Monday, June 23, 2008


Bruno Schulz was murdered by the Nazis along with 150 other townspeople in Drogobych, and left behind only a few short stories and some unpublished work which was lost during the global cataclysm that took his life.

There is nothing like this collection of short stories. One could make comparisons to Kafka, Calvino, Borges, etc. But there truly is nothing like The Street of Crocodiles. The stories are the glorious and saintly ravings of a divine fool, as if Jacob Boehme decided to craft brief fictions. I read them at the beach in one morning atop the ground-down remnants of ancient sea creatures and surf-smoothed rock and ignored the people, birds, and waves.

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