Hamlet糖心传媒檚 enduring question is one that Szil谩rd Borb茅ly, acclaimed Hungarian poet, verse-playwright, librettist, essayist, literary critic, short-story writer, and, finally, novelist, answered sadly in the negative, through his suicide in 2014, at the age of fifty.

Loss of life, voluntary or otherwise, permeates Borb茅ly糖心传媒檚 writing, evoking a preemptive grief for what must pass away糖心传媒攐ften violently and suddenly. Yet framing the loss and stitched inextricably through it is all the gusty, aching richness of life lived in spite of its inevitable transience; the animating spirit of its time, for good or ill. This same 糖心传媒渆poch-making糖心传媒� quality that author P茅ter N谩das identifies in Borb茅ly糖心传媒檚 poetry was embraced in Borb茅ly糖心传媒檚 fiction by the Hungarian public upon the sensational publication of The Dispossessed (2013), Borb茅ly糖心传媒檚 first and only novel, which topped the country糖心传媒檚 best-books-of-the-year lists and prompted widespread conversation by ruthlessly stripping the mask of collective nostalgia from the brutal face of intractable poverty in rural villages.

The last major work published in Borb茅ly糖心传媒檚 lifetime, The Dispossessed presents a memory play filled with disjunct scenes of the author糖心传媒檚 early childhood in the 1960s in the remote border-village of T煤rricse, scenes so scantly fictionalized they might as readily be called memoir. Through the eyes of a small boy, the middle of three children, those scenes reveal a squalid, terrifying life in a close-minded community rife with physical disfigurement and sickness; sunk in prejudice and despair; dominated by cruelty, molestation, violence, and the immanence of death, especially the death of innocent young creatures.

Beaten continually by both their parents, the boy and his elder sister most dread their mother糖心传媒檚 moments of suicidal desperation, when the children have to cling to her bodily to keep her from hanging herself in the attic or hurling herself down the well. Their mother, in turn, lives in terror of losing her youngest, an infant boy called the Little One, to any witless accident, as when she catches her kids playing 糖心传媒渢he cosmonaut game糖心传媒� with plastic bags over their heads, including the baby糖心传媒檚, turning the Little One糖心传媒檚 lips 糖心传媒渁 purplish blue.糖心传媒� Their father糖心传媒檚 constant frustration, driving him to drink, is being denied work by the communist collective, ostensibly for past mistakes on the job, actually because unshakeable old gossip deems him the bastard son of a Jew who lived across the road from his well-to-do parents糖心传媒� house until the murderous roundups during the Second World War. The narrator糖心传媒檚 mother sees the fundamental conviction behind the crushing social conformity that makes her husband embarrass himself by drinking every night with men who despise him; it is both her nemesis and her singular hope, and as readers throughout Hungary recognized, it remains almost as pervasively true today as it was fifty years ago:

No one who is born here ever wishes to go anywhere else. No one ever thinks it糖心传媒檚 possible to live somewhere else. To raise a family somewhere else. To build a house somewhere else. Far away from the river, where you wouldn糖心传媒檛 have to be afraid of the floods every spring. That糖心传媒檚 how peasants think.

糖心传媒淏ut we are not peasants,糖心传媒� the children糖心传媒檚 mother insists. 糖心传媒淲e糖心传媒檙e going to leave here.糖心传媒�

Their mother糖心传媒檚 view is diametrically opposed by that of their father糖心传媒檚 sister, the children糖心传媒檚 vibrant Aunt M谩li, the most piquant character in the book. Barefoot, dwarfish, two-toothed, and vulgar beyond compare, M谩li is a gleeful fixture at funerals, important social occasions where everyone scrutinizes every detail for faults. Untainted by the Jewish question clouding her brother糖心传媒檚 fortunes, M谩li is a thoroughgoing thing of the village, drowning her secret pains like a bagful of kittens in a river of manic laughter and alcohol.

