I have enjoyed this (and all other Danilo Kis's books) immensly.

This book of Kis' is a masterful work. The author said they are short stories but the publisher pushed it as a novel and in a way it is something between the two. The stories are seperate and there is not one main plot but a common theme runs through the work and occasionally characters from one story will reoccur or turn up in another story. They are connected though it seems in the sort of way as when someone might say it is a small world that we live in.
In his native land this book caused an uproar as the stories pass themselves off as fact but in Kis' style fact and fiction, history and imagination blend for a common aesthetic goal. This he picked up from Borges and his use of "document" in fiction.
All this helps the book stand out as a superior work of literature without even getting to the political theme of revolution and the role of individuals in mass movements.
This edition is perfect with the intro by Brodsky and William T. Vollmann's afterword.
A must read for anyone.

Beautifully written, surprisingly nonchalant portrayal of the actual driving force behind the Russian Communist Revolution, namely an international gang of charismatic professional criminals. Makes you think twice before you empathise with all the victims of Stalin's camps indiscriminantly - some of them obviously deserved their terrible fate.

Kis was born in my country. This book is the most beautifool story about growing and knowing what life is. He learned very early that there is no justice in the warld, even in cats warld. It is significant story of meaning of time.

This fascinating book is reading material for all ages andgenders. Kis has managed to bring topics we have long forgotten to ourmind. Is this book for children only? No. This book provides intriguing material for thought especially for adults who have figured out what life is all about.

_The Encyclopedia of the Dead_ is one of the best short story collections of this or any century, I'm not shy to say, and it is my personal favorite of Kis' books (_A Tomb for Boris Davidovich [forthcoming from Dalkey Archive] coming in a close second). Kis' writes in a wonderful type of lyrical documentary style, mixing fact and fiction (though it is difficult to tell sometimes whether the fact is not fiction and vice-versa), reminiscent of some of the contemporary younger western writers (namely, William T. Vollmann, who himself is a big fan). In short, buy this book! (If you don't have a penny to your name and you can't buy one...you should not steal it, thought you would have it and be able to read and devour it like you need to.)

It took almost six months from the day I ordered this book, until it came out of print and I received it in my mail. It took me less than a week to read it...This is a book of stories about people who find their death in different ways. Kis mixes myths and legends of the Bible to: middle eastern legends, female intuition, patriotism, death anticipation due to long and difficult illness. Each story is setup in its own time, century, country and is viewed from different perspective. And all these situations and places combined, make up this wonderful book. My favorite story was "The Encyclopedia of the Dead". It sounds so personal, that anyone who knows a little bit about Danilo Kis' life, can see a lot of Kis himself - in this story. Mr. Heim did wonderful job translating this work. However, I was a bit disappointed that Mr. Haim did not make an effort to write an introduction for this book. Writer's notes at the end of the book were extrimely helpful in understanding stories more deeply and understanding what he wanted to accomplish with this work of art. Many of Danilo Kis' reders like to remember him as writer who had Borges for an idol. Please, let us not forget that Kis had admirerers himself - no one less than Joseph Brodsky, amongst others.

For some reason I think of Bob Dylan in a distant way when I read this book, maybe because of the way it melts into the distance and then you squint your eyes and it all kind of falls into this pastoral, painful dream and then you realize you're gazing into the pages, like there is some kind of map staring back at you, a secret map that his father has written for you, he's whispered the code in your ear and all you can do is hope it'll come alive like Galatea

Garden, Ashes proves that after Borges someone could go beyond words, beyond meaning; defying & sculpting at the same time, celebrating & mourning, living & dying... garden & ashes

For those of you not yet acquainted with Danilo Kis's rare genius of bringing his reader into strange, undefinable dreamworlds, then The Hourglass is a great place to start.

Set in 1942 in the ethnically mixed Vajdaság region of Hungary, the story traces the gradual descent into madness of one E.S., railway clerk, who realizes that insanity is the only dignified refuge left in an ever-darkening world. The first part of the novel is a grotesque, rambling catalogue of E.S.'s acquaintances, friends and family who all meet horrid ends as the wheels of the Holocaust start to churn. E.S.'s world slowly slips into the abyss as the pogroms, persecutions and deprivations slowly evolve into a full scale death factory, serviced by the same railways that E.S. is convinced are the only refuge of sanity and international neutrality in a Europe turned upside down. The truly fiendish irony is that these mobile 'Switzerlands' as E.S. calls them are what made the Holocaust possible in the first place. Fast, accessible anywhere and keeping to time, they fed the hellish ovens with their human fuel.

In the rest of the novel, E.S. lucidly describes his 'work' duties in a slave labor battalion, where he and his group of comrades were forced to make bricks under bestial conditions. All the while, E.S. writes down his 'Diary of a Madman,' no doubt a reference to Gogol's masterpiece, where an unknown inquisitor (Kafka's Trial?) mercilessly interrogates E.S. about the minutiae of his simple existence. Struggling to give some sort of rational explanation to the whole chaos surrounding him, he falls deeper into the black hole of madness. As does anyone who tries to rationally understand the inane senseless of the Holocaust.

Yet, despite his impending destruction, E.S. maintains his humanity. How? By writing it all down. Making that 'bourgeois horror novel.' By creating something out of the void and thus giving us hope that we shall all earn some measure of eternity by what we leave behind.

If Franz Kafka's Joseph K. had lived in the early 1940's and been ordered to wear a yellow star in Czechoslovakia, he would have resembled a character known only as E. S. in this story of wartime Hungary by Danilo Kis. The trial of an individual and his family at the hands of a vague and hidden totalitarian force are described with growing horror and gallows humor in ''Hourglass,'' a chilling novel in which time is running out for a marked man riding along the tracks of mortification.

