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Under the Frog
Shortlisted for the Booker Prize, Under the Frog follows the adventures of two young Hungarian basketball players through the turbulent years between the end of World War II and the anti-Soviet uprising of 1956. In this spirited indictment of totalitarianism, the two improbable heroes, Pataki and Gyuri, travel the length and breadth of Hungary in an epic quest for food, lodging, and female companionship.
256 pages, Paperback
First published October 1, 1993
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About the author
Tibor Fischer
26Ìýbooks161ÌýfollowersTibor Fischer is a British novelist and short story writer. In 1993 he was selected by the influential literary magazine Granta as one of the 20 best young British writers.
Fischer's parents were Hungarian basketball players, who fled Hungary in 1956. The bloody 1956 revolution, and his father's background, informed Fischer's debut novel Under the Frog, a Rabelaisian yarn about a Hungarian basketball player surviving Communism. The title is derived from a Hungarian saying, that the worst possible place to be is under a frog's arse down a coal mine.
In 2009 Fischer became the Royal Literary Fund writing fellow at City and Guilds of London Art School.
Fischer's parents were Hungarian basketball players, who fled Hungary in 1956. The bloody 1956 revolution, and his father's background, informed Fischer's debut novel Under the Frog, a Rabelaisian yarn about a Hungarian basketball player surviving Communism. The title is derived from a Hungarian saying, that the worst possible place to be is under a frog's arse down a coal mine.
In 2009 Fischer became the Royal Literary Fund writing fellow at City and Guilds of London Art School.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 160 reviews
September 28, 2021
Flee if you can�
Totalitarian regimes comprise those who serve them and those who hate them. Those who serve try to destroy those who hate. But when the number of those who hate amounts to the critical mass there is an explosion.
A life in a totalitarian state is an absurdist comedy but it is utterly tragic.
Does it help being the clever pig on the way to the abattoir?
Totalitarian regimes comprise those who serve them and those who hate them. Those who serve try to destroy those who hate. But when the number of those who hate amounts to the critical mass there is an explosion.
I expect some of you will be committing suicide. Indeed I will consider my work a failure if some of you turds don’t try a bit of wrist-slashing. And if you don’t do the job properly, we’re willing to help; attempted suicide is punishable by death.
A life in a totalitarian state is an absurdist comedy but it is utterly tragic.
December 23, 2020
Had I known that Fischer has become an apologist for Viktor Orban, I would have thought twice about buying this book, but I think it deserved its Booker shortlisting, as it is well written and very funny in places.
The book is a picaresque journey though the Hungary of Fischer's parents from the end of the war to the 1956 revolution and its aftermath. The main protagonist is Gyuri Fischer, who is a member of a successful basketball team whose success owes much more to his talented friend Pataki. Gyuri's opportunities are limited by his class, though his former bookmaker father is now broke.
Fischer likes using unusual words for comic effect - the words I looked up while reading this included lucubrate, mulierosity, pinguid, stultiloquence and valetudinarian.
The book is a picaresque journey though the Hungary of Fischer's parents from the end of the war to the 1956 revolution and its aftermath. The main protagonist is Gyuri Fischer, who is a member of a successful basketball team whose success owes much more to his talented friend Pataki. Gyuri's opportunities are limited by his class, though his former bookmaker father is now broke.
Fischer likes using unusual words for comic effect - the words I looked up while reading this included lucubrate, mulierosity, pinguid, stultiloquence and valetudinarian.
October 26, 2011
ATTENTION: THIS REVIEW MAY CONTAIN A LONG AND UNNECESSARY PREAMBLE
I used to play basketball in the same team for around 10 years in a row from childhood to the mid-teens. Those were glorious days.
My team was named Polisportiva Lame (quite funny for English speaking ears, isn't it?) also known as Pol.Lame (pollame meaning "poultry" in Italian) and we were very consistent players.
Years passed by and we were always standing at the bottom of our league.
Nevertheless, I was passionate or masochist enough reporting the scores of all our matches on a pocket calendar. But I don't need to find out where one of those pocket calendars ended up for reporting that once we lost a match 196-30.
Ok, ok our opponents in that match were the junior team of the then Euro dominating Virtus Bologna and it's true how 3 or 4 of them became first-league players in the following years, but still we were dedicated losers overall.
Around 20 of our 30 points came from free throws and one of the five or six baskets we managed to get in 40 minutes came along with jubilant screams of "I scored against Virtus!, I scored against Virtus!" while towering Virtus players kept on dunking on the other side of the court.
I didn't scored a point in that match.
Between 17 and 24 I spent countless summer afternoons at the basketball playground but never thought about joining another team: perhaps I couldn't find any which had the right losing spirit I liked.
When I lived in The Netherlands I tried to join a local team, The Eagles, but after a first enthusiastic account () not so much happened. Perhaps the fact that the training sessions were held in Dutch didn't really help.
A couple of weeks ago, I joined a basketball team based in Witney, Oxfordshire, UK together with a German workmate of mine, Martin. It turned out that the team changed its very self-ironic name (Witney Houstons) into the way more serious Wolves. I immediately understood how that losing spirit I was desperately looking for got lost, but had a terrific first training. It has to be said how loving basketball in the UK is like loving cricket in Italy or rugby in the US: a little perversion.
"So have you watched any NBA video for inspiring you at this time? - Martin asked me while driving in the dark from Oxford to Witney.
"Oh no I didn't have the time today, but I started reading a book about basketball".
"Ah, really? And what's the book about?"
"Oh well, I've just begun it, but it's some fiction revolving around a basketball team"
"Cool".
"In Hungary".
"..."
"In the 1950s".
"..."
"I see. And what's the title of the book?"
"Under the Frog. I know. It sounds awful".
"Well...who knows? Perhaps it's a British way of saying or a specific play they have here"
"Yeah".
Actually "Under the Frog" stands for the polite short form of "under the frog's arse at the bottom of the coal pit" which, Wikipedia tells me, is a a Hungarian expression used to describe any situation when things can't seem to get any worse.
And things got indeed worse on that night as my second training with the Wolves left me with a muscle strain in my left hamstring. But there was a little stroke of luck in my injury. Being unable to walk and sit down for more than 10 minutes, meant that I had to take a day off from work and got plenty of time to read "Under the Frog" while lying on the bed.
I liked this novel, but I cannot put it on my favourite shelf too.
English-born Mr Fischer took a lot of his narrative ideas for this debut novel from his Hungarian parents who were both professional basketball players in their homecountry before leaving Hungary behind after the failure of the 1956 Revolution.
Whereas the basketball related parts of the book are not always convincing with a few surreal matches won by the guys of the Locomotive team where the two protagonists Gyuri and Pataki play, there is much to save in "Under the Frog".
The last chapter is sublime, poignant and informative and all thorough the novel one can find both good humour and pretty trivial jokes, which somehow never trespass the coarseness line. I read some reviews around and it seems like many readers found Fischer using uncommon terms and chiselled sentences, but I didn't have this impression. At the contrary, I would have liked finding more Magyar words and Hungarian touches here and there.
I don't know if I will ever reread this book, but now that I'm done with it I feel like Tibor Fischer made a good job, delivering an interesting novel where basketball stands on the background being largely forgotten at the end. I saw the point of this choice. And the same could happen to me, now that my hamstring still pains an awful lot.
I used to play basketball in the same team for around 10 years in a row from childhood to the mid-teens. Those were glorious days.
My team was named Polisportiva Lame (quite funny for English speaking ears, isn't it?) also known as Pol.Lame (pollame meaning "poultry" in Italian) and we were very consistent players.
Years passed by and we were always standing at the bottom of our league.
Nevertheless, I was passionate or masochist enough reporting the scores of all our matches on a pocket calendar. But I don't need to find out where one of those pocket calendars ended up for reporting that once we lost a match 196-30.
Ok, ok our opponents in that match were the junior team of the then Euro dominating Virtus Bologna and it's true how 3 or 4 of them became first-league players in the following years, but still we were dedicated losers overall.
Around 20 of our 30 points came from free throws and one of the five or six baskets we managed to get in 40 minutes came along with jubilant screams of "I scored against Virtus!, I scored against Virtus!" while towering Virtus players kept on dunking on the other side of the court.
I didn't scored a point in that match.
Between 17 and 24 I spent countless summer afternoons at the basketball playground but never thought about joining another team: perhaps I couldn't find any which had the right losing spirit I liked.
When I lived in The Netherlands I tried to join a local team, The Eagles, but after a first enthusiastic account () not so much happened. Perhaps the fact that the training sessions were held in Dutch didn't really help.
A couple of weeks ago, I joined a basketball team based in Witney, Oxfordshire, UK together with a German workmate of mine, Martin. It turned out that the team changed its very self-ironic name (Witney Houstons) into the way more serious Wolves. I immediately understood how that losing spirit I was desperately looking for got lost, but had a terrific first training. It has to be said how loving basketball in the UK is like loving cricket in Italy or rugby in the US: a little perversion.
