Joseph-Conrad on kapuscinski.info

On Kapuscinski gonzo orientalism

Sat, 30 Jan 2010 00:00:00 +0000

“The European mind is willing to acknowledge its limitations, accept its limitations. It is a sceptical mind. The spirit of criticism does not exist in other cultures. They are proud, believing that what they have is perfect.” – Ryszard Kapuscinski

“The greatest mind to bear upon Africa since Conrad.” – The Evening Standard on Ryszard Kapuscinski

I have tried, just once in my life, to be an Angry Black Man. I planned a picket in New York City against a man I love to hate – Ryszard Kapuscinski. He was going to speak at a conference organised by American PEN. Nobody seemed to want to join me. There were better things to do in New York, like drinking – I do not lie – a hibiscus juice and chilli margarita. So I got drunk.

Ryszard Kapuscinski Master of literary reportage

Sat, 30 Jan 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Ryszard Kapuscinski, journalist: born Pinsk, Poland 4 March 1932; married 1952 Alicja Mielczarek (one daughter); died Warsaw 23 January 2007.

The Polish reporter Ryszard Kapuscinski was the 20th century’s most telling spokesman for the millions of ordinary people who are trapped in the vagaries of authoritarian regimes.

He could have done it anywhere, but fate and the limited budgets of his Polish employers took him, chiefly, to Africa. There, he told the story of Haile Selassie through the anecdotes of a man at the palace gates whose job was to wipe visitors’ shoes after meetings with the Ethiopian emperor and his incontinent dog, Lulu. In Tanzania, political upheaval was brought into perspective by a report from a village where all that mattered to the peasants was the long wait for rain.

The Illuminated Letters Of a Polish Journalist

Sat, 30 Jan 2010 00:00:00 +0000

Maybe there’s something about those brutal winters on the high northern plains of Eastern Europe, stuck defenseless between Berlin and Moscow, the peasant huts and concrete apartments smelling of dank clothes, lost hope and boiled cabbage.

Maybe there’s something that, every so often, kicks a young writer in the gut, and produces great wanderlust or literary genius or, in the case of Polish writer Ryszard Kapuscinski and his literary predecessor Joseph Conrad, both.