He wanted to show the demonic conscience and he actually made devils and imps walk on stage. Martin's Press, ; Charles A. My editor seemed rather to propose a relaxation, in fact he needed one himself; let us relax, comrade, it is our right after this filthy job, comradely filthy job which we managed to finish: these were five whole chapters which he has suppressed, five whole epistles.

Pseudonym of Rodica-Iuliana Coporan, née Bàcànescu b. It is true that nobody lived in this house, but Jérome took care of it as if it was a historic monument.

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Every day he went there to open its windows and let in some fresh air. He dusted it and cleaned it and and for nothing in the world would have agreed to sell it or to dispose of the old peasant furniture inherited from his mother. Yet that evening, as Jérome returned home, as he got out of his car, he was stunned. He saw a mound of rubble.

  1. Pseudonym of Rodica-Iuliana Coporan, née Bàcànescu b.
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He could not believe his eyes. He collapsed on the seat of his car, prea mult prea devreme datând head resting on the steering wheel, crying.

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Watching the movements of others their speech. We were acting along a well-established stereotype, imprinted by an already long submission, by which we became accomplices of this brainwashing and of the hostage taking of our bodies. Our perspiration stank of their boots. Our skin stank of the breath exhaled during their interminable speeches and of the defecation of their slogans.

To open, or not to open the door was irrelevant, as the engines of their black Marias, ready to take us away, were humming the whole night. Everything had to be negotiated — sometimes even a single word. The reason for it?

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Iulian, Rodica, personal communication, April, God: Marina admired the ravishing scene of the oak forest, traversed, in the late afternoon, by shafts of sunrays, like the immense flutes of of a grand organ instrument. A true autumn, whose unfolding beauty seemed to remain oblivious of the village misfortunes.

The villagers speech always alludes to God. God is above all a confused notion to which they assign all that they had not accomplished, as well as all that they will never accomplish, ever. God — the Almighty Peasant, the Almighty Purveyor of seed and harvest. God, that nobody could do without, which slips on, like a threadbare coat. There is no more flesh such as it is in the noble sense of accomplishment through food and love.

It is void of the spirit which is nurtured by love. Iulian, Rodica, ibid. A sweet young man, with shining teeth and fulsome lips, which were hardly masculine, rather ambiguously androgynous, like in a commercial poster.

But Vivaldi was not just a beginning, it was rather the end, a consoling, incantatory, soothing end, a kind of anaesthetics. My editor seemed rather to propose a relaxation, in fact he needed one himself; let us relax, comrade, it is our right after this filthy job, comradely filthy job which we managed to finish: these were five whole chapters which he has suppressed, five whole epistles.

This is what he did and I yielded. I yielded for two reasons: first because I was ready for it, from the very minute I wrote them. Silent dating events londra it is, the haggling of a lifetime. I am laying down the arms, comrade, but for goodness sake let me in.

Even disarmed I could pose a threat; well, near enough. Almost like it, but not quite. My haggling was a poor little haggling, a lamentable barter, on quite unequal terms and from that moment on a new beginning made itself be known, like a burning at the very root of the words and, not to reveal it, I had to grin.

A satisfying grin — the book will be published after all. By paying the price of this burning, not to mention the price of this prostituting grin, which decorated my face. Vivaldi is quite appropriate, the classic balsam is appropriate too after any romantic outburst one needs to enter the classic order — this is at least what I have learned: let go of Brahms to return to Vivaldi and calm down.

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Dressed all in grey. He was grey all over, even his voice was grey. Verily so. We agree to publish it, subject to revising certain passages.

I would have liked to have shouted: — Literature has no borders, on the contrary I would have liked to shout to him.

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Did I actually shout at all? As for myself I would not like to start putting words into my mouth.

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Now, gentlemen, does it mean that one no longer is allowed to use certain words in the dictionary, without becoming suspect? We really admire you. But why shoot ourselves in the leg? Just change the title. I give my word of honour that we shall not change anything else.

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To date, you have cooperated perfectly with my colleague, here present. Of course, that will imply that you will have to take out all mention of this … stranger, any hint of it. You may replace it with the name of a close friend.