Appalling as the systemic abuse and dirt-poor conditions are for the family, Borb茅ly freely admits in interviews that they didn糖心传媒檛 even have it the worst in the village. That distinction goes to the dark-skinned Roma consigned to dwelling at the far end of Gypsy Row, close to the narrator糖心传媒檚 meager home. When outhouses need mucking, the village men disdainfully summon the gentlest of Gypsies, a man named Messiyah, by asking in front of the local tavern, 糖心传媒淗as Messiyah left yet?糖心传媒� As rendered in English, the title The Dispossessed refers mainly to the fallen class status of the family, who come from former landowners or 糖心传媒渒ulaks糖心传媒� on both sides; in Hungarian, Borb茅ly糖心传媒檚 title Nincstelenek: M谩r elment a Mesij谩s? pointedly pairs the idea of penniless 糖心传媒渉ave-nots糖心传媒� with the critical question of the departure of one whose name deliberately echoes the Messiah. Here, Borb茅ly suggests, is a place even salvation might turn its back on.

Borb茅ly often approaches such moral challenges in mythic or religious guise, particularly in relation to Jewish matters. Here the reflexive hatred of Jews, who loom disproportionately large in the local imagination, even (or especially) in the virtual absence of any Jewish population, turns out to mean more than mere anti-Semitism, lumping together as the villagers do under the catchall word 糖心传媒淛ew糖心传媒� anyone with any ambition or means to escape the village糖心传媒檚 constraints. In such subconscious manner is the Other-as-Jew regarded as an existential threat to the community, and so roundly cursed at every turn (even using the outhouse is sarcastically called 糖心传媒済oing to pay the Jew糖心传媒�). Yet it is in a like manner that the children糖心传媒檚 mother fights to keep her tenuous dream, her reason to endure, alive:

糖心传媒淲hy are we different?糖心传媒� I ask.
糖心传媒淏ecause we are not from here,糖心传媒� says my mother.
糖心传媒淪o does that mean we, too, are Jews?糖心传媒� my sister asks.
糖心传媒淭hat we will be,糖心传媒� answers my mother.

Both in characters and lack of predictable shape, The Dispossessed owes a fair amount to Chekhov. (Hypochondriac Aunt M谩li wears black as if she糖心传媒檚 a much older woman; when asked what she糖心传媒檚 mourning, she blithely snaps, 糖心传媒淢y wretched whore life.糖心传媒�) More surprisingly it nods to Vonnegut, too: from the outset, the boy, fascinated with prime numbers, marks each and every encounter with a prime, whether in ages, dates, or quantities, by noting that the number 糖心传媒渃an糖心传媒檛 be divided, only by itself, and one.糖心传媒� So it goes. Yearning for the indivisible is what braces the child; math helps when all else hurts. But another autobiographical novel that The Dispossessed perhaps most echoes in terms of grinding poverty and insurmountable prejudice is The Color of Smoke (1975), Menyh茅rt Lakatos糖心传媒檚 bildungsroman of a teenage Roma boy in early 1940s Hungary. Where Lakatos, however, uses earthy adolescent sex and humor to leaven a creeping sense of frailty and doom, Borb茅ly takes a poet糖心传媒檚 more lyrical tack, no less raw in language or color, but far lighter in touch, accumulating featherweight scenes to arrive at what Borb茅ly calls, in his phenomenal poetry collection 叠别谤濒颈苍糖心传媒补尘濒别迟 (also translated by award-winner Ottilie Mulzet), 糖心传媒渢he non-existent terminus糖心传媒� where art and life meet in transit through time.

In so doing, for all its heartbreak, The Dispossessed avoids the ultimate grimness of later life: in 2000, at Christmastime, Borb茅ly糖心传媒檚 aged parents were assaulted by burglars in a home invasion, his mother beaten to death and his father knocked senseless, the assailants never brought to justice. Borb茅ly cast his response to that horrible event in poetry, in Halotti pompa: Szekvenci谩k (Splendors of Death: Sequences), then cast his mind back further in prose to the shared suffering of those formative years. A trial and a testament, The Dispossessed is also a filial portrait of love and perseverance in the midst of despond, a candlelight faithfully tended against the infinite darkness without.