"So have you watched any NBA video for inspiring you at this time? - Martin asked me while driving in the dark from Oxford to Witney.
"Oh no I didn't have the time today, but I started reading a book about basketball".
"Ah, really? And what's the book about?"
"Oh well, I've just begun it, but it's some fiction revolving around a basketball team"
"Cool".
"In Hungary".
"..."
"In the 1950s".
"..."
"I see. And what's the title of the book?"
"Under the Frog. I know. It sounds awful".
"Well...who knows? Perhaps it's a British way of saying or a specific play they have here"
"Yeah".
Actually "Under the Frog" stands for the polite short form of "under the frog's arse at the bottom of the coal pit" which, Wikipedia tells me, is a a Hungarian expression used to describe any situation when things can't seem to get any worse.
And things got indeed worse on that night as my second training with the Wolves left me with a muscle strain in my left hamstring. But there was a little stroke of luck in my injury. Being unable to walk and sit down for more than 10 minutes, meant that I had to take a day off from work and got plenty of time to read "Under the Frog" while lying on the bed.
I liked this novel, but I cannot put it on my favourite shelf too.
English-born Mr Fischer took a lot of his narrative ideas for this debut novel from his Hungarian parents who were both professional basketball players in their homecountry before leaving Hungary behind after the failure of the 1956 Revolution.
Whereas the basketball related parts of the book are not always convincing with a few surreal matches won by the guys of the Locomotive team where the two protagonists Gyuri and Pataki play, there is much to save in "Under the Frog".
The last chapter is sublime, poignant and informative and all thorough the novel one can find both good humour and pretty trivial jokes, which somehow never trespass the coarseness line. I read some reviews around and it seems like many readers found Fischer using uncommon terms and chiselled sentences, but I didn't have this impression. At the contrary, I would have liked finding more Magyar words and Hungarian touches here and there.
I don't know if I will ever reread this book, but now that I'm done with it I feel like Tibor Fischer made a good job, delivering an interesting novel where basketball stands on the background being largely forgotten at the end. I saw the point of this choice. And the same could happen to me, now that my hamstring still pains an awful lot.
January 20, 2022
La novela transcurre en la postguerra en HungrÃa, hasta el levantamiento de 1956, que fuera ferozmente reprimido por una invasión soviética, como ocurriera en 1969 en Praga, Checoslovaquia.
Gyuri y su amigo Pataki, comienzan jugando en su infancia entre los últimos estertores de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, para pasar a una adolescencia y juventud, escépticos tanto de las perspectivas en un paÃs gris y corrupto, bajo el sistema comunista, asà como también de una posibilidad de cambio.
Se vuelven indiferentes a esta realidad, y se concentran en jugar en su equipo de baloncesto y la perspectiva de conquistar alguna señorita, con más éxito siempre para Pataki que para Gyuri.
Aparecen varios personajes secundarios bastante interesantes, entre los cuales destacarÃa al sacerdote jesuita Ladanyi y su serena sabidurÃa (más allá de su apetito monumental).
La historia aborda diversos momentos de ese perÃodo, en forma entretenida (aunque en todo momento se percibe el trasfondo gris), y con una narrativa irónica que permite esquivar el dramatismo y la lástima.
Una buena novela.
Tibor Fischer nació en Inglaterra, de padres húngaros que huyeron a ese paÃs después de la caÃda del proyecto reformista de 1956.
Gyuri y su amigo Pataki, comienzan jugando en su infancia entre los últimos estertores de la Segunda Guerra Mundial, para pasar a una adolescencia y juventud, escépticos tanto de las perspectivas en un paÃs gris y corrupto, bajo el sistema comunista, asà como también de una posibilidad de cambio.
Se vuelven indiferentes a esta realidad, y se concentran en jugar en su equipo de baloncesto y la perspectiva de conquistar alguna señorita, con más éxito siempre para Pataki que para Gyuri.
Aparecen varios personajes secundarios bastante interesantes, entre los cuales destacarÃa al sacerdote jesuita Ladanyi y su serena sabidurÃa (más allá de su apetito monumental).
La historia aborda diversos momentos de ese perÃodo, en forma entretenida (aunque en todo momento se percibe el trasfondo gris), y con una narrativa irónica que permite esquivar el dramatismo y la lástima.
Una buena novela.
Tibor Fischer nació en Inglaterra, de padres húngaros que huyeron a ese paÃs después de la caÃda del proyecto reformista de 1956.
April 3, 2024
I am well aware that this is novel written in English by an author born in England but it is a novel about two Hungarian basketball players in post WWII Budapest before the Hungarian revolt of 1956 and it was written by an author both whose parents were young basketball players who fled to the west when Russian tanks crushed Hungary. So yes it was written in English but I believe it has an honorary place in Hungarian literature. Aside from which we in the West owe Hungary - the revolt might have been inevitable but the Hungarians, particularly the young ones, didn't know that the promises of help broadcast Radio Free Europe to any and all who threw off the communist yoke were worthless. In the meantime the UK was indulging in the ridiculous hissy-fit that was Suez (if all that means nothing then goggle them).
Now for a review - what can you say about a novel that is hysterically funny about a tragedy? That has brilliantly drawn characters and situations that are a pleasure to read about? Don't waste time on reviews get the book and read it because it is wonderful and if it doesn't make you laugh and cry then that's your problem cause you have missed something wonderful.
Now for a review - what can you say about a novel that is hysterically funny about a tragedy? That has brilliantly drawn characters and situations that are a pleasure to read about? Don't waste time on reviews get the book and read it because it is wonderful and if it doesn't make you laugh and cry then that's your problem cause you have missed something wonderful.
April 19, 2024
1.5 Star(s)
“You know our history. As a Hungarian you should be prepared for the odd cataclysm.�
I first learned about Fischer many moons ago after hearing Joe Bennett gushing over him at length, and since then I’ve picked up a few of his novels, though this is the first time I’ve actually gotten round to reading one.
My copy of this happens to be a battered and foxed old paperback with a price sticker on the back in Malaysian ringgit. 19.90 from a store in the Yik Foong Complex since you ask. I genuinely got more out of chasing the back story of the price sticker, tracing it to Ipoh on peninsula Malaysia, enjoying the gorgeous aerial shot of the city on its Wiki page entry. Go on have a look � don’t bother with this book or the review.
A decent grounding in modern Hungarian history certainly comes handy, but that won’t prevent you from getting something from this. Though I’m not sure what you would get from this?...(unless you too have a random price sticker with an exotic back story?!). I really struggled to understand what was going on a lot of the time, this loosely details the life of the protagonist and his associates in Post-War Hungary up until the failed revolution of 1956.
Stuck between the drudgery, the bureaucracy and the oppression. If Fischer’s storytelling was half as strong as his vocabulary then this would be a masterpiece. He certainly pulls out some really clever lines and expressions which demand repeating, but it takes more than that to come up with a great story.
“There are still three classes in the new Hungary: those who have been to prison, those who are in prison and those who are going to prison.�
I’m rarely if ever a fan of picaresque novels, even the term grates on me and this appears to be another case of the politics far exceeding the quality or enjoyment of the read. How many books, albums and movies out there can you think of which try to make a serious political point but are also unbearably crap at the same time…The non-Anglophonic nations seem to particularly excel at this. Anyway this really isn’t up to much at all, but I’ll probably still give another one of his books a go some time in the future.
“You know our history. As a Hungarian you should be prepared for the odd cataclysm.�
I first learned about Fischer many moons ago after hearing Joe Bennett gushing over him at length, and since then I’ve picked up a few of his novels, though this is the first time I’ve actually gotten round to reading one.
My copy of this happens to be a battered and foxed old paperback with a price sticker on the back in Malaysian ringgit. 19.90 from a store in the Yik Foong Complex since you ask. I genuinely got more out of chasing the back story of the price sticker, tracing it to Ipoh on peninsula Malaysia, enjoying the gorgeous aerial shot of the city on its Wiki page entry. Go on have a look � don’t bother with this book or the review.
A decent grounding in modern Hungarian history certainly comes handy, but that won’t prevent you from getting something from this. Though I’m not sure what you would get from this?...(unless you too have a random price sticker with an exotic back story?!). I really struggled to understand what was going on a lot of the time, this loosely details the life of the protagonist and his associates in Post-War Hungary up until the failed revolution of 1956.
Stuck between the drudgery, the bureaucracy and the oppression. If Fischer’s storytelling was half as strong as his vocabulary then this would be a masterpiece. He certainly pulls out some really clever lines and expressions which demand repeating, but it takes more than that to come up with a great story.
