Maša Kolanović (Zagreb, 1979) is an author of five books, including three books of fiction.
Her novel Underground Barbie (2008) is translated in German. She works as a lecturer of contemporary Croatian literature at the University of Zagreb. She holds PhD in literary history and cultural studies. Her disertation is published with the title Worker! Rebel? Consumer...: Popular Culture and Croatian Novel from Socialism to Transition (2011). She was a research fellow at the Universtiy of Vienna in 2006 and University of Texas at Austin in 2012.
Her book Jamerika (2013) is an ilustrated book of fiction.
At night I just stop in front of that room. And stare. It's my ritual stop on the path between the toilet seat and the bed. My brother used to live in that room. Now orange rays from the nearby park fill all the square feet of its emptiness. Swings squeal monotonously. Time goes by slowly. The curtains shiver in the breeze. A small hurricane spins the leaves, shopping bags, and litter. Crows mangle the wing of a pigeon like in a documentary.
By day, children babble.
At night sometimes someone shouts: "Fock you, you whooore!"
Besides that, it's mostly quiet and boring.
No, the brother didn't die, wouldn't want you to think it's one of those stories.
You can sit back in your chair, you might even see a happy end.
The brother just flew into the air and fell on the New Continent.
And the room remained in the cramp of empty walls. It still has traces of life before America. Things quietly rotting in space. Proof that there really was life in the rectangle until someone pressed cut & paste on the other side of the world.
On the inside of the walls remained Mom, Dad, Sister, and one extra room.
Outside the window was the birth country engraved in every document.
America attracts people to the nth power.
At first the brother's absence seemed temporary. When his life was still close enough on this side of the world, it seemed like he'd come back to it any day now. You could reheat a room in that year or two... But in fact, her deepest innards were irretrievably moving towards the West. Slowly and surreptitiously, like the continents had once drifted apart. Bit by bit, Mom got rid of old things and filled the room with new ones. Like a turkey. Chairs, pillows, an ironing board... Then the guests regularly spent the night in that extra room. And then the brother started coming to the room as a guest. He wouldn't even unpack his suitcase in that week. Doesn't pay. Non-profitable. Like he'd stayed in some motel run by Psycho. The curtains stink and the damp goes through the ceiling. It's unbearably quiet.
And once upon a time that room lived.
Full of Tito's pioneers like a pomegranate, filled with the scent of a locker room.
When they weren't listening to Azra and Metallica or playing Monopoly, the boys from the brother's room would study. Math, history, physics, biology, chemistry. Equations, tables, formulas and cases. Study, study and nothing but study.
All the children of the world that once listened to comrade Lenin and studied for free now carry America on their back. The brother studied dilligently too.
Now he lives on the top of the tallest skyscraper from which his old teacher looks tiny like an ant.
Hey people, my brother's riding high on the Wild West!
America on the palm of his hand.
My brother is Superman.
At what moment do you forget the squeal of the swings, the crows and the pidgeon wing, the orange lights and "Fuck you, you whooore"? At what moment does New Zagreb become New York, and the tongue that once normally pronounced Hrvatska now twists over Hourvatska?
Do you ever get a crisis that isn't economic?
The brother points it out.
That there is the New Yorker, the hotel in which Nikola Tesla lived long ago, there's the Empire State Building, there's Chrysler, there's Ocean, that's the Hudson, Brooklynn Bridge, the Statue of Liberty and the statue of my brother unreal like the New York vertical lines. I look and try to figure it out. All the skyscrapers, all the silence, the yellow river of taxis spilled over the avenues and the lights that starts to flicker in the New York sunset.
Manhattan on the palm of his hand.
My brother is Batman.
My brother is actually a quantum physicist who studied hard, kicked ass and gt a job in an important bank. And then they called him to move to an even more important one.
Bank of America.
Chase
Wells Fargo
J.P. Morgan
Hey man, can't pay back your loan? Sell an organ.
