us a million soldiers?”

“What for?” I ask without paying much attention, I’m looking at the large clock on the Wilson Station tower, if I hurry, I’ll leave on time!

“For our defence, in case Hitler wants to include Czechoslovakia in that Lebensraum of his.”

“Oh, I see,” I say, “how much do I owe you?”

(Translated by Jack Coling)

Ludvík Němec

Indulgences for the Next Night
Odpustky pro příští noc

(Druhé město, 208 pages)

Ludvík Němec’s writing is characterised by its refined, polished style. The short stories in Indulgences for the Next Night are a serious and intimate look at men and women: When they meet, how many people really meet? How many beings are with us during our most private moments, are they always alive and are they necessarily human? The characters of Němec’s stories seek answers on the boundary between real and imagined worlds. They are looking for forgiveness, whether in the form of new love, new life, or at least an understanding of their current existence. “The short stories often revolve around relationships, sex and romantic betrayal. In the first, a dead lover returns at Christmas to help the ageing main character remember that the end of their relationship wasn’t as clear as he had believed for years. The unreliability of memory is a brilliant theme,” writes Klára Kolářová in the Právo newspaper. For his previous collection of short stories, Láska na cizím hrobě (Love on a Stranger’s Grave), Němec was nominated for a Magnesia Litera award. His latest collection has already been nominated for the Josef Škvorecký Award and we expect more nominations in 2016.

Praise

“Indulgences for the Next Night contains texts which combine the playfulness of postmodernism with a depth of meaning. ”

— Kryštof Špidla, Host

“[Indulgences for the Next Night] offers masterfully narrated stories full of ideas and storytelling inventiveness, reading it reminds us of times when writing was done ‘by hand’, slowly and carefully.”

— Petr A. Bílek, Respekt

Links

Publisher: druhemesto.cz

Excerpt ▼

“And what did the guy say?”

“You wouldn’t believe it.”

“He slapped her about a bit?”

“No. He turned bright red and then even wished me a merry Christmas.”

“Unbelievable.”

“It’s the anabolics these Rambos take. That crap makes them emotionally unbalanced, sometimes even impotent, some actually end up with a slightly changed sexual identity.“

“What a great topic for Christmas eve. What do you take?”

“You know. Cipralex.”

Which is a third generation antidepressant. Kamil has been using it for over a year now and really feels better. Feeling everything a lot less helps. He isn’t even gaining as much weight as he did with all those previous pills. Although he gave up on trying to reach his former weight — now almost one hundred and ten, before, just over ninety — a long time ago. That’s another advantage of these antidepressants. You painlessly give up on a lot of things. They should be pouring it into the water supply, he thinks. Soon they’ll have no other option anyway. That’s my worldview.

“You shouldn’t smoke weed with it, should you?”

“I found online that it’s only dangerous with ecstasy. And since when do I smoke? I wouldn’t even know how to buy it! That pinch of weed with the son is just a family ritual. Once a year at Christmas.”

“I think that’s even worse. You smoking together.”

“Besides, I was hoping the weed might help with the loss of libido antidepressants are meant to cause. What do you say? Can’t you give me… at least a chance? Once a year at Christmas?”

But Monika only shakes her head. A rather beautiful head, outside and in. And she smiles gently, really gently. As if she was smiling at a pet, thinks Kamil. As if she was smiling at a golden retriever?

“Just don’t force yourself, because then you’re even more depressing. Pehaps you should have arranged that kind of Christmas present with the girl in the car. She might have given you something for that dumpling.”

“Now that you mention it, she actually said that that’s her name. Darja — like dáreček, a present.”

“Well that was probably a sign. Like a Christmas star.”

“She wasn’t much of a star.”

“And you’re not much of a biblical king. If it was for medical reasons, maybe I wouldn’t even mind.”

Kamil, however, feels a sudden longing for the days when she used to be jealous. When she still cared for him. That’s why he says impulsively:

“Remember, once, how you threw food out of the window because you were jealous?”

“What are you talking about? How much have you smoked?”

But from his wife’s expression he can tell that she’s remembered. She’s become alert. Kamil too. Suddenly neither of them know how much venom this ancient snake still has — a story slithering through the high dry grass, which was once temperate pasture — in its fangs.

Sssss!

(Translated by Jack Coling)

Matěj Hořava

Distilled Spirit. Stories from the Banat
Pálenka. Prózy z Banátu

(Host, 124 pages)

Although Distilled Spirit came out at the end of 2014, the reactions to this debut collection of short stories mean it undoubtedly deserves a place in our selection. It is already certain that Distilled Spirit will be published in Poland (Książkowe Klimaty) and Bulgaria (ERGO) and more translations are sure to follow. Although the book’s subtitle, Stories from the Banat, is a clue to its themes, these stories are not an escape to exotic locations or nostalgia, they are a natural combination of the present with the past, the domestic and the foreign. Ondřej Horák captured this succinctly in his review for the Hospodářské noviny newspaper: “Matěj Hořava shows that Central Europe, to borrow an advertising slogan, can still be lived to the fullest.” The text transports us to the remote mountains above the Danube and into the small villages in the Romanian Banat where Czechs have lived for over two centuries. A young Czech teacher arrives in one of these villages to forget, but the everyday reality of rural life and his timid attempts to integrate into this closed community are gradually overshadowed by intrusive memories brought about by the isolation and loneliness: bitter years spent in a grammar school gym, the solitude of different shores and journeys, people’s faces, fleeting moments of closeness…

Praise

“[Hořava’s] prose debut is a true revelation. […] Matěj Hořava is a poet in prose who shows what literature can do without the need to be literary.”

— Ondřej Horák, Hospodářské noviny

“I venture to say that a debut like thirty-five-year-old Matěj Hořava’s Distilled Spirit hasn’t come along in Czech literature for many years. It is a wonderfully concise, finely honed work in which every word has its place like a piece in a dry stone wall, making it reminiscent of the prose of Čep, Durych and Vaculík. The rhythm created by the laying down of individual words, and also by complete ‘diary entries’, enters the bloodstream to addictive effect.”

— Petr A. Bílek, Respekt

Awards

• 2015 Czech Book Award
• 2015 Magnesia Litera – Discovery of the year

Links

Foreign rights: www.dbagency.cz
Publisher: nakladatelstvi.hostbrno.cz

An excerpt can be found here.