“There are still three classes in the new Hungary: those who have been to prison, those who are in prison and those who are going to prison.�
I’m rarely if ever a fan of picaresque novels, even the term grates on me and this appears to be another case of the politics far exceeding the quality or enjoyment of the read. How many books, albums and movies out there can you think of which try to make a serious political point but are also unbearably crap at the same time…The non-Anglophonic nations seem to particularly excel at this. Anyway this really isn’t up to much at all, but I’ll probably still give another one of his books a go some time in the future.
February 27, 2010
It is a good book in some respects but it is an extremely difficult read. The writer is telling us the story for 250 pages. Virtually no dialogue. Metaphor after metaphor, he must have spent a month rehearsing one sentence. So many times I found myself stuck having to re-read because I had no idea what was going on or what time period we were in. The chapter headings are worthless unless you are in the last chapter. This is because he switches gears so many times in a chapter you can't remember where you started or what direction you are in. But it was research for my own up-coming historical fiction and I did get a sense of what the times were like between 44-56 in Hungary. I can safely say that mine is a much easier read and you won't be at all confused with the time period or the characters. Now, having said all of this you will note that I do NOT like Salman Rushdie's books as I could not get past the first chapter. It ws not required reading or research thank God! Well, his comments are on the front cover of this book. Also, this is a book about men, so if you are a man or a fan of SR, guess what, you will probably like it. This book was referred to me by a man on FB who I had chatted with.
April 24, 2015
This is not so much a novel as a series of anecdotes told over time so the story doesn't really flow, it jumps, which often left me wondering how the protagonist got from point A to point B. There was a lot of background to each story in order to suggest how each of the characters arrived but only the minimum which saved a lot of time in details like "plot development" but I felt like characters were just taken on and off the shelf as necessary.
That said, the anecdotes were mostly hilarious and sardonic in an Eastern European way; after living in the Czech Republic for so long, this form of black humor was very familiar to me and it was great to read it from a different nationality. It's a special form of fatalist humor, to say the least, and it's what ultimately makes this book so worthwhile.
That said, the anecdotes were mostly hilarious and sardonic in an Eastern European way; after living in the Czech Republic for so long, this form of black humor was very familiar to me and it was great to read it from a different nationality. It's a special form of fatalist humor, to say the least, and it's what ultimately makes this book so worthwhile.
August 18, 2017
Ma dov'erano gli imperialisti americani? E quelli britannici? O magari quelli tedeschi? Erano anni e anni che si sentivano promettere imperialisti, pensò Gyuri con rabbia. A che gioco giocavano gli imperialisti? Si era preparato la frase per accogliere gli invasori americani: "Come mai ci avete messo tutto 'sto tempo? Venite, vi porto da qualche comunista interessante, che sarete certamente ansiosi di fucilare".
Quando sentì alla radio la notizia della morte di Stalin, Gyuri si stava lavando i capelli. A parte la sensazione di intenso benessere che lo pervase, la prima cosa che gli venne in mente fu se l'intero sistema sarebbe crollato prima che lui sostenesse l'esame di marxismo-leninismo che doveva dare la settimana successiva. Poteva contare sulla caduta del comunismo o doveva proprio mettersi a studiare Marx? La seconda fu come meglio mancare di rispetto nei dieci minuti di silenzio decretati per il giorno seguente. Quando in seguito vide al cinema il filmato sulla città di Budapest che rendeva omaggio alla memoria di Stalin interrompendo ogni attività , gli operai con la faccia scura immobili sul ciglio della strada, i ferrovieri con la faccia ancora più scura [apprezzate il crescendo tragico della frase] che facevano fischiare le locomotive, folle di persone vestite di nero che si accalcavano verso l'enorme statua di Stalin in piazza Hòsok, quando vide tutto ciò, Gyuri rimpianse di non essere riuscito a invitare una troupe di cameraman a casa sua perché immortalassero l'unica parte di lui che stava sull'attenti, infilata e sfilata ritmicamente dentro e fuori una sua ex ormai sposata, ma sempre disponibile a tuffi nel passato.
Bah, finisco di leggere un romanzo che parla dell'Europa dell'Est sotto il comunismo (Chatwin: Utz, e il paese è la Cecoslovacchia) e ne apro un altro che affonda a piene mani nello stesso argomento, nella stessa èra, solo che si svolge in Ungheria. Ora: che cosa so io dell'argomento? Un accidente e poco più, diciamolo. So quelle due o tre frasi che si trovavano nel libro di storia delle superiori: anzi, ora che ci penso, alla facoltà di Scienze Politiche della Cattolica, indirizzo storico, per qualche strano motivo l'argomento non veniva affrontato nemmeno di striscio: che abbia sbagliato io nella scelta dei libri facoltativi? Che debba invece chiedere indietro i soldi? E sì che non era quel che si dice un ateneo di sinistra... Comunque a trentotto anni di scuse non ne ho proprio: se avessi voluto informarmi, a quest'ora avrei potuto benissimo farlo, e invece, mi scoccia ammetterlo, ma a parte qualche film ("I sogni muoiono all'alba" di Montanelli, proprio sui carri armati a Budapest, o "Le vite degli altri", bellissimo, o ancora il recente "Racconti dell'età dell'oro", rumeno) o qualche romanzo che sfiorava l'argomento, io sulla cortina di ferro non so un cazzo.
Come mai, mi chiedo? Non sarà per caso che, come persona di sinistra, che non si è mai vergognata di essere di sinistra in Italia e una volta ha fatto addirittura tempo a votare Pci, l'argomento mi dà fastidio, mi scoccia affrontarlo, ammettere che per chi l'ha vissuto il comunismo non ha portato né pace né prosperità ma solo miseria, infelicità , grottesco, fame e persecuzioni?
Non è giusto: per noi comunismo significava Resistenza, liberazione dal nazifascismo, la faccia onesta di di Berlinguer, significava più diritti per i lavoratori, più benessere per tutti, più giustizia. Invece se andiamo a vedere le reazioni dentro il Pci alla rivolta d'Ungheria, scopriamo con raccapriccio che la linea dominante fu quella di Togliatti, anche se fa onore a molti essersene dissociati (Ingrao) o essere usciti dal partito (più letterati che politici: Calvino, Silone, Vittorini, Sapegno...) in quell'occasione. Proprio per questo non posso che consigliare a chiunque sia di sinistra questo romanzo splendido. Che non si piange addosso, anzi tutto il contrario: il protagonista e i suoi amici si fanno un punto d'onore di ridere, sghignazzare anzi, di qualsiasi cosa accada a loro, alle loro famiglie, al loro paese: dalla seconda guerra mondiale agli arresti arbitrari, dalla fame alla burocrazia, dal servizio militare alle fabbriche dove tutti fingono di lavorare e si sopravvive solo leccando i piedi al potere, tutto è degno di una risata, di uno sberleffo, di una barzelletta: tutto pur di tenere alta la schiena, di non perdere la dignità , di non finire imbalsamati come i sottaceti di un'azzeccata metafora di metà romanzo su cosa vorrebbe uno Stato autoritario dai suoi cittadini (apprezzate il tono omerico e - schizofenicamente - non dimenticatevi la nostalgia dei cetrioli che fa da fil rouge a Goodbye Lenin):
Lungo le pareti del negozio erano allineati enormi barattoli di cetriolini che spadroneggiavano di fronte a piccoli barattoli di conserva di albicocche. Tutte le superfici libere della bottega erano occupate da barattoli riempiti fino all'orlo. (...). Era quello il genere di stagnazione organica, di stasi in bella vista, di obbedienza sottovetro che avrebbero voluto dai cittadini, immagazzinati nelle loro case come prodotti che non richiedono cure, impassibili di fronte alla lentezza della rete di distribuzione, docili su uno scaffale finché non c'è bisogno di loro.
Frantiani? Sì, mi ricordano proprio Franti, questi giocatori di basket che pensano solo a scopare e fare scherzi, ma anche la compagnia di "Amici miei". La tragedia non esce quasi mai dalle loro vite, è una donna di picche che appare, scompare e riappare in continuazione nelle vesti della morte, della galera, dell'ingiustizia, dell'ipocrisia di Stato, della burocrazia più idiota, sempre sommersa sotto il peso dello humour, uno humour nero, pesante, poco anglosassone ma efficacissimo e implacabile, che non risparmia nulla.
La risata come sola igiene mentale, che tace solo nelle ultime nerissime pagine, quando la copre il rombo dei carri armati sovietici e muore con il fucile in mano la ragazza di Gyuri, la bella e coraggiosa Jà dwiga, polacca che combatte per la libertà di un paese che non è neanche il suo, mentre lui, Gyuri, pensa solo alla fuga in Occidente e alla fine la metterà in atto. Come del resto il suo amico, l'indimenticabile Pataki:
"Presto, le sigarette", diceva Pataki appena scorgeva Rònai in lontananza, e se ne accendeva due per sembrare il ritratto dello sportivo dissoluto.