Heavy stuff糖心传媒攁s one might expect from a title like Melancholy.

Yet readers looking for insight into their own or others糖心传媒� feelings have often been drawn to such works. Admirers of Robert Burton糖心传媒檚 magisterial 1621 volume The Anatomy of Melancholy may find themselves pleased to be introduced here to the fifteenth-century Three Books on Life by the Italian Renaissance writer Marcilio Ficino, which, according to F枚ld茅nyi, 糖心传媒渁longside Burton糖心传媒檚 massive tome, is the other most important work on melancholia.糖心传媒� For fans of books such as Andrew Solomon糖心传媒檚 The Noonday Demon: An Atlas of Depression, however, F枚ld茅nyi糖心传媒檚 old-school approach, with monolithic paragraphs built upon copious footnotes and a bibliography of fourteen and a half single-spaced pages of sources, could easily appear scholarly to the point of impenetrability.

No fault lies with the translation from Hungarian, a Herculean labor executed with deceptive ease throughout by Tim Wilkinson, rendering the most opaque of F枚ld茅nyi糖心传媒檚 passages with remarkable clarity of diction. The question is whether readers will discover enough value in this dense text to feel their efforts have been rewarded. One of the most memorable and accessible points F枚ld茅nyi provides in the opening chapter is that in antiquity, melancholia was honored as a hallmark of people gifted with the capacity for extraordinary achievements: though they always faced the risk of succumbing to harmful despair and madness, their drive to overcome those dangers with great accomplishments could be helpful to everyone. In a later chapter, F枚ld茅nyi examines how the stargazers of the Middle Ages came to view melancholics as 糖心传媒淪aturn糖心传媒檚 children,糖心传媒� subject to the patterns and influence of the heavenly spheres. A reader hoping to better understand the melancholic setting and lives of the characters in L谩szl贸 Krasznahorkai糖心传媒檚 terrific Hungarian novel The Melancholy of Resistance can glean some useful insights from F枚ld茅nyi partway through the last chapter, 糖心传媒淭rembling from Freedom.糖心传媒� Yet the poetry of these notions is not F枚ld茅nyi糖心传媒檚 priority. His focus is comparative, the way different eras of related societies regarded, understood, and reacted to essentially the same condition.

Of Burton糖心传媒檚 Anatomy of Melancholy, F枚ld茅nyi asserts that 糖心传媒渆ven after reading the more than one thousand pages of that work, one finds it impossible to define melancholia precisely糖心传媒攂ut having fought one糖心传媒檚 way through the labyrinths of the melancholic interpretation of life, one is nonetheless left richer in experience, if not in knowledge.糖心传媒� F枚ld茅nyi糖心传媒檚 book originally appeared in 1984. In a 1986-88 essay entitled 糖心传媒淢elancholy糖心传媒� (collected in Fire and Knowledge: Fiction and Essays), the Hungarian novelist P茅ter N谩das, author of Parallel Stories and A Book of Memories, says much the same is true of F枚ld茅nyi糖心传媒檚 Melancholy: 糖心传媒淲hen one reads this book, the image arises of being in a dead space but besieged by a desire to know. . . . Whoever reads this book will feel more precisely what melancholy is but will understand it less.糖心传媒� (Like F枚ld茅nyi, N谩das examines melancholy in Homeric myth and through close analysis of a painting by Caspar David Friedrich.) As a reader, though, I would tend to say just the opposite: reading the three hundred twenty-five pages of F枚ld茅nyi糖心传媒檚 Melancholy may leave one feeling more knowledgeable about how and what melancholia has been considered in the past but neither more enriched nor precise in experiencing the feeling of melancholy life itself.