Or you're in for a lynching, said the Merrill Lynch people.
And for a long time I thought banks help people and lend them money on sight. Only if you don't pay your loan back in time, only then you have to pay interest! In my math notebook roses always bloomed from the scalps of unsolved problems. Sometimes gourds, too. Because of that, my brother regularly called me an imbecile.
Oh, who the heck knows why understanding an equation is more important than understanding a poem!
Equation, derivation, tax return, bah!
Brother is just a noun that grows into a character.
My brother and I are walking through New York. And I follow him.
O, dear brother,
buy me
a bike,
a scooter,
an automobile
with guitar accompaniment
sings
the little
imbecile
May I have your attention please!
Hey, you there! 1, 2, 3 can you hear me? Sound guy, adjust the tone, 'cause Marx is taking the bullhorn! Check-check-check it out, comrades and camarades, allow "me" to address you, watching all this from a historical distance and a higher narrative and moral-philosophical instance. As you see, it didn't take long for the heroine of this story to start regretting every second spent in this city, to forget about the history of class struggle in the belly of the urban capitalist beast and start weeping over every step that could impress itself on the streets ruled by the world's leading exploiters, reality generators and simulators. Unlike the progressive proletariat, the heroine of this tale simply cries that if she were by any chance her brother, she'd never return to that room from the beginning of the story, the heroine of this story has rejected revolutionary freedom!
And surrendered to the chains of affluence, capitalism's influence to which she's singing an ode!
New York! New York!
Nyeh-nyeh, nyeh-nyeh!
Do you hear it pulsing in her brain?
Listen for a moment
to this frightening refrain:
I'll buy a pound of New York for half a Zagreb!
Come on, come on, it's almost gone!
A pound of New York for half a Zagreb!
And a day of Manhattan for a whole Balkan!
And a day of Manhattan for a whole Balkan!
This heroine spews greedy thoughts like a volcano
Look how beats and beats
a greedy little heart
Somewhere deep in all of us
beats a heart
and the characters of this story pour
into the street, molten lava
a colorful electric river
and dissolve in the multitude
they hear an echo deep inside the sewer grates
Consumers of the world, unite!
your day (or nightmare?) too has dawned
only change is eternal
Times Square
Logo next to logo
Logos
All that is solid melts into air
Look readers
A commodity opera in the abyss of commercial acts
Presented only for you by the corporate team of:
Coca-Cola
Gillette
Sony
Toshiba
Canon
Apple
Kodak
Swatch
How much?
Every commercial is Carmina Burana
Every product a Carmen
Amen.
Messages come from Heaven, shiny and in high resolution
more is less
God bless American Express!
And the heart beats and beats
I wish all this was mine
Like a Virgin, touched by capitalism for the very first time
On the southern shore of the tongue of Manhattan is the head of the economic snake
It goes on, builds and destroys towers, masters, governs, multiplies, divides and cooks the numbers. There are the shadows of the verticals, the flashes of numbers and the footsteps of white men in black suits. With a gait that goes who knows where because it follows
money
money
money
step by step
Verticals become numbers
numbers verticals
the pulse of capitalism beats and pounds
hits your pocket
and pounds your head with a nightstick
who wants to be a millionaire?
I, you, he, we, you, they
am, are, is, are,
hidden in Wall Street Bull
I run, you run, he/she/it runs, we run, you run, they run
after the red flag of money
with a money in our pockets
full, full, full
your money or your life?
Life for money
honey-bunny
Buy! Buy! Buy!
Sell! Sell! Sell!
You want heaven, you want hell?
Must be some kinda spell
that became gospel:
In bank we trust!
Bank, bank, you're a skank!
O, why is understanding an equation more important than understanding a poem?
O why is the economy so mysterious?
Answer me, o you, serious, grim people in suits!
Why so serious?
Why so serious?
Why so imperious?
Why not free, happy and delirious?
