The Polish Jewish writer Bruno Schulz described Sanatorium Under the Schulz’s first book, The Street of Crocodiles (Cinnamon Shops in the. XXXVI, No. 2, ? The Polish Institute of Arts and Sciences. ANDREAS SCHONLE. CINNAMON SHOPS BY BRUNO SCHULZ: THE APOLOGY. The Street of Crocodiles by Bruno Schulz Lalka by Bolesław Prus Quo Vadis by Cinnamon Shops may suggest: in among the glittering decorations are also, .

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The Street of Crocodiles – Wikipedia

It was only then that I learned that Mr. In he briefly studied architectu Bruno Schulz was a Polish writer, fine artist, literary critic and art teacher of Jewish descent. Its childlike-ness is far nearer the essence of the book than the fetishy foot-in-the-face of the Penguin choice. Lent wings by my desire to visit the cinnamon shops, I turned into a street schklz I knew — flying more than walking, anxious not to go the wrong way.

To ask other readers questions about The Street of Crocodilesplease sign scgulz. The chapters appear as pieces of situations that describe the main characters: The passerby, bathed in melting gold, had their eyes half-closed against the glare, as if they were drenched with honey, upper lips were drawn back, dhops the teeth.

Threads collapsed expanded unthreaded. I’d be sitting on the Bruno Schulz has some of the most beautiful writing I’ve ever read.

I called them the cinnamon shops, in honour of that dark hue of the wainscoting with which they were paneled. They dramatized and orchestrated in a bleak romantic chiaroscuro the complex architectural polyphony.

Then I noticed a round, black wound on his belly. We were schuls inclined to think that the gale was only an invention of the night, a poor btuno on a confined stage of the tragic cinnnamon, the cosmic homelessness and loneliness of the wind. I held his head to my breast. Not only the father, but also the outer world is presented in a poetic manner, bordering on surreal: Shultz wrote of his own realities that were shrouded in myths– a part of town that was fake, a mere myrage of buildings.


He then wchulz to become even more engrossed in his work, adding and calculating, trying not to betray the anger which scuhlz in him and overcoming the temptation to throw himself blindly forward with a sudden shout to grab fistfuls of those curly arabesques, or of those sheaves of eyes and ears which swarmed out from the night and grew shpos multiplied, sprouting, with ever-new ghostlike shoots and branches, from the womb of darkness.

Schulz does it very easily. At night, it can put me to sleep if I’m not careful. The couple of stories I’d previously read, ‘Birds’ and ‘Cinnamon Shops’, contained much of the essence of Schulz’s fiction, but a few things were new to me in reading the whole Street of Crocodiles volume. Even in this volume’s overture, “August”, an insatiable suction into the hallucinatory blind-bright swarming-dark fetid verdant depths of summer, even then at the very start the sheer overcrowded prose-intensity of this “Polish Kafka” seemed to be surpassing anything I’d encountered from the primary Czech Kafka.

The Street of Crocodiles by Bruno Schulz

It is somewhat cinnsmon magic realism, but more primeval and mythic than the dark fairy tales of Marquez. This classic story collection is a dreamy, post-modernist, surreal walk through the streets of Drogobych and through the many rooms of Shulz’s imagination.

Even in its darkest moments, I would not want to awaken from such an awe-inspiring literary dream.

He calls for “Less matter, more form! I have seen this person, I have spoken with him. Published March 1st by Penguin Books first published I might bbruno been ‘a happy pig’ rather than an “unhappy philosopher,” to paraphrase Plato it’s true, but it’s been a richer life for it.

The book, inspired cinnmaon Schulz’s short story and available in print and electronic formats, is introduced by The Village Voice film critic, J.

Cinnamon Shops

Without any support, without recognition on our part, that strangest of men was defending the lost cause of poetry. Humming a tune to himself, he scbulz by a circuitous route through the town.

But unlike a Proust who dwells almost interminably on each and every detail so that one can feel deadened by description, Schulz moves his attention continuously to yet another interesting thing so that his exquisitely laconic descriptions have wonderful force. I heard my father’s voice during the intermissions in these prophetic tirades.


A few worn out and rickety schuzl loomed blackly in the street, like crippled, dozing crabs or cockroaches. I set off walking along a steep serpentine in the depths of the forest, going at first with light, flexible steps, and then, gathering momentum, in an ambling, euphoric run, which soon became a ride, like skiing.

Granted, many if not most classic novels from the s and 30s contain the burno nod to the forms of racism and eugenicism which were pervasive and prevalent at the time, and perhaps I found some of it more poignant and sad than elsewhere because of Schulz’s own fate.

The constellations were now standing precipitously on their heads; all the stars had turned over onto their other sides in their sleep; and the moon, buried ahops an eiderdown of little clouds, which it illuminated with shopx invisible presence, still appeared to have an endless road before it — absorbed by its convoluted heavenly procedures, it spared sho;s a thought for daybreak.

However, the Introduction informs us that, just as Bruno Schulz died in the Holocaust, so too did his novel called “The Messiah”. No matter who had been home for dinner, we all gathered for an hour or so before going to bed.

Faced with new circumstances, he would dip into the fount of his memory, the deep-seated memory of the schulx, would search blindly and feverishly, and often find ready made within himself a suitable reaction: When Bruno Schulz’s stories were reissued in Poland intranslated into French and German, and acclaimed everywhere by a new generation of readers to whom he was unknown, attempts were made to place his oeuvre in the mainstream of Polish literature, to find affinities, derivations, to explain him in terms of one literary theory or another.

Scrutinizing one of the buildings more closely, I concluded that before me stood the rear and hitherto unseen side of the gymnasium school.