With the use of examples selected from various writings by Bruno Schulz, the article aims at tracing connections between the writer’s solitude and his imagination. The author claims that Schulz’s seclusion in Drohobych resembles the confinement in reality that is not bountiful enough to fulfil the writer’s sensual needs. Schulz, separated from the Warsaw art scene and longing for a kindred spirit, replaces the realistic picture of his hometown with a fantastic scenery. He uses plain material to test the possibility of carrying out a similar operation on a large scale. Projecting a vision that is supposed to substitute for reality, the writer reveals some hidden aspects of his personality: the necessity to dominate or even sadistic impulses. The approach adopted emphasizes also Schulz’s narcissism and his need of amusement, the mischievous play with the realities of a provincial town. Many characters, the Father in particular, experience ailments resembling pains. Schulz himself had to bear them, losing the real world and living in its spectre he created instead.
Devoted to the motif of hand in the literary and graphic works of Schulz, the article becomes a pretext for a discussion on how Jakub, who is dead in his life, clings to the living Józef, who is supposed to reconstruct him – and on how Józef, having not fulfilled this peculiar testament, disappointed his father since he was unable to understand his actions and, in result, became only himself.
Edward Mielniczek’s novel, as unattractive in many respects as it is, surprises the reader with Bruno Schulz as its protagonist. The author presents the last weeks of Schulz’s life, stressing no so much his tragic lot, but his efforts to keep his personal identity under the Nazi occupation. The narration, rooted in the tradition of a psychological thriller, denies the received portrayal of Schulz and his vicissitudes as material for “reflective” or “philosophical” discourses. In spite of its many weaknesses – simplistic language, scanty descriptions, and unnatural dialogs – Mielniczek’s forgotten deserves to be reintroduced among texts focusing on the writer from Drogobych.
Usually, Schulz’s masochism has been considered as an obvious component of his life and work. Such a diagnosis, triggering a series of conventional associations, ignores whatever the writer might have actually experienced in connection with sex, and concentrates on the deficit of masculinity defined in a conservative way, which transforms potential transgression into its opposite – an algorithm. Moreover, it identifies complex etiology of masochism with docility in contacts with women. But what if Schulz was just playing a game of masochism or even more: what if he used it as a disguise to conceal a much more serious disorder of which he was not fully aware?
A Guide to Bruno Schulz [Bruno Schulz. Przewodnik], published by Krytyka Polityczna, could be an opportunity to shed some new light on the writer’s work, but it turns out a failure. Even though the publisher believes that Schulz’s fiction and drawings are a challenge to the human sciences, the essays included in the volume are superficial and disappointing. The reviewer analyzes particular elements of the collection – interpretive essays on Schulz’s fiction, film studies, and short stories and comics based on Schulz’s works – to conclude that they are inadequate and, as regards the comics and short stories, quite expendable.
Labirynty Brunona Schulza is an attempt to look at the writer’s output through the prism of occult knowledge, particularly the works of Aleister Crowley. Adam Wosiak searches in Schulz’s fiction for the images of a world that is degraded and based on opposites, to compare them with similar pictures drawn from ancient myths, the Internet, and esoteric knowledge. The reviewer considers such an attempt as an natural stage in Schulz’s reception. Writers who, like the author of Cinnamon Shops, give the reader much interpretive liberty sooner or later must be interpreted in strange and extravagant ways. Labirynty is not only a superficial, but also a surprisingly arbitrary reading of Schulz. The text, illustrations, and bibliography make a collage of accidental elements which add little or nothing to the understanding of Schulz’s fiction.
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