When plus and plus anyway make minus.
Philippe Lançon (1963.) novinar je, pisac i književni kritičar. Piše za francuske novine Libération i satirički časopis Charlie Hebdo. Preživio je napad na redakciju časopisa te 2018. objavio knjigu Zakrpan za koju je dobio niz nagrada, među kojima se ističu Nagrada za najbolju knjigu časopisa Lire 2018., Nagrada Femina, Nagrada Roger-Caillois, posebno priznanje žirija Nagrade Renaudot. Knjiga je prevedena na brojne jezike te od čitatelja i kritike hvaljena kao univerzalno remek-djelo, knjiga koja se svojom humanošću opire svakom nasilju i barbarizmu.
Sándor Jászberényi (1980.) mađarski je novinar i pisac. Objavio je knjige Vrag je crni pas: priče s Bliskog istoka i šire (New Europe Books, 2014.) i Najljepša noć duše, koja je 2017. dobila mađarsku književnu nagradu Libri. Kao ratni dopisnik za mađarske medije, New York Times, Egypt Independent izvještavao je o Arapskom proljeću, sukobima u Gazi, Darfurskoj krizi itd. Živi između Budimpešte i Kaira.
Sheila Heti (1976.) jedna je od najistaknutijih kanadskih autorica svoje generacije. Studirala je dramsko pisanje, povijest umjetnosti i filozofiju. Piše romane, kratke priče, dramske tekstove i knjige za djecu. U brojnim utjecajnim medijima objavljuje književne kritike i intervjue s piscima i umjetnicima. Bestseleri How Should a Person Be? i Women in Clothes priskrbili su joj status književne zvijezde. New York Times uvrstio ju je na popis najutjecajnijih svjetskih književnica koje će odrediti način pisanja i čitanja knjiga u 21. stoljeću, a roman Majčinstvo našao se na njihovoj ljestvici najboljih knjiga 2018. godine. Hvalospjevima su se pridružili i časopisi New Yorker, Times Literary Supplement, Chicago Tribune, Vulture, Financial Times i mnogih drugi koji su je proglasili knjigom godine. Majčinstvo je tako ubrzo nakon objavljivanja postao kultni roman. Sheila Heti živi u Torontu, a njezina su djela prevedena na više od dvadeset jezika.
Selma Asotić je pjesnikinja. Završila je magistarski studij iz poezije na sveučilištu Boston University 2019. godine. Dobitnica je stipendije Robert Pinsky Global Fellowship i druge nagrade na književnom natječaju Brett Elizabeth Jenkins Poetry Prize. Nominirana je za nagradu Puschcart za pjesmu ''Nana'', a 2021. uvrštena je među polufinaliste/kinje nagrade 92Y Discovery Poetry Prize. Pjesme i eseje na engleskom i bhsc jeziku objavljivala je u domaćim i međunarodnim književnim časopisima.
Ines Kosturin (1990., Zagreb) rodom je iz Petrinje, gdje pohađa osnovnu i srednju školu (smjer opća gimnazija). Nakon toga u istom gradu upisuje Učiteljski fakultet, gdje je i diplomirala 2015. godine te stekla zvanje magistre primarnog obrazovanja. Pisanjem se bavi od mladosti, a 2014. izdaje svoju prvu samostalnu zbirku poezije, ''Papirno more''. Krajem 2020. izdaje drugu samostalnu zbirku poezije, ''Herbarij''. Pjesme objavljuje kako u domaćim, tako i u internacionalnim (regionalno i šire) zbornicima i časopisima. Na međunarodnom natječaju Concorso internazionale di poesia e teatro Castello di Duino 2018. osvaja treću nagradu. Poeziju uglavnom piše na hrvatskom i engleskom jeziku.
Luka Ivković (1999., Šibenik) je student agroekologije na Agronomskom fakultetu u Zagrebu. Do sada je objavljivao u časopisu Kvaka, Kritična masa, Strane, ušao u širi izbor za Prozak 2018., uvršten u zbornik Rukopisi 43.
