Boldly entering the world of contemporary literature, László Krasznahorkai stands as a monumental figure, redefining the epic narrative with a haunting intensity. Born in 1954 in Gyula, a small town on Hungary’s southeastern frontier near Romania, his work often immerses readers in remote, rural settings that mirror his origins. His debut novel, Sátántangó (1985), was a groundbreaking literary event in Hungary. The story unfolds on a deserted collective farm in the Hungarian countryside just before the collapse of communism, depicting a community trapped in silence and suspense. The sudden return of two enigmatic figures, Irimiás and Petrina—previously assumed dead—brings with it a tension laden with either hope or doom. This narrative wrestles with the idea of a satanic moral underpinning within the characters’ manipulative actions, embodied in Irimiás’s deceptive charisma. Everyone waits, yearning for a miracle that the novel’s Kafka-inspired opening phrase ominously declares will be missed by waiting for it. Notably, this intense, atmospheric novel was transformed into a unique 1994 film by director Béla Tarr in collaboration with Krasznahorkai.
But here’s where it gets controversial: American critic Susan Sontag hailed Krasznahorkai as the “master of the apocalypse” in modern literature, a title earned after she read his second novel, Az ellenállás melankóliája (1989; The Melancholy of Resistance, 1998). In this novel, set in a small Hungarian town surrounded by Carpathian peaks, the tension escalates into fevered horror. The arrival of a ghostly circus—highlighted by the bizarre display of a gigantic whale’s carcass—ignites a chaotic surge of violence and destruction. As society teeters on the brink, the military’s inability to maintain order risks a dictatorial takeover. Krasznahorkai’s surreal scenes and grotesque characters deliver a harsh portrayal of the relentless battle between chaos and control, leaving everyone vulnerable to fear’s grip.
Shifting focus beyond Hungary’s borders, Háború és háború (1999; War & War, 2006) follows Korin, a modest archivist who, in a final act of courage, journeys from the outskirts of Budapest to New York City. Here, he seeks to share an ancient epic about returning warriors discovered in the archives, symbolically placing himself at the world’s center. Krasznahorkai’s distinctive prose style—characterized by flowing, extended sentences lacking full stops—takes full form here, adding to the immersive experience.
Anticipating his later magnum opus, Báró Wenckheim hazatér (2016; Baron Wenckheim’s Homecoming, 2019), War & War explores the nuanced theme of return. The baron, a troubled gambler broken by exile in Argentina, embarks on a bittersweet journey back to Hungary to reunite with a lost love. On the way, he entrusts his fate to the unscrupulous Dante, a figure evoking a dark, unrefined counterpart to Sancho Panza. The novel culminates in a delightfully ironic welcome by the local townspeople, which the melancholic baron desperately tries to avoid—an ending both comedic and poignant.
Another of Krasznahorkai’s towering epics, Herscht 07769: Florian Herscht Bach-regénye (2021; Herscht 07769: A Novel, 2024), transports readers from the fevered surrealism of his earlier works to a modern small town in Thuringia, Germany. Despite its realistic setting, the community suffers deeply from social collapse marked by violence, arson, and murder. The narrative unfolds alongside the shadow of Johann Sebastian Bach’s monumental musical legacy, weaving beauty and brutality into a single breath. Herscht, the novel’s lead, is a credulous, kind-hearted naïf reminiscent of Dostoyevsky’s “holy fool,” whose trust in destructive forces unravels as the story concludes unpredictably. This book has stirred debate, being hailed as a major German contemporary novel, yet some question its blending of realism with mythic themes.
Krasznahorkai is often seen as a Central European epic writer rooted in traditions of Kafka and Thomas Bernhard, marked by absurdism and grotesque extremities. However, he broadens his canvas by turning East, adopting a quieter, more contemplative voice influenced by journeys to China and Japan. His 2003 novel Északról hegy, Délről tó, Nyugatról utak, Keletről folyó (A Mountain to the North, a Lake to the South, Paths to the West, a River to the East, 2022) is a lyrical, mysterious search for a secret garden southeast of Kyoto, acting as a subtle prelude to Seiobo járt odalent (2008; Seiobo There Below, 2013). This collection of seventeen stories, arranged according to the Fibonacci sequence, meditates on beauty and artistic creation amid a transient and often blind world. One unforgettable image is of a pure white heron standing still in Kyoto’s Kamo River, a silent symbol of the artist’s elusive position in society.
Central to Seiobo There Below is the Japanese myth of Seiobo, the guardian of a mythical garden that produces fruit granting immortality every three thousand years. The myth forms an allegory of artistic creation, following disparate stories of how masterpieces come into being—whether through long-held tradition or chaotic circumstances like the perilous transport of Renaissance painter Pietro Vannucci’s unfinished work. Crucially, the artist often remains absent, with the spotlight on those adjacent to creation: caretakers, witnesses, or devoted craftsmen who may never fully grasp the art’s true significance. This masterwork invites readers through countless metaphorical “side doors” leading to the mysterious act of creation itself.
Adding yet more range to Krasznahorkai’s literary voice is the highly engaging and somewhat whimsical Aprómunka egy palotáért: bejárás mások őrületébe (Spadework for a Palace: Entering the Madness of Others, 2020). Set in a ghost-haunted Manhattan inspired by Herman Melville’s legacy and his fervent admirers, the story explores the curse of imitation balanced by the blessing of defiance. It’s a book filled with lively eccentricity and touches on melancholic themes—but it leaves us wondering, is resistance ultimately a burden or a liberation?
The list of Krasznahorkai’s works—spanning novels, films, and operas—is extensive, emphasizing his versatility. His collaborations with director Béla Tarr, including the film Satantango (1994) and others like Werckmeister Harmonies and The Turin Horse, have brought his haunting narratives to the cinematic realm, celebrated for their atmospheric depth.
But here’s the nuance that many overlook: Krasznahorkai is not just a doom-and-gloom storyteller; his work pulses with subtle beauty, complex moral questions, and an uncanny ability to blend despair with the sublime. His literary voice echoes a Central European heritage yet boldly incorporates influences as diverse as East Asian culture and classical music.
What do you think? Is Krasznahorkai’s blend of bleakness and beauty a true reflection of modern human experience, or does it edge too far into despair? Does his intertwining of myth and modernity enrich contemporary literature or cloud it with pessimism? Share your thoughts below!
— Anders Olsson, Chair of the Nobel Committee
Selected bibliography and contributions:
- Sátántangó (1985) and other Hungarian works exploring bleak rural life
- The Melancholy of Resistance (1989), a surreal narrative of social breakdown
- War & War (1999), a deeply philosophical journey
- Baron Wenckheim’s Homecoming (2016), a tragicomic return story
- Herscht 07769 (2021), social unrest in contemporary Germany intertwined with musical heritage
- Seiobo There Below (2008), a meditative collection on art and immortality
- Spadework for a Palace (2020), a witty tale set in Melville-haunted New York
His film collaborations with Béla Tarr: Satantango, Werckmeister Harmonies, The Turin Horse, and others, are critically acclaimed for their unique style.
This rich and multifaceted body of work firmly places Krasznahorkai among the most provocative and influential writers of our time.