One of the trains he takes eventually must lead to a concentration camp. But the journal of the final months of his life is told with such authority in this imaginatively constructed story that the doomed character appears to be in command of his own destiny. ''Hourglass,'' translated from the Serbo-Croatian by Ralph Manheim, is evidently rooted in firsthand family experiences. The reader is informed that a letter attributed to E. S. in the novel is based on an actual letter written by Kis's father two years before his death in Auschwitz. But the universal elements in the story - the attempt to carry on the everyday routine of life and the disbelief in an official policy of genocide - offer a parable about the extermination of the Jews by the Third Reich and its collaborative governments in occupied Europe. Trains were essential for the Third Reich to fulfill the quotas for the Holocaust, and trains play an essential part in the novel. At one point, the narrator sees himself, with trembling hands, gathering up his papers in his seat in the first-class carriage and stuffing them into his briefcase along with bottled beer and smoked-herring sandwiches. The author then transforms an ordinary train ride into an act of terror: ''Who was standing beside him at that moment? A young blond conductor, who was aiming his nickel-plated ticket punch like a revolver at the star on his chest.''

The interrogation of the narrator is bizarre. It shows the police mentality at work in a police state anywhere. The narrator is questioned about a piano in his home. The line of questioning goes: Can the piano be used to send signals? Where in the room is the piano? Can you describe what it looks like? Why was an open score on the music stand? How do you account for the fact that the piano was open and that someone had been practicing so early in the morning? Inevitably, the answers to dumb questions sound somehow suspicious and lead to more questions.

The nameless E. S. wonders how he can avenge himself against the armed police. He indulges in a small act of defiance for his own self-respect: ''Several times he had blown his nose into a newspaper with the Fuhrer's picture on it. Was he conscious of the danger he was courting? Definitely. He always folded the paper as small as possible before throwing it into dense brambles or the river, thus doing away with the corpus delicti of his insane and dangerous act.'' There are deliberate breaks in style as the author shifts back and forth in chapters that are labeled ''Travel Scenes,'' ''Notes of a Madman,'' ''Criminal Investigation'' and ''A Witness Interrogated.'' The year 1942 is a crazy time in the Danube Valley for the first-person narrator. He is trying to maintain a semblance of sanity while composing a letter to his sister that forms the spine of the story. If there is a theme in the novel, it is summed up in the last sentence of that letter:

''P. S. It is better to be among the persecuted than among the persecutors.''

''Hourglass'' owes a debt to ''The Trial'' by Kafka. In the narrator's musings, Kafka is cited: ''Everything that is possible happens; only what happens is possible.'' What distinguishes Kis's novel is its authorial independence. A conventional narrative structure is ignored; it is the author's musings and diversions that magically build suspense. Some paragraphs run on for pages, others suddenly break into short questions and answers between the omnipotent state and its helpless victims. Kis forces the reader to work for him, to pay attention. That he succeeds is a rare achievement...

Kis's novel is one of the most important in the entire Eastern-european literature. It gives an incradible picture of a desintegrating mind, following, in a way the steps of Youce and Woolf, but still making a step towards postmodernism

This is an interesting collection of essays, interviews, and commentaries, which has been well put together by Susan Sontag. The advice to young writers section is particularly amusing as are Kis's thoughts on his self-chosen exile. I recommend reading the Tomb of Boris Davidovitch before hand because much of the book deals with the controversy Kis faced over that novel, as well as his break from the Belgrade literati.

Kis was a brilliant writer, but as these essays show, completely apolitical. He did not have time for nationalists, internationalists, communists, capitalists any of it, which is why perhaps he went to France to live the quiet life of a University Professor.

Considering that she claims to be a friend of Kis and actually put this work together, it is shameful that Sontag insists on putting a political spin on this collection. She actually claims that the 'gingerbread heart of nationalism' section ranks along with, she claims, Andric's Letter from 1920 as early warnings against Serbian Nationalism. As someone who has translated Andric's story, I can tell you that Ms. Sontag should consider re-reading. The Andric story makes the case that Bosnia is a land of ethnic hatred, ready to explode at anytime, which it obviously did. There is no mention of Serbian aggression or nationalism. Nor does Kis ever pay tribute to any idealized multi-cultural Bosnia, Sontag's cause celebre throughtout the early 90's and repeated in the introduction. Enough politics, however.

Read this work because it tells us a great deal about a wonderful literary stylist, who knew and loved literature. The fact that others would try to co-opt Kis to champion their political philosophies is embarrassing. The book speaks for itself.

Kis is a giant of world literature. This book of biographical pieces, interviews, and essays by Kis allow the reader to see some of the inner workings of that fine mind. His early death was a great loss to literature. What he has achieved, however, will live on forever. I've read A TOMB FOR BORIS DAVIDOVICH perhaps five times, and I'm looking forward to reading it again, and again.

I read Danilo Kis' books " Tomb for Boris Davidovich", "Hourglass" and "Encyclopedia of the Dead". The glory and greatness of this eastern European writer can be comprehended fully only after understanding Kis on the personal level. ""Homo Poeticus" does just that: writer pours his soul to the world by revealing his influences (literary and personal), - and brings reader closer to the great writers of this century such as: Nabokov, Flaubert, Borges, Marquis de Sade...Kis even wrote an essay on the Serbian painter Velickovic. I always respected Danilo Kis' fictional works. Collection of Danilo Kis' essays and interviews made me even more fond of him as a person - and his work. Book's editor, Ms. Susan Sontag, wrote emotionally powerful introduction. Her selection of the work published on this non-fiction masterpiece is absolutely wonderful.