Anyway, you have the freedom to choose whatever, and snap, you get your OK and the manuscript goes to the printers. Just think of the potential implications at this political junction.

It would be a pity. Hungary was forgotten and Czechoslovakia was about to be; Poland was not yet, as for Afghanistan, that was not conquered yet. And on the home front?

Voronin launched a maniac attack against neighbouring Romania. The Moldovan President has secreted Romanian-phobia his entire life. A former activist of the single party and a general in the repressive Soviet apparatus, Voronin had to be worthy of his positions by promoting Stalinist ideas. Inwhen the Russians occupied Romanian eastern territories which currently make the Republic of Moldova, Moscow tried to justify its actions by crediting the existence of a so-called Moldovan people, speaking a language other than Romanian.

The great earthquake and human quake have not yet materialised. The Rodent smiled intimately. Smiled Vivaldi.

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They summoned me up again, this time accusing silent dating events londra of immorality, because on this occasion the main character, who was a female, was addressing her letters to too many men, therefore she was a woman who had many lovers!

They also asked me to drop several lines describing a kiss on the lips between the protagonists. I replaced the kiss with a vigorous handshake. Then I was accused of defeatism and of peddling a sombre philosophy, wholly anti-humanistic silent dating events londra anti-humane — never you mind about the confusion they were making between the two terms.

Because in one of the letters the woman character was contemplating suicide, after a failed love affair.

And furthermore we find nothing in your book about our current life, about our building the Socialist Society. The people were working their butts out building a glorious future, whilst I was chasing after my lost shadows. Neither really. At most I could describe it as a literary attempt at deconstructing the time and space. To whom are all these letters intended to? Either he is close and in this case he cannot be a stranger, but a citizen of our fatherland, one of us, a comrade, or, quite the contrary, he is a real stranger, in which case he cannot be close.

Therefore, he is a citizen of another country and in that case, what need is that to talk about him, to talk to him? I did not want to.

Again, burning and grin. It is only now that I realise the great service the censors rendered.

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And I did nothing else but to borrow from the censorship this unique meaning, this obsession. What is a stranger? The Stranger is the one who does not know. A Stranger is the one who does not want to know. The Stranger is the one who knows, but pretends that he does not know. The Stranger is the one who knows and who stops the others to find out. In other words, I too could be like him. There was a time when I did not know either.


There was a time when I did not want to know. Another when I did know, but I pretended that I have not had a clue, whilst I carried on stopping the others finding out. A time when I lived at the surface of things, indifferent, with a superb if odious craving for a life, other than that of looking over my shoulder.

It is myself addressing the other self within me, this Stranger who would like to know. Rodica-Iuliana Coporan. In communist Romania, Rodica Coporan earned her living as a medical doctor, first as a village practitioner GP in the Carpathian Mountains, and then from to as a specialist at the Institute of Oncology in Bucharest. In retrospect Rodica Iulian had no regrets about her medical career, when she was known as Dr.

But more was to be witnessed under the dictatorship of Nicolae Ceausescu. In Dr. Coporan could not take it anymore and she resigned her position as a respected oncologist in a reputable hospital — an act of defiance, unknown in a country where the sole employer was the State. By then, her secondary activity was her saving grace. Two years on after this break, another more silent dating events londra fracture would mark her existence — her decision, into leave Romania for good and ask for political asylum in France.

Iulian emigrated at the age of 49, on a temporary silent dating events londra visa and carrying only a few possessions with her — a bold decision to make prompted by a profound despair.

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This sensation of trauma and displacement reappeared in many of the characters in her novels. Surprisingly, one year after she sought asylum in France a last volume of her poetry, Vitralii, Stained glasssomehow made its way to print: it took a Transylvanian editor to display silent dating events londra an act of courage, as it was the prescribed punishment for all writers who defected to the West to have their works blacklisted for publication and all the books already published to be withdrawn from all bookshops and public libraries.

In the process of establishing herself as a writer in the West, she would reposition Romanian datând o femeie alfa as part of the canon of European literature.