Quando sentì alla radio la notizia della morte di Stalin, Gyuri si stava lavando i capelli. A parte la sensazione di intenso benessere che lo pervase, la prima cosa che gli venne in mente fu se l'intero sistema sarebbe crollato prima che lui sostenesse l'esame di marxismo-leninismo che doveva dare la settimana successiva. Poteva contare sulla caduta del comunismo o doveva proprio mettersi a studiare Marx? La seconda fu come meglio mancare di rispetto nei dieci minuti di silenzio decretati per il giorno seguente. Quando in seguito vide al cinema il filmato sulla città di Budapest che rendeva omaggio alla memoria di Stalin interrompendo ogni attività , gli operai con la faccia scura immobili sul ciglio della strada, i ferrovieri con la faccia ancora più scura [apprezzate il crescendo tragico della frase] che facevano fischiare le locomotive, folle di persone vestite di nero che si accalcavano verso l'enorme statua di Stalin in piazza Hòsok, quando vide tutto ciò, Gyuri rimpianse di non essere riuscito a invitare una troupe di cameraman a casa sua perché immortalassero l'unica parte di lui che stava sull'attenti, infilata e sfilata ritmicamente dentro e fuori una sua ex ormai sposata, ma sempre disponibile a tuffi nel passato.
Bah, finisco di leggere un romanzo che parla dell'Europa dell'Est sotto il comunismo (Chatwin: Utz, e il paese è la Cecoslovacchia) e ne apro un altro che affonda a piene mani nello stesso argomento, nella stessa èra, solo che si svolge in Ungheria. Ora: che cosa so io dell'argomento? Un accidente e poco più, diciamolo. So quelle due o tre frasi che si trovavano nel libro di storia delle superiori: anzi, ora che ci penso, alla facoltà di Scienze Politiche della Cattolica, indirizzo storico, per qualche strano motivo l'argomento non veniva affrontato nemmeno di striscio: che abbia sbagliato io nella scelta dei libri facoltativi? Che debba invece chiedere indietro i soldi? E sì che non era quel che si dice un ateneo di sinistra... Comunque a trentotto anni di scuse non ne ho proprio: se avessi voluto informarmi, a quest'ora avrei potuto benissimo farlo, e invece, mi scoccia ammetterlo, ma a parte qualche film ("I sogni muoiono all'alba" di Montanelli, proprio sui carri armati a Budapest, o "Le vite degli altri", bellissimo, o ancora il recente "Racconti dell'età dell'oro", rumeno) o qualche romanzo che sfiorava l'argomento, io sulla cortina di ferro non so un cazzo.
Come mai, mi chiedo? Non sarà per caso che, come persona di sinistra, che non si è mai vergognata di essere di sinistra in Italia e una volta ha fatto addirittura tempo a votare Pci, l'argomento mi dà fastidio, mi scoccia affrontarlo, ammettere che per chi l'ha vissuto il comunismo non ha portato né pace né prosperità ma solo miseria, infelicità , grottesco, fame e persecuzioni?
Non è giusto: per noi comunismo significava Resistenza, liberazione dal nazifascismo, la faccia onesta di di Berlinguer, significava più diritti per i lavoratori, più benessere per tutti, più giustizia. Invece se andiamo a vedere le reazioni dentro il Pci alla rivolta d'Ungheria, scopriamo con raccapriccio che la linea dominante fu quella di Togliatti, anche se fa onore a molti essersene dissociati (Ingrao) o essere usciti dal partito (più letterati che politici: Calvino, Silone, Vittorini, Sapegno...) in quell'occasione. Proprio per questo non posso che consigliare a chiunque sia di sinistra questo romanzo splendido. Che non si piange addosso, anzi tutto il contrario: il protagonista e i suoi amici si fanno un punto d'onore di ridere, sghignazzare anzi, di qualsiasi cosa accada a loro, alle loro famiglie, al loro paese: dalla seconda guerra mondiale agli arresti arbitrari, dalla fame alla burocrazia, dal servizio militare alle fabbriche dove tutti fingono di lavorare e si sopravvive solo leccando i piedi al potere, tutto è degno di una risata, di uno sberleffo, di una barzelletta: tutto pur di tenere alta la schiena, di non perdere la dignità , di non finire imbalsamati come i sottaceti di un'azzeccata metafora di metà romanzo su cosa vorrebbe uno Stato autoritario dai suoi cittadini (apprezzate il tono omerico e - schizofenicamente - non dimenticatevi la nostalgia dei cetrioli che fa da fil rouge a Goodbye Lenin):
Lungo le pareti del negozio erano allineati enormi barattoli di cetriolini che spadroneggiavano di fronte a piccoli barattoli di conserva di albicocche. Tutte le superfici libere della bottega erano occupate da barattoli riempiti fino all'orlo. (...). Era quello il genere di stagnazione organica, di stasi in bella vista, di obbedienza sottovetro che avrebbero voluto dai cittadini, immagazzinati nelle loro case come prodotti che non richiedono cure, impassibili di fronte alla lentezza della rete di distribuzione, docili su uno scaffale finché non c'è bisogno di loro.
Frantiani? Sì, mi ricordano proprio Franti, questi giocatori di basket che pensano solo a scopare e fare scherzi, ma anche la compagnia di "Amici miei". La tragedia non esce quasi mai dalle loro vite, è una donna di picche che appare, scompare e riappare in continuazione nelle vesti della morte, della galera, dell'ingiustizia, dell'ipocrisia di Stato, della burocrazia più idiota, sempre sommersa sotto il peso dello humour, uno humour nero, pesante, poco anglosassone ma efficacissimo e implacabile, che non risparmia nulla.
La risata come sola igiene mentale, che tace solo nelle ultime nerissime pagine, quando la copre il rombo dei carri armati sovietici e muore con il fucile in mano la ragazza di Gyuri, la bella e coraggiosa Jà dwiga, polacca che combatte per la libertà di un paese che non è neanche il suo, mentre lui, Gyuri, pensa solo alla fuga in Occidente e alla fine la metterà in atto. Come del resto il suo amico, l'indimenticabile Pataki:
"Presto, le sigarette", diceva Pataki appena scorgeva Rònai in lontananza, e se ne accendeva due per sembrare il ritratto dello sportivo dissoluto.
May 24, 2015
Tibor Fischer's "Under the Frog" was shortlisted for the prestigious Booker Prize (the best original novel written in the English language) in 1993. Indeed it is an extraordinary book - powerful, often tragic and hysterically funny. It is advertised as a "black comedy" - well, maybe; life in general might be viewed as a black comedy, considering the futility of human efforts in the face of the guaranteed unhappy ending. Salman Rushdie offers a blurb for the cover: "A delicate, seriocomic treasure." True, but let's clarify that the comic element comes from the writing. While many issues addressed in the novel - deprivation, suffering, death - are not quite that funny, Mr. Fischer's prose is absolutely, totally hilarious.
The novel tells the story of Gyuri Fischer and several friends of his, basketball players, against the backdrop of dramatic events in Hungary between 1944 and 1956, covering the period from the end of German occupation, through the so-called liberation by the Soviet troops, which brought Russian occupation, to the hard years of Rákosi Stalinist regime, until the novel culminates in unforgettable scenes from the failed Hungarian uprising of October 1956.
The depiction of the October uprising in Budapest is astounding in its sheer power. The revolutionary fervor of ordinary people, the chaos and randomness of street fighting, people throwing petrol bottles at Russian tanks, moments of revenge on hated Hungarian security agents, led to tops of high buildings to practice their flying skills. The days of freedom, hope, joy, and death.
The book may take some effort to understand for readers who never lived in a totalitarian regime, where 99.9% of the society are completely against the government, yet nothing can be done about it as most people naturally prefer to live enslaved than die hero deaths or linger in prison. Over half a million of Hungarians were imprisoned, executed, or sent to Russian labor camps, after the "liberation" of this small country. Those who did not actively oppose the government were allowed to live in a Communist heaven, where people pretended to work and the government pretended to pay them, with virtually the entire economy being underground, and grocery stores carrying only two items: pickled gherkins and apricot conserve.
The picture painted by Mr. Fischer is frightfully accurate. The conditions in Poland, my native country, were not as drastic as in Hungary and not as many people perished in Stalinist times, but the grim atmosphere of oppression was the same, and the Polish people enthusiastically celebrated the Hungarian uprising of 1956. These October days are my first memories connected with politics. I recall demonstrations in support of Hungarian freedom fighters, and the blood drives to help thousands of victims. My life was so much easier though - I am about 20 years younger than Gyuri, I missed the war and the Stalinist period, and conditions after 1956 were quite benign both in Hungary and Poland, with Communism showing its "human face".
An outstanding novel, exceptionally well written. Sad and funny to tears.
