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Max Blecher
Even at a young age it was clear that Max Blecher (1909-38) was quite talented. By age 16 he had been published by a prominent Bucharest magazine and by 19 he began medical school in Paris. During this year of medical school Blecher was diagnosed with tuberculosis of the spine, or Pott’s disease, and was forced to abandon his studies. He sought treatment at various sanatoria in France, Switzerland, and Romania but the disease was incurable. The treatment at the time was prolonged bed rest and a plaster body cast, which encased Blecher for the remainder of his life. Blecher spent this decade between his diagnosis and death by writing two novels, one book of poetry, and numerous articles and translations. He also continually corresponded with some of the great writers and philosophers of the time, including Geo Bogza, André Breton, André Gide, and Martin Heidegger. His writing was deeply influenced by surrealism and rich with metaphors and dream-like moments. Often compared to Kafka, Blecher wrote about his illness without an element of self-pity. He died at the age of 28. Adventures in Immediate Irreality will be published by New Directions on 17 February 2015.
 

Articles Available Online


Adventures in Immediate...

fiction

January 2015

Max Blecher

TR. Michael Henry Heim

fiction

January 2015

I can picture myself as a small child wearing a nightshirt that comes down to my heels. I am weeping desperately, sitting on a...

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feature

May 2011

On the Relative Values of Humility and Arrogance; or the Confusing Complications of Negative Serendipity

Annabel Howard

feature

May 2011

On a distinctly drizzly Wednesday evening in February a friend of mine looked at me and said: ‘Only those who...

Art

Issue No. 2

From Back Home

J. H. Engstrom

Art

Issue No. 2

In his collection From Back Home the Swedish photographer JH Engström traced his childhood memories back to the province...

poetry

March 2017

Two Poems

Uljana Wolf

TR. Sophie Seita

poetry

March 2017

Mittens   winter came, stretched its frames, wove misty threads into the damp   wood. fogged windows, we didn’t...

 

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