The Hungarian iconoclast’s vision of spiritual terror is now available in surround sound.
— Sam Sacks, The Wall Street Journal
A classic escape nightmare, Chasing Homer is sped on not only by Krasznahorkai’s signature velocity, but also by a unique musical score and intense illustrations
In this chase thriller, a hunted being escapes certain death at breakneck speed—careening through Europe, heading blindly South. Faster and faster, escaping the assassins, our protagonist flies forward, blending into crowds, adjusting to terrains, hopping on and off ferries, always desperately trying to stay a step ahead: I’m a prisoner of the instant, an I rush into this instant, an instant that has no continuation, just as it has no earlier version, and I have to tell myself—if I had the time to think about this between two instants—that I have no need for either past or future because neither one exists. But in fact, I have no time between two instants. Since there’s no such thing as two instants.
László Krasznahorkai—celebrated for the exhilarating energy of his prose—outdoes himself in Chasing Homer. A classic escape nightmare, the book is sped on not only by that signature velocity, but also—reaching out of the story proper—by the wild percussive music of Szilveszter Miklós, scored for each chapter, and accessed by the reader via QR codes. And this unique collaboration also boasts beautiful and intense full-color paintings by Max Neumann.
The Hungarian iconoclast’s vision of spiritual terror is now available in surround sound.
— Sam Sacks, The Wall Street Journal
A celebration of tiny moments of odd, inexplicable joy.
— Ilana Masad, NPR
What Krasznahorkai’s maladjusted, fearful, logorrheic heroes offer is an alternative to contemporary disillusionment: not solipsistic defensiveness or brutal realpolitik, but the hope that somewhere out there, across an unbreachable border, lies something better.
— Alexander Wells, New Left Review
László Krasznahorkai’s latest book cages a delirious mind in a tightly wrapped piece of fiction.
— Rain Taxi
strange and engrossing
— Publishers Weekly
László Krasznahorkai is gifted with seductive powers
— World Literature Today
When the Hungarian novelist László Krasznahorkai releases a new short work, you can immediately infer a few things: it will be mad (ravingly so) and preoccupied with its own madness; it will consist of fewer sentences than pages; it’s likely to include works of art; and it will be far, far denser than its length seems to allow. Krasznahorkai’s new book, Chasing Homer, is a cacophonous, confounding work.
— Will Fenstermaker, Frieze
Once again, Krasznahorkai demonstrates that his ability to convey the instability of existence and evoke the menace inherent in everyday life is without equal.
— Declan O'Driscoll, The Irish Times
There is no rest, no comfort in thoughts of the good, for this man in flight from unknown others who may be secret police agents, assassins, or mere hunters. Particularly beguiling are the percussive sonic vignettes that accompany the book chapter by chapter, available online via QR codes at the head of each…. Allusive and acerbic: a brilliant work that proves the adage that even paranoiacs have enemies.
— Kirkus (starred review)
László Krasznahorkai is a visionary writer of extraordinary intensity and vocal range who captures the texture of present-day existence in scenes that are terrifying, strange, appallingly comic, and often shatteringly beautiful.
— Marina Warner (announcing the Man Booker International Prize)
László Krasznahorkai is the undisputed laureate of our deranged, vulnerable epoch.
— Eileen Battersby, The Irish Times
Apocalyptic, visionary, and mad, his writing flies off the page and stays lodged intractably wherever it lands.
— Publishers Weekly
One of the most mysterious artists now at work.
— Colm Tóibín
László Krasznahorkai is a visionary writer of extraordinary intensity and vocal range who captures the texture of present-day existence in scenes that are terrifying, strange, appallingly comic, and often shatteringly beautiful.
— Marina Warner (announcing the Man Booker International Prize)