Five stars.
The novel tells the story of Gyuri Fischer and several friends of his, basketball players, against the backdrop of dramatic events in Hungary between 1944 and 1956, covering the period from the end of German occupation, through the so-called liberation by the Soviet troops, which brought Russian occupation, to the hard years of Rákosi Stalinist regime, until the novel culminates in unforgettable scenes from the failed Hungarian uprising of October 1956.
The depiction of the October uprising in Budapest is astounding in its sheer power. The revolutionary fervor of ordinary people, the chaos and randomness of street fighting, people throwing petrol bottles at Russian tanks, moments of revenge on hated Hungarian security agents, led to tops of high buildings to practice their flying skills. The days of freedom, hope, joy, and death.
The book may take some effort to understand for readers who never lived in a totalitarian regime, where 99.9% of the society are completely against the government, yet nothing can be done about it as most people naturally prefer to live enslaved than die hero deaths or linger in prison. Over half a million of Hungarians were imprisoned, executed, or sent to Russian labor camps, after the "liberation" of this small country. Those who did not actively oppose the government were allowed to live in a Communist heaven, where people pretended to work and the government pretended to pay them, with virtually the entire economy being underground, and grocery stores carrying only two items: pickled gherkins and apricot conserve.
The picture painted by Mr. Fischer is frightfully accurate. The conditions in Poland, my native country, were not as drastic as in Hungary and not as many people perished in Stalinist times, but the grim atmosphere of oppression was the same, and the Polish people enthusiastically celebrated the Hungarian uprising of 1956. These October days are my first memories connected with politics. I recall demonstrations in support of Hungarian freedom fighters, and the blood drives to help thousands of victims. My life was so much easier though - I am about 20 years younger than Gyuri, I missed the war and the Stalinist period, and conditions after 1956 were quite benign both in Hungary and Poland, with Communism showing its "human face".
An outstanding novel, exceptionally well written. Sad and funny to tears.
Five stars.
July 19, 2010
I finally finished this book after multiple stop and starts over the course of a year. Why all the ADD? Fischer has a knack for throwing in a side reference or vignette in a heartbeat, expounding on that reference for a few pages or more, and then going back to the original topic at the last part of the chapter. This makes for a temporally disjointed experience.
The story starts a few years before the Hungarian Revolution of '56, then Fischer moves to backtracks to the past, and then returns to the present and then onward to the date of the Revolution. The story follows a couple of main characters, Gyuri and Pataki, who are members of a national basketball team, following their travails at the end of and after World War II, through the rise of Communism, and up until crackdown of '56. The story intimately details Communist habits, work and personal, letting the reader feel the absurdity of this particular historical situation.
Much of the writing is grotesque, forcing the reader to smile a bit, and then feel guilty for thinking that the situation described is humorous. The dark humor echoes a bit of what Kundera's or Hrabal's early Czech writing does for post-'68 Czechoslovakia.
If you do start this book, make sure you read all the way to the end. The last 50 pages balances the first 200 and the book does not make much sense without a full read.
The most amazing part of the book is the author's command of language: at times convoluted and overly calculated, but mostly wry, humorous, satirical, witty, and original. I've never quite read anything like this, and I look forward to reading it again.
The story starts a few years before the Hungarian Revolution of '56, then Fischer moves to backtracks to the past, and then returns to the present and then onward to the date of the Revolution. The story follows a couple of main characters, Gyuri and Pataki, who are members of a national basketball team, following their travails at the end of and after World War II, through the rise of Communism, and up until crackdown of '56. The story intimately details Communist habits, work and personal, letting the reader feel the absurdity of this particular historical situation.
Much of the writing is grotesque, forcing the reader to smile a bit, and then feel guilty for thinking that the situation described is humorous. The dark humor echoes a bit of what Kundera's or Hrabal's early Czech writing does for post-'68 Czechoslovakia.
If you do start this book, make sure you read all the way to the end. The last 50 pages balances the first 200 and the book does not make much sense without a full read.
The most amazing part of the book is the author's command of language: at times convoluted and overly calculated, but mostly wry, humorous, satirical, witty, and original. I've never quite read anything like this, and I look forward to reading it again.
October 12, 2010
Before traveling to Budapest, I wanted to read something that took place there. This was good choice. The story takes place in communist Hungary, culminating with the uprising in October, 1956. Hungary was invaded by Germany during WWII and then in 1948 was handed over to Russia. The main character, Gyuri Fischer, is a basketball player on a traveling team in 1956. He, along with the other players, are on the payroll of the Hungarian Railway. They are required to work very little and spend all their time playing and practicing. Gyuri's closest friend, Pataki, spends his time trying to upset the powers that be. He is often pulled into communist headquarters to explain himself. The headquarters were located at 60 Andrassy St, a space which was used by the Germans to torture prisoners during WWII. It then was used by the Russians for the same purpose. (The bldg still stands in current day Hungary, as a museum called the House of Terror where one can see the various implements and cells they used in torturing people.) Gyuri is not overly political, but does have a minor role in the uprising. The author, Tibor Fischer, is able to find the comedy in a situation. At the same time, he also writes thoughtfully about the underlying current of unrest in Hungary at that time. I believe the author is recognized for his humor. Here he is able to capture both the humor and the horror.
October 21, 2020
Another novel from the compendium of life under communism in Eastern Europe dealing with the nonsense and the banality of evil, propaganda and life under totalitarianism from the perspective of 20 something years old young men whose only wish is to escape the new regime after surviving the horrors of WW2. The way to make life tolerable with the constraints and the straight jacket that totalitarianism brings is to not take it seriously and the novel deals with tragic situations in a humorous manner. Two of my favourite themes: young men being young men and putting two fingers up to tyranny in the same novel, what is there not to like.
April 28, 2020
I’ve thought before that Brits and Hungarians share the same self-deprecating humour. Maybe it’s because we are both island people, the only difference that in their case they are surrounded by land.
But the joke has to be against oneself. Beware using that same satire against others; in some of Laurence Durrell’s accounts of his time in Eastern Europe for example the sarcasm easily becomes a sneer.
No such worries here. Tibor Fischer’s maliciously funny novel is based on the experiences of his parents, both professional basketball players, between 1944 and their flight from Hungary at the time of the 1956 uprising.
The story is told in hilarious episodes, the sportsmen travelling naked in an appropriated railway carriage, a gargantuan eating contest, monumental inefficiency and skiving in factories where fulfilment of a Five-Year plan is a matter of fantasy or stealing supplies from a rival enterprise.
It’s all outrageous, but completely plausible for anyone with the remotest experience of the utter incompetence and pettiness of daily existence under the Soviet-imposed system.
Life is brutal, harsh and arbitrary, and Fischer’s unlikely heroes, Gyuri and Pataki, have to make the best of things in a country riven by hypocrisy and corruption, where ex-Nazis turn into petty Communist dictators.
And if the loathing for Russians almost topples into excess, with its jibe about ‘slant-eyed Mongols�, it’s excusable given what happened under their heel. The title by the way refers to a Hungarian expression that the worst place to be is under a frog’s arse down a coal mine.
There’s a rich array of slightly eccentric characters, each somehow orbiting in different circles outside the remit of authority, and a rich vocabulary of a writer relishing a language that was not that of his parents.
In books and film there have been many moving and funny accounts of that extraordinary period before the collapse of Communism. This is among the best and most enjoyable.
But the joke has to be against oneself. Beware using that same satire against others; in some of Laurence Durrell’s accounts of his time in Eastern Europe for example the sarcasm easily becomes a sneer.
No such worries here. Tibor Fischer’s maliciously funny novel is based on the experiences of his parents, both professional basketball players, between 1944 and their flight from Hungary at the time of the 1956 uprising.
The story is told in hilarious episodes, the sportsmen travelling naked in an appropriated railway carriage, a gargantuan eating contest, monumental inefficiency and skiving in factories where fulfilment of a Five-Year plan is a matter of fantasy or stealing supplies from a rival enterprise.
It’s all outrageous, but completely plausible for anyone with the remotest experience of the utter incompetence and pettiness of daily existence under the Soviet-imposed system.
Life is brutal, harsh and arbitrary, and Fischer’s unlikely heroes, Gyuri and Pataki, have to make the best of things in a country riven by hypocrisy and corruption, where ex-Nazis turn into petty Communist dictators.
And if the loathing for Russians almost topples into excess, with its jibe about ‘slant-eyed Mongols�, it’s excusable given what happened under their heel. The title by the way refers to a Hungarian expression that the worst place to be is under a frog’s arse down a coal mine.
There’s a rich array of slightly eccentric characters, each somehow orbiting in different circles outside the remit of authority, and a rich vocabulary of a writer relishing a language that was not that of his parents.
In books and film there have been many moving and funny accounts of that extraordinary period before the collapse of Communism. This is among the best and most enjoyable.
