About a year ago, Bogdan Tiganov published a collection of stories and poems about living in Romania, about childhood, immigration, kafkian realities. I read it as a sort of memoir of a young Romanian child transposed into English - language and culture.
It's a brave book and it was even braver of him to subject it to an open discussion with the CoeusArts - a group of fellow Romanians, fellow "exiles" to some extent. Unfortunately the discussion was hijacked at about the fifth question and went onto the never ending maze of communism, why communism, how comes communism, etc....
I find it strange that people are still so fascinated by this aberration of history. That people cannot move over it and start thinking of something new. I somehow hope, for Bogdan as well as for myself and all my generation - that this sort of books are our testament to those times. That whatever comes next will not be haunted by something we barely knew. That childhood during communism remains in the past and does not shadow the future more than necessary.
