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Simona Popescu

Biography

Simona Popescu (b. 1965) graduated from the Faculty of Letters at Bucharest University in 1987, where she currently lectures. She has published three volumes of poetry : Xilofonul şi alte poeme (The Xylophone and Other Poems, 1990 ; Hungarian edition : Xilofon, Pont Kiadó, Budapest, 1998), Juventus (1994), Noapte sau zi (Night or Day, 1998), collected in the anthology Juventus şi alte poeme (Juventus and Other Poems, 2004). She is co‑author of the volume Pauza de respiraţie (Breathing Space, 1991). Published essays: Volubilis (1998), Despre suprarealism şi Gellu Naum (On Surrealism and Gellu Naum, 2000), and Clava. Critificţiune cu Gellu Naum (Clava. Critifiction with Gellu Naum, 2004). In 2006, the experimental volume Lucrări...

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Excerpt from

Novel, "Fiction LTD" series, Polirom, 2007, 328 pages

Copyright: Polirom

Translation rights sold to: Pont Kiado (Hungary), Czarne (Poland)

Book presentation

This is a novel of childhood, of the childhood of a narrator here identified with the author. With exceptional delicacy, Simona Popescu reconstructs a childhood of defeats. Memories are bathed in aromas, in childhood sensations ; minor happenings acquire major significance. The author seems to have a treasure chest of memories, which she extracts one by one, in order to charm the reader with their textures, with details that extend into narrative miniatures. Thus, for the delight of the reader, there appear a wealth of stylistic and narrative jewels : from the world as seen from the closet where the quilt is kept to other hollows, as the author calls those places invested with fairytale properties by children ; from the young girl’s fascination with cookery books – not the recipes in them, but rather the drawings that embellish them – to her innocent but smile­‑provoking thoughts about God, Whom she ardently wants to see in a photograph, for which she is even prepared to offer her hair bobbles in exchange... A book redolent with nostalgia, with a music of memories perfectly tuned and conducted by the author, subtly gliding across the keys of time and introducing us, be it only partially, into a world that has been lost by us all. It is the story of a little girl, and then of an adolescent who refuses to grow up, precisely for fear of losing contact with those things which might seem minor, but which, in fact, constitute the charm of existence… of an existence that owes much to childhood, with all its strange and not so strange stories.

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