Paweł Huelle tells the absorbing story of his family through their cars in the very witty Mercedes-Benz.
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Tadeusz Różewicz is considered one of the greatest, most innovative Polish authors. His Mother Departs, devoted to his dying mother Stefania, won the NIKE Prize, often called the Polish Booker, ...
Unstoppable physical obsession amongst a group of Brussels eurocrats.
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With Polish now the second most widely spoken language after English in the UK, Polish literature is a hot topic. But how much do you actually know about it? Get ...
They are building the wall in the swamp, digging the trench, maintaining the sluices to keep the area dry. Still, water seeps in. The wall will never stand ...
For a hungry populace, cigarettes, easily transported, standardized and divisible, bought food. At the time the Allies rationed less than 1000 calories per day. With cigarettes as money one ...
It's been twenty years since the Russian army left here, and no one's used it since. As we struggle along the path to the house, snagging our clothes on thorns ...
All your life you know that you will die someday, but you don’t know it the way you know that your eyes are blue or that you prefer port to ...
‘My grandmother wanted to stay here,’ says Sigrid unexpectedly. ‘I read her old diaries, when she died. She talked about Prora like paradise. How great the Führer was, to build ...
I was surprised by the waiting room, it was so bare, there was nothing to read anywhere. There was only one diagram on the wall which illustrated the stages ...
This time, her parents were home, and she just couldn’t face them. Not right now. Not when the memory of David wiping his semen off her breasts with the shirt ...
McCoy kept swearing. It would be another day off while the cops, coroner and medical examiner spent the day digging like archaeologists in what was supposed to be just another ...
Marie could never explain to herself why she found herself creeping down the stairs one night, wrapped in Neville's dressing gown. From the hallway she could see him, bare-chested, bare-legged ...
The omelet chef sprinkles ashes of my daughter on diced onions and orange bell peppers and beats the eggs with his spatula--a wizard casting a spell with wand coagulated with ...
Massie Road on a cold night in January. I'm sitting in a parked car with a man dressed in black. He's pointing a gloved finger at a semi-detached house a ...
I spent every lesson trying to touch her arm with mine. Finally it became habit, my chair moved closer, our desk seemed smaller. Our arms lay next to each other, ...
That’s when I flipped. It’s a man thing, you can’t take it. Seeing someone else with your woman, with your children. I waited. I waited all through the night. I ...
In the mornings the fishing boats collect. In the grey-blue mist of the nearly-light they arrive at the harbour mouth, their decks heaped (or not) with last night’s catch. Here ...
I died before I was born. My slate wasn’t clean but marred with half-erased sentences and distorted images. I’ve tried to smooth the etchings, but it’s difficult to repair a ...
He carried with him a not-quite-acknowledged feeling that something or someone was lurking at the edge of his shadow. Something that would keep still as long as he was in ...