On a quest for the perfect Fable
I grew up reading Vavyan Fable every chance I got. She came with me on numerous holidays, accompanied me on many a car ride, and revealed herself in the form of gifts I received (and continue to receive) over many years.
The Hungarian author framed my values as a person, aspirations as a writer, and formed my view of life as something that one should always try to see the magic, the humour, the bizarre quirkiness in.
Her language and her words followed me to the other side of the world and I still pick up her books more often than would be necessary – reading them feels more like remembering, the well-known words and phrases appearing more so in my mind than on the page.
Her style is singular in its abrupt, witty humour, its flirtation with what’s real and what isn’t, and in its exploration of a world that’s still, after everything, filled with promise.
No wonder in this second life of mine in Australia, there is a Vavyan Fable shaped hole in my heart that haunts every English-speaking writer I pick up in the hopes of finding an equivalent. My search for her in other writers could be in vain and might even seem unnecessary – after all, what makes someone a great writer is a uniqueness unfound in others. But deep inside my bilingual heart, there is a need for mirrored experiences. I long to find the key to the same treasures in English as I did in Hungarian, if only to prove to myself that storytelling, style, and humour transcend language barriers.
I have had three run-ins with promising contenders. The first was Tom Robbins, whom I picked up inspired by a trending quote from his book Still Life with Woodpecker quite some years ago. Since then I have purchased many of his books but only ever managed to finish two, yet my impression is still positive – in parts deliciously gross and unbearably socially aware, his wit and acceptance of hyperboles as the norm are on par (if sometimes not even better) than those of Fable’s. His plotlines couldn’t be farther from her predictable, action-packed adventures, yet his language resembles hers in surprising bursts. I have reread Still Life with Woodpecker and Jitterbug Perfume a couple of times, and while I no longer search for her in them, I seem to find something new each time. I keep onto a hope that I’ll finish his other books too.
The second was a failed attempt at picking up Richard Brautigan, who was sold to me as someone who makes the abnormal seem ordinary, but turned out to be too much of a leap for me. Brautigan indeed lives in a world of his own that isn’t governed by the rules of others; however, it had no similarities to the author of my upbringing. If anything, In Watermelon Sugar presented a style that is unparalleled by anything I have ever read before or since – an admirable factor in this conveyor belt of a world regardless.
The third one came to me quite recently, in the form of the last copy of Our Tiny, Broken Hearts by Toni Jordan at an Australian writers festival. I purchased the book based on its cover and unsuspecting of the experience that awaited me, of some strange and incredibly coincidental recognition. Reading her laugh-out-loud funny dialogues intercepted by truly illuminating snippets to the innermost workings of the human heart, I was caught off guard by how much the two women wrote alike, and had the experience of reading two authors, one hidden within the other. However ridiculous it might sound, I still harbour a tiny sliver of belief that Jordan speaks Hungarian and has read Fable – some of the scenes from the book were almost identical to ones I’d grown up on. It made me buy her other works too, and while none of them had that light-bulb moment in which I could finally see my childhood hero played out in another language, she has stolen my heart on her own accord. Nine Days turns out to be my favourite book I have read so far this year.
I can’t say I will ever stop looking – unconsciously, Vavyan Fable will possibly haunt my dreams and my writing forever, but I can understand and appreciate the sweetness of never finding her style anywhere either.
If I had to describe her now, I’d say she is the love child of three Ts – Tom Robbins, Toni Jordan, and Terry Pratchett. Take away the overbearing number of socio-political segments, the Australian edge, and the fantasy setting, and her writing presents itself as a witty, playful, enlightening combination of the three, woven around adventurous cop stories and powerful love interests.
She will forever hold a part of my heart that has a significant bearing on everything I do and everything I am, and while my quest to find the perfect Fable in the English language may never cease, I’m grateful for and content with what I’ve been given through her writing.