July 19, 2022
This is likely the best written book I’ll ever hate.
That can be a compliment if you want it to be. I’m sure that Fischer would take it as such. So clear is it that the ingenuity of the prose is the point of this book that I’m sure if the author were to read my review’s longline, he’d hear exactly two of the ten words. Because substance is secondary. Intent is secondary. Insight, perspective, examination, and humanity � all just load-bearing pillars in the temple of “style�. Make no mistake, though; the “style� on display here is nothing more than one of sarcastic self-importance, swollen to the point of searing indifference.
Drolly describing things that *should* be described enthusiastically (haha, very clever!), this is a book that swaddles its single idea in layers and layers of detachment, irony, mean-spirited aloofness, and a kind of manufactured callousness meant to read as “so detached that it’s actually attached� but accidentally laps itself, landing firmly on “detached� with no real heart or humanity. The narration of this book reads as though Patrick Melrose himself were the first-person author of his own stories and painted himself as the unquestionably aspirational hero, his dry wit offsetting his nastier qualities instead of obliterating any chance at creating meaning in his life.
That can be a compliment if you want it to be. I’m sure that Fischer would take it as such. So clear is it that the ingenuity of the prose is the point of this book that I’m sure if the author were to read my review’s longline, he’d hear exactly two of the ten words. Because substance is secondary. Intent is secondary. Insight, perspective, examination, and humanity � all just load-bearing pillars in the temple of “style�. Make no mistake, though; the “style� on display here is nothing more than one of sarcastic self-importance, swollen to the point of searing indifference.
Drolly describing things that *should* be described enthusiastically (haha, very clever!), this is a book that swaddles its single idea in layers and layers of detachment, irony, mean-spirited aloofness, and a kind of manufactured callousness meant to read as “so detached that it’s actually attached� but accidentally laps itself, landing firmly on “detached� with no real heart or humanity. The narration of this book reads as though Patrick Melrose himself were the first-person author of his own stories and painted himself as the unquestionably aspirational hero, his dry wit offsetting his nastier qualities instead of obliterating any chance at creating meaning in his life.
Shelved as 'unfinished'
August 1, 2020DNF - Sentence about forcing girls “teetering on pubescence� to perform fellatio on a secondary character as their “tuition� for “personal training� at his gym is supposed to be funny? I know I’m a feminist killjoy but this is hard to read, as an offense to girls and also to humor.
No female characters other than 1. largely nameless cast of sexual partners for the male characters or 2. as butts of jokes the male characters make, basically just jokes about their lack of attractiveness. Such low-hanging fruit.
Maybe the misogyny is intended to illustrate the bleakness of the time or the youth and idiocy of the main characters. I only made it 1/3 of the way through the book so maybe the fully-fleshed out female characters come in later, but I’m not willing to tough it out. Life’s too short and there are a million books out there. I just don’t have the patience right now.
No female characters other than 1. largely nameless cast of sexual partners for the male characters or 2. as butts of jokes the male characters make, basically just jokes about their lack of attractiveness. Such low-hanging fruit.
Maybe the misogyny is intended to illustrate the bleakness of the time or the youth and idiocy of the main characters. I only made it 1/3 of the way through the book so maybe the fully-fleshed out female characters come in later, but I’m not willing to tough it out. Life’s too short and there are a million books out there. I just don’t have the patience right now.
December 10, 2018
It’s a bit difficult to review this book, because I was so annoyed by the objectification of women, light acceptance of bullying and easy degeneration. On the other hand the writing style was dry, clever and amusing (lots of obscure words, aptly applied). And the last chapter was very exciting. It was shortlisted for the Booker 25 years ago (and set in the mid-20th century, in Hungary), so it’s a little unfair to judge it by today’s standards, but I would say anyway that this is an unredeemed boys� book, amusing in parts, but not as funny as the puff on the book’s cover suggests.
January 7, 2021
I only read it in Hungarian, because I didn't know that the original was the English version. However, I still enjoyed it immensely, I think it gives back the Hungarian humour so well. It's also easy to read, because even though its topic is a very serious one, Fischer uses lots of humour to present it, so it's kinda difficult to realize how serious it actually is. It's a great read, especially if you want to know a bit more about Hungarian literature.
December 5, 2016
As a Hungarian basketball player, I was really surprise to find a book about Hungarian basketball players in a random second hand bookshop in London!
An even more pleasant surprise was that it is actually witty, funny, exciting and nevertheless factually correct in its storytelling about the events leading up to the 1956 revolution. Great read!
An even more pleasant surprise was that it is actually witty, funny, exciting and nevertheless factually correct in its storytelling about the events leading up to the 1956 revolution. Great read!
April 13, 2020
Che sorpresa!
È amarissimo, però fa anche ridere!
Riparandosi dietro la testa si Stalin insieme all'altro cacciatore di souvenir, la prima e unica cosa a cui riuscì a pensare mentre i proiettili mandavano in frantumi le vetrine e spezzavano i rami degli alberi, fu quanta voglia di vivere avesse. Non si era mai reso conto di quanto quel desiderio fosse sconfinato e assoluto, grande non meno dell'universo, né che avrevve fatto qualsiasi cosa, ma veramente qualsiasi cosa, pur di vivere, magari soltanto qualche secondo in più.
Popsugar reading challenge A book on a subject you know nothing about
Around the world in 52 books A book that was nominated for 1 of the "10 most coveted literary prizes in the world" (Booker prize)
È amarissimo, però fa anche ridere!
Riparandosi dietro la testa si Stalin insieme all'altro cacciatore di souvenir, la prima e unica cosa a cui riuscì a pensare mentre i proiettili mandavano in frantumi le vetrine e spezzavano i rami degli alberi, fu quanta voglia di vivere avesse. Non si era mai reso conto di quanto quel desiderio fosse sconfinato e assoluto, grande non meno dell'universo, né che avrevve fatto qualsiasi cosa, ma veramente qualsiasi cosa, pur di vivere, magari soltanto qualche secondo in più.
Popsugar reading challenge A book on a subject you know nothing about
Around the world in 52 books A book that was nominated for 1 of the "10 most coveted literary prizes in the world" (Booker prize)
August 30, 2018
A novel by Tibor Fischer, Under the Frog tells an episodic, coming-of-age story about a young man named Gyuri growing up in a communist-oppressed Hungary between the years of 1944-1956. The majority of the novel is in the form of a collection of sardonic, biting, and anecdotal clips of a life under the communist regime. The humor has the ability to make the reader laugh, but more often gives the impression of a bitter lament expressing the absurdity of the human condition when immersed in this particular place (Budapest) at this particular time (1946-1956). While some clips of Gyuri’s life are genuinely funny and honestly describe the travails of an adolescent’s coming-of-age, there are also stories that emit an ominous sense of unease and foretell a sad ending, despite a sharp and sarcastic humor. Slowly the stories merge in their commonality and carry over past occurrences and characters into the final installments. The characters begin to abide by the dictates of their past behavior and their past actions start to reveal consequences.
The novel is in an everlasting transition and tightens the plot up as it approaches the end. The gaps between the years become shorter and the chapters begin to divide themselves in months as the story picks up in intensity and the reader starts to suspect that the end is not going to be as comedic as the beginning and the middle of the novel. The plot begins to tighten on page 157, at the beginning of the chapter named November 1955. It is important to note the time and month separations between each chapter. The beginning chapter starts on November 1955, the date close to the climax of the novel. The story then shifts back to December 1944, October 1946, September 1948, January 1949, September 1949, August 1950, August 1952, and July 1954. Notice that in some cases there are gaps of almost up to two years. After page 156, the gaps are as follows. November 1955, September 1956, and 23rd October 1956. There is a dramatic change, particularly in the last two chapters, as the separation in the story is marked only by a single month.
There are very complex and intended reasons for the duality in the book’s structure. The beginning appears unfocused and confused. The events separate themselves by large gaps in time and show consistency in the characters; yet do not lead to any coherent conclusion. The times are as mixed and confused as Gyuri and his direction and focus. Near the climax, and particularly in the last three chapters, the structure changes, becomes less episodic, yet similarly fragmented and more sharply marked by events and actions leading to serious consequences. The change in Gyuri and his focus and commitment translates itself into the format of the novel. This change also brings out a more serious tone and prepares itself for an oncoming tragic end. The effect of the ending enhances the drama and tragedy, because of the previous episodic chapters and the tightening of the plot as it approaches the end. The transitions are sometimes tricky and subtle, as with the repetition of the beginning chapter.