Bojana Guberac (1991., Vukovar) odrasla je na Sušaku u Rijeci, a trenutno živi u Zagrebu. U svijet novinarstva ulazi kao kolumnistica za Kvarner News, a radijske korake započinje na Radio Sovi. Radila je kao novinarka na Radio Rijeci, u Novom listu, na Kanalu Ri te Ri portalu. Trenutno radi kao slobodna novinarka te piše za portale Lupiga, CroL te Žene i mediji. Piše pjesme od osnovne škole, ali o poeziji ozbiljnije promišlja od 2014. godine kada je pohađala radionice poezije CeKaPe-a s Julijanom Plenčom i Andreom Žicom Paskučijem pod mentorstvom pjesnikinje Kristine Posilović. 2015. godine imala je prvu samostalnu izložbu poezije o kojoj Posilović piše: ''Primarni zadatak vizualne poezije jest da poeziju učini vidljivom, tj. da probudi kod primatelja svijest o jeziku kao materiji koja se može oblikovati. Stoga Guberac pred primatelje postavlja zahtjevan zadatak, a taj je da pokušaju pjesmu obuhvatiti sa svih strana u prostoru, da ju pokušaju doživjeti kao objekt. Mada pjesnički tekst u ovom slučaju primamo vizualno, materijal te poezije je dalje jezik.'' Njezine pjesme objavljivane su u časopisima, a ove godine njezina je poezija predstavljena na Vrisku – riječkom festivalu autora i sajmu knjiga.
Iva Sopka (1987., Vrbas) objavila je više kratkih priča od kojih su najznačajnije objavljene u izboru za književnu nagradu Večernjeg lista “Ranko Marinković” 2011. godine, Zarezovog i Algoritmovog književnog natječaja Prozak 2015. godine, nagrade “Sedmica & Kritična Masa” 2016., 2017. i 2019. godine, natječaja za kratku priču Gradske knjižnice Samobor 2016. godine te natječaja za kratku priču 2016. godine Broda knjižare – broda kulture. Osvojila je drugo mjesto na KSET-ovom natječaju za kratku priču 2015. godine, a kratka priča joj je odabrana među najboljima povodom Mjeseca hrvatske knjige u izboru za književni natječaj KRONOmetaFORA 2019. godine. Kao dopisni član je pohađala radionicu kritičkog čitanja i kreativnog pisanja "Pisaće mašine" pod vodstvom Mime Juračak i Natalije Miletić. Dobitnica je posebnog priznanja 2019. godine žirija nagrade "Sedmica & Kritična masa" za 3. uvrštenje u uži izbor.
Ivana Caktaš (1994., Split) diplomirala je hrvatski jezik i književnost 2018. godine s temom „Semantika čudovišnog tijela u spekulativnoj fikciji“. Tijekom studiranja je volontirala u Književnoj udruzi Ludens, gdje je sudjelovala u različitim jezikoslovnim i književnim događajima. Odradila je stručno osposobljavanje u osnovnoj školi i trenutno povremeno radi kao zamjena. U Splitu pohađa Školu za crtanje i slikanje pod vodstvom akademskih slikara Marina Baučića i Ivana Svaguše. U slobodno vrijeme piše, crta, slika i volontira.
Marija Skočibušić rođena je 2003. godine u Karlovcu gdje trenutno i pohađa gimnaziju. Sudjeluje na srednjoškolskim literarnim natječajima, a njezina poezija uvrštena je u zbornike Poezitiva i Rukopisi 42. Također je objavljena u časopisima Poezija i Libartes, na internetskom portalu Strane te blogu Pjesnikinja petkom. Sudjelovala je na književnoj tribini Učitavanje u Booksi, a svoju je poeziju čitala na osmom izdanju festivala Stih u regiji.