fiefoe

Bruno Schulz's slim novel looks like a quick read, but it's anything but. His style reminds me of obscure newspaper essays I loved in my youth.

Dizzy with light, we dipped into that enormous book of holidays, its pages blazing with sunshine and scented with the sweet melting pulp of golden pears.
sides of meat with their keyboard of ribs swollen with energy and strength,
the squares of brightness dreaming their intense dreams on the floor; ...two or three bars of a chorus, played on a distant piano over and over again, melting in the sun on the white pavement, lost in the fire of high noon.
... drawing down the linen blinds. All colors immediately fell an octave lower, ...the heat of the day began to breathe on the blinds as they stirred slightly in their daydreams.
The old houses, worn smooth by the winds of innumerable days, played tricks with the reflections of the atmosphere, with echoes and memories of colors scattered int he depth of the cloudless sky.

("The Street of Crocodiles")