November 1955 is a title of chapter that repeats itself in the beginning and near the climax of the novel for particular reasons. This month marks Gyuri’s introduction to Jadwiga. The first 1955 chapter introduces the characters and sets a light tone to Gyuri’s adventures and life. He rides naked on the basketball team train, has eccentric and quirky friends, and there is poignant sarcasm in the quality of their basketball play, their opponents and their surroundings. This chapter teases the attraction he will eventually form for Jadwiga:
[H]e was disappointed that Jadwiga didn’t seem more delighted to meet him�
Jadwiga only scored a keep-on-file anyway and he had more pressing Swedish women to phone. (20)
Ironically, Jadwiga becomes the cornerstone for a transition in Gyuri’s life and the change of tone and pace of the novel. Her appearance in the beginning chapter is telling of Gyuri’s condition and the pace of the novel three quarters of the way through. So far, Gyuri is not ready for a change, and his youthful adventures and miseries will provide mirth and reflection. As soon as he gains something worth losing, his life as well as the tone and format of the novel will change. This chapter also reveals the type of regime the characters are under, as they worry about informers, and army recruiting. It also reveals Gyuri’s anxieties as he longs to escape and do even the most menial and meaningless of tasks, as long as they are in a different surrounding. It is important to note that the comic effects of the beginning chapter outweigh the perceived severity of the characters� lives, and sets the tone for the following chapters.
The fragments in the last chapters become sporadic and represent the many different aspects of the city, as well as the scattered and upset mindset of Gyuri. In the sporadic episodes there is a certain fluidity denoting a natural and inevitable course. Gyuri’s realization of escape unleashes a torrent of tears that is as mixed and jumbled as his emotions. The tumult of Gyuri’s life translates itself in to the structure of the novel. The beginning and middle of the novel provides a calm heartbeat mingled with reflection and comedic comment. The fragments are prolonged and the breaks in chapters are yearly and denote certain aspects of growing up and occurring change. The last three chapters become more fluid, yet very fragmented. The fragmentation does not take away the cohesiveness and tightness of the novel, but rather reinforces the quickening heartbeat and pace of Gyuri’s life during those two months. Many significant events occur. Gyuri yearns for Jadwiga, consummates his love and experiences the throngs of the revolution. He feels anxiety of loss and fear of retaliation. He faces the direct loss of his love, endures the assault of an army, leaves his home, and finally escapes. These events are quick and loaded with emotion. The novel recreates the pace of his feelings with the fragmentary structure and achieves the same anxiety within the reader. For all that, the impact of the work would not be as resounding without the use of humor Fischer uses frequently throughout the novel.
The humor plays a large role in the novel and the frequency of it serves as a great contrast to the tragic end. The picaresque structure of the novel undergoes a change. It is certainly episodic throughout, but the beginning merges the clips with the humor and serves to accent the humor and to illustrate the growth of Gyuri. Conversely, the ending fragments correlate the pace of an eventful period with the pace of Gyuri’s anxieties, emotions, and feelings. This method certainly connects the reader with Gyuri through comedic identification at first, and then through cathartic empathy towards the ending. Fischer succeeds in fleshing out Gyuri realistically through an efficient blend of dark, yet affectionate comedy, and gritty, harsh, yet not overbearing tragedy. Because of Fischer’s success, the audience is likely to share the abseiling of tears with the broken down, and defeated Gyuri, as he walks towards his freedom.
The novel is in an everlasting transition and tightens the plot up as it approaches the end. The gaps between the years become shorter and the chapters begin to divide themselves in months as the story picks up in intensity and the reader starts to suspect that the end is not going to be as comedic as the beginning and the middle of the novel. The plot begins to tighten on page 157, at the beginning of the chapter named November 1955. It is important to note the time and month separations between each chapter. The beginning chapter starts on November 1955, the date close to the climax of the novel. The story then shifts back to December 1944, October 1946, September 1948, January 1949, September 1949, August 1950, August 1952, and July 1954. Notice that in some cases there are gaps of almost up to two years. After page 156, the gaps are as follows. November 1955, September 1956, and 23rd October 1956. There is a dramatic change, particularly in the last two chapters, as the separation in the story is marked only by a single month.
There are very complex and intended reasons for the duality in the book’s structure. The beginning appears unfocused and confused. The events separate themselves by large gaps in time and show consistency in the characters; yet do not lead to any coherent conclusion. The times are as mixed and confused as Gyuri and his direction and focus. Near the climax, and particularly in the last three chapters, the structure changes, becomes less episodic, yet similarly fragmented and more sharply marked by events and actions leading to serious consequences. The change in Gyuri and his focus and commitment translates itself into the format of the novel. This change also brings out a more serious tone and prepares itself for an oncoming tragic end. The effect of the ending enhances the drama and tragedy, because of the previous episodic chapters and the tightening of the plot as it approaches the end. The transitions are sometimes tricky and subtle, as with the repetition of the beginning chapter.
November 1955 is a title of chapter that repeats itself in the beginning and near the climax of the novel for particular reasons. This month marks Gyuri’s introduction to Jadwiga. The first 1955 chapter introduces the characters and sets a light tone to Gyuri’s adventures and life. He rides naked on the basketball team train, has eccentric and quirky friends, and there is poignant sarcasm in the quality of their basketball play, their opponents and their surroundings. This chapter teases the attraction he will eventually form for Jadwiga:
[H]e was disappointed that Jadwiga didn’t seem more delighted to meet him�
Jadwiga only scored a keep-on-file anyway and he had more pressing Swedish women to phone. (20)
Ironically, Jadwiga becomes the cornerstone for a transition in Gyuri’s life and the change of tone and pace of the novel. Her appearance in the beginning chapter is telling of Gyuri’s condition and the pace of the novel three quarters of the way through. So far, Gyuri is not ready for a change, and his youthful adventures and miseries will provide mirth and reflection. As soon as he gains something worth losing, his life as well as the tone and format of the novel will change. This chapter also reveals the type of regime the characters are under, as they worry about informers, and army recruiting. It also reveals Gyuri’s anxieties as he longs to escape and do even the most menial and meaningless of tasks, as long as they are in a different surrounding. It is important to note that the comic effects of the beginning chapter outweigh the perceived severity of the characters� lives, and sets the tone for the following chapters.
The fragments in the last chapters become sporadic and represent the many different aspects of the city, as well as the scattered and upset mindset of Gyuri. In the sporadic episodes there is a certain fluidity denoting a natural and inevitable course. Gyuri’s realization of escape unleashes a torrent of tears that is as mixed and jumbled as his emotions. The tumult of Gyuri’s life translates itself in to the structure of the novel. The beginning and middle of the novel provides a calm heartbeat mingled with reflection and comedic comment. The fragments are prolonged and the breaks in chapters are yearly and denote certain aspects of growing up and occurring change. The last three chapters become more fluid, yet very fragmented. The fragmentation does not take away the cohesiveness and tightness of the novel, but rather reinforces the quickening heartbeat and pace of Gyuri’s life during those two months. Many significant events occur. Gyuri yearns for Jadwiga, consummates his love and experiences the throngs of the revolution. He feels anxiety of loss and fear of retaliation. He faces the direct loss of his love, endures the assault of an army, leaves his home, and finally escapes. These events are quick and loaded with emotion. The novel recreates the pace of his feelings with the fragmentary structure and achieves the same anxiety within the reader. For all that, the impact of the work would not be as resounding without the use of humor Fischer uses frequently throughout the novel.
The humor plays a large role in the novel and the frequency of it serves as a great contrast to the tragic end. The picaresque structure of the novel undergoes a change. It is certainly episodic throughout, but the beginning merges the clips with the humor and serves to accent the humor and to illustrate the growth of Gyuri. Conversely, the ending fragments correlate the pace of an eventful period with the pace of Gyuri’s anxieties, emotions, and feelings. This method certainly connects the reader with Gyuri through comedic identification at first, and then through cathartic empathy towards the ending. Fischer succeeds in fleshing out Gyuri realistically through an efficient blend of dark, yet affectionate comedy, and gritty, harsh, yet not overbearing tragedy. Because of Fischer’s success, the audience is likely to share the abseiling of tears with the broken down, and defeated Gyuri, as he walks towards his freedom.
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December 31, 2015'Under a frog's arse, down a coal-mine' - the Hungarian phrase denoting the absolute nadir. And even in that nation's long and fairly inglorious history (the genius of Hungarian armies for getting wiped out is a frequent motif here), an apt description for the period this novel covers, from the bruising end of the Second World War up to freedom's brief flowering in 1956. The half-despairing, half-optimistic refrain "This can't go on much longer" is another running joke; alas, it does. And it's always salutary, at a time when we're all getting quite justifiably pissed off with capitalism, to be reminded that yes, state communism somehow managed to be even worse - more boring, more inhumane, more generally shitty. Against the background of this absurdist dystopia, a gaggle of young men loosely linked by a works basketball team try their best to engage in the usual activities of young men - "willying", getting one over on authority figures, and doing as little work as humanly possible. It's somehow oddly gratifying to know that, even under the Soviet jackboot, schoolboys have exactly the same response to one of their number coming in with a briefcase rather than a bag. I think I'll always prefer Fischer's subsequent couple of books, in which the same bleak wit was applied to increasingly bizarre situations, but this is still excellent work.
