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ISSN 1409-6900 | UDK 82+7     Blesok no. 75 | volume XIII | November-December, 2010



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                     Peer-reviewed journal
Blesok no. 75November-December, 2010
Reviews

Cruelty Crystals

(Sibila Petlevski, Moj Antonio Diavolo: francuska suita; Fraktura, Zaprešić, 2007.)


/3
p. 1
Dora Golub

A distressful Romanesque mirage which erases the border between what we are aware of and what we can not control. All the players, every one of them, are half crazy and lost in their illusions, memories and visions.

There is an opinion that the good and quality prose is made of many small separate bits which are collected from all sides and then at the last moment tied with an invisible string in a complicated, but harmonious knot inspired with a specific magic that attracts a smaller or a larger circle of readers. We all have our broken experience which we clumsily accumulate along our road, as spilled beads or a broken mirror which once has to merge into unity. Fortunately, there are people who have a special gift to collect those small, but invaluable fragments of the seemingly grey everyday and turn them into art. So, just as the harmonious composition is important for the complete impression that a symphony makes or as every small detail and every small spot can be crucial for the beauty of the complete painting canvas, a good book needs to put together a pile of details and breathe life in them. A good example can be Moj Antonio Diavolo (My Antonio Diavolo), the latest novel by Sibila Petlevski which, actually, has its history with respect to the fact that the first version was published in 1996 under the title of Francuska suita (The French Suite). It is made of sic parts where destines and worlds of people from different times intertwine, i.e. six magnified picture which of course, leave a lot of space for air for a rich impression between their lines.

Melting of Reality and Fantasy


    Although each of the sections of this suite can quite successfully exist alone, just like some of the dances which made the given music piece, at the same time they create a perfect composition whole. Under the hand of the skilful composer, these sections become mutually connected with almost unbreakable invisible threads, silently and unnoticeably intertwining. Juts as the reader naively thinks that he has moved away from what he had previously read, he is splashed by known and recognisable motives in a scary deja vue motives. Through the rhythm of the hypnotising and at times a bit macabric dances there are characters which fully ignore and neglect the ears of the ruthless stream of time. Similar






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