The Illiterate

February 15, 2023
The late Hungarian writer chronicles how she fled her homeland, relearned to read, and began to write. In this very slim volume, to be read in a single afternoon, Krist�f (1935-2011) briefly recounts her childhood, when she teased her younger brother; fleeing Hungary, in the mid-1950s, with her husband and baby; settling in Switzerland, where she worked in factories; laboriously learning French; and, eventually, beginning to write. Throughout the book, the author's love of language is evident. "I read. It is like a disease," she writes about herself as a child. In Switzerland, where she struggled at first to learn French, she found herself unable to read for the first time in years: "I have become illiterate once again." More than anything, this book is an account of becoming a writer. As a companion to Krist�f's novels, it is a valuable document, providing insight into her writing process--"The factory is a good place for writing poems. The work is monotonous, you can think about other things, and the machines have a regular rhythm that accentuates the lines of verse. In my drawer I keep a sheet of paper and a pencil. When the poem takes shape, I note it down"--as well as her relationship with several different languages and with literature in general. "What I am certain of is that I would have written," she notes, "no matter where I was, in no matter what language." Krist�f's prose is precise and frequently luminous: There is no preening or pretense, and her sentences have an affectless quality that imbues the writing with a stark intensity. As a stand-alone volume, though, the book doesn't quite hold up. If you are new to Krist�f's work, this will serve as an effective appetizer; if you're already familiar with her oeuvre, it will make a fine dessert. A tiny jewel of a book.

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