August 27, 2012
sotto il giogo dell'ideologia
"Quando sentì alla radio la notizia della morte di Stalin, Gyuri si stava
lavando i capelli. A parte la sensazione di intenso benessere che lo
pervase, la prima cosa che gli venne in mente fu se l'intero sistema sarebbe
crollato prima che lui sostenesse l'esame di marxismo-leninismo che doveva
dare la settimana successiva. Poteva contare sulla caduta del comunismo o
doveva proprio mettersi a studiare Marx?
La seconda fu come meglio mancare di rispetto nei dieci minuti di silenzio decretati per il giorno seguente. Quando in seguito vide al cinema il filmato sulla città di Budapest che rendeva omaggio alla memoria di Stalin interrompendo ogni attività , gli operai con la faccia scura immobili sul ciglio della strada, i ferrovieri con la faccia ancora più scura che facevano fischiare le locomotive, folle di persone vestite di nero che si accalcavano verso l'enorme statua di Stalin in piazza Hòsok, quando vide tutto ciò, Gyuri rimpianse di non essere riuscito a invitare una troupe di cameraman a casa sua perché immortalassero l'unica parte di lui che stava sull'attenti, infilata e sfilata ritmicamente dentro e fuori una sua ex ormai sposata, ma sempre disponibile a tuffi nel passato." (p. 189)
"Quando sentì alla radio la notizia della morte di Stalin, Gyuri si stava
lavando i capelli. A parte la sensazione di intenso benessere che lo
pervase, la prima cosa che gli venne in mente fu se l'intero sistema sarebbe
crollato prima che lui sostenesse l'esame di marxismo-leninismo che doveva
dare la settimana successiva. Poteva contare sulla caduta del comunismo o
doveva proprio mettersi a studiare Marx?
La seconda fu come meglio mancare di rispetto nei dieci minuti di silenzio decretati per il giorno seguente. Quando in seguito vide al cinema il filmato sulla città di Budapest che rendeva omaggio alla memoria di Stalin interrompendo ogni attività , gli operai con la faccia scura immobili sul ciglio della strada, i ferrovieri con la faccia ancora più scura che facevano fischiare le locomotive, folle di persone vestite di nero che si accalcavano verso l'enorme statua di Stalin in piazza Hòsok, quando vide tutto ciò, Gyuri rimpianse di non essere riuscito a invitare una troupe di cameraman a casa sua perché immortalassero l'unica parte di lui che stava sull'attenti, infilata e sfilata ritmicamente dentro e fuori una sua ex ormai sposata, ma sempre disponibile a tuffi nel passato." (p. 189)
October 21, 2020
This was an interesting depiction of Eastern Europe during World War II. I say "depiction" because that's what it felt like it was - a picture rather than a story, told through a few anecdotes, some that were more engaging than others, some that were really funny and that I felt I had to rush and share with others, but that didn't come together as a compelling narrative to me. That was where I felt the book was weaker.
I had hoped to get more involved with the characters and felt strangely parted from them - I expected a bit more.
Unlike many books, it actually picked up at the end and I liked how it ended but it wasn't enough for me to think this story makes me really care for the characters' stories throughout.
In the beginning I was a bit confused as to whose story was the one I ought to be following and I felt there was just too much exposition and "telling" about minor characters that didn't end up mattering that much for a short book, and not enough concentration on the development of those characters we really end up following.
However the details of the time and place are excellent, humorous often and it's a world you don't see often in fiction. It's a perspective that really makes you think more about World War II.
I had hoped to get more involved with the characters and felt strangely parted from them - I expected a bit more.
Unlike many books, it actually picked up at the end and I liked how it ended but it wasn't enough for me to think this story makes me really care for the characters' stories throughout.
In the beginning I was a bit confused as to whose story was the one I ought to be following and I felt there was just too much exposition and "telling" about minor characters that didn't end up mattering that much for a short book, and not enough concentration on the development of those characters we really end up following.
However the details of the time and place are excellent, humorous often and it's a world you don't see often in fiction. It's a perspective that really makes you think more about World War II.
October 30, 2018
I remember reading Fischer's books as they came out in the early 90s, part of a wave of books out of newly "liberated" (read: capitalist) central and eastern Europe that were all the rage at the time. Fischer, though, is the son of Hungarian immigrants to England, just to be clear, but this novel is based off of some of his father's experiences, I think.
It is a good book. It's unnecessarily prolix, which is a big word that means he uses too many big words. For that, and other reasons such as sometimes forced humor and a kind of droning, meandering style, it is quite obviously a first novel by someone. Despite that, I liked it. It isn't sublime or anything, but it's funny, detailing the lives of a group of twenty-something basketball players in Hungary over the decade between the end of WW2 and the shitshow of '56. A lot of the humor is either scatological or sexual, and how can you go wrong with either? Especially when you tie them into politics.
It is a good book. It's unnecessarily prolix, which is a big word that means he uses too many big words. For that, and other reasons such as sometimes forced humor and a kind of droning, meandering style, it is quite obviously a first novel by someone. Despite that, I liked it. It isn't sublime or anything, but it's funny, detailing the lives of a group of twenty-something basketball players in Hungary over the decade between the end of WW2 and the shitshow of '56. A lot of the humor is either scatological or sexual, and how can you go wrong with either? Especially when you tie them into politics.
June 24, 2009
Basketball, nudism, communism...Like one of Fischer's characters says "Life is too short for good books...one should only read great books (p. 78)". This is a great book. Instantly one of my favorites of all time.
Under the Frog is about a basketball team in Hungary in the late 1950's/ early 1960's. It has a certain level of familiar Eastern European absurdity to it, it never lets you down with it's wit, and it gives a nice interesting slice of history.
Tibor's use of language is impressive too. His lines constantly tempt consideration/reconsideration..."pain and pains subsidiaries..." "The Stalin statue statued on, sodomizing the Budapest skyline." I've also never known a writer to use panegyric, unsalubrious, ozymandiased, etc...Sort of a Good Soldier Sjvek/ Gary Steyngart novel.
Under the Frog is about a basketball team in Hungary in the late 1950's/ early 1960's. It has a certain level of familiar Eastern European absurdity to it, it never lets you down with it's wit, and it gives a nice interesting slice of history.
Tibor's use of language is impressive too. His lines constantly tempt consideration/reconsideration..."pain and pains subsidiaries..." "The Stalin statue statued on, sodomizing the Budapest skyline." I've also never known a writer to use panegyric, unsalubrious, ozymandiased, etc...Sort of a Good Soldier Sjvek/ Gary Steyngart novel.
August 12, 2011
Having read and reread this many times now there are still passages I cannot read without ending up on the floor in fits of laughter - like the time of Pataki's arrest by the AVO and the story that follows, and the eating contest. This is a well written and very funny book. Its a pity that Mr. Fischer's subsequent books have failed to live up to the promise of this one. The characters that Fischer invents through the book are a real delight and all with distinct charm and the capacity for the delivery of a humourous tale. This is an excellent first book and quite unlike what one normally expects from journos embarking on novels. To tell the history of Hungary in the 20th Century through the eyes of a works basketball team might be considered bizarre enough - to do so with such great humour makes this a very worthy book and a hoot of a read.
August 11, 2016
Really enjoyed it - gratified to see others comparing it with Catch 22, which I have not read for decades but which came to mind quickly. The Communist setting, the casual oppression, the humor in the face of it, perhaps harder to explain to readers who aren't already versed in it, and from what little I do know of it (and I am sure there is more humor here for Hungarian readers) I think he managed to get it across through the characters and their actions. Occasionally I was distracted by bits of English vocabulary that are generally out of use (for instance, 'jejune' is a perfectly legitimate word but how often does it appear in print?). I found myself wondering whether these words had corresponding Hungarian versions (but my online translator gives 'terméketlen' for 'jejune', so perhaps not). But setting that niggle aside, this was an excellent read.
August 9, 2011
Although I read it years ago, it turned me into a staunch fan of Tibor Fischer and his inimitable sense of humor. I tracked down each of his book and read them, but this remains to be his best work to date. If you want to read acid sharp humor poking fun at the communist regime, this is the definitive book to read.
November 3, 2013
Jó kis 56-os könyv ez. Bár lassan indul be, de a végére nagyon jó lesz. Igaziból inkább az 50-es évek világát mutatja be egy kosárcsapat mindennapjain keresztül. 93-ban amikor megjelent valószÃnűleg nagyobbat ütöttek a ma már szélesebb körben ismert sztorik, de azért most is érdemes elolvasni. Nagyon jó a szerzÅ‘ stÃlusa.
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