Pavol Rankov – The Period in Which We Live

To put it as succinctly as possible, Pavol Rankov's The Period in Which We Live is a short story about writing about the writing of Rankov's latest piece of writing, which is The Period in Which We Live. That last mouthful aside, the story is not as complicated as it seems, managing to quite effectively comment on the process of writing, the period of gestation required to bring forth a creative work, and the tribulations that necessarily afflict an artist as he struggles to bring (or add) meaning to the incoherency of his world.

The story opens with an extract from a story Rankov is writing. He has been awarded a month's stay at a writer's retreat, where the only expectation is that he produce something that will redound upon the glory of his nation. Or, it used to be – the retreat was a gift to writer's who were willing to toe the national party line, but now that the (unnamed) country has experienced a recent coup/overthrow/election/revolution (it's never made clear), the retreat has lost it's way somewhat, which allows Rankov to write whatever he wishes.

He knew that trips like this one would no longer be financed by the writers' union in the future. The money they had gotten for things like this from the central committee for culture at the beginning of the year had somehow survived in the bank account despite all the political changes and the leaders of the union had decided to go ahead and use the money for what it was originally intended, so that they didn't have to return to it.
“Creative holidays” - as these stays were called – were the typical way in which the not-so-long-ago-removed-from-power regime had purchased compliancy from its authors. That was why, even given the situation, in this incomprehensible “Period in Which We Live,” they had granted him the stay.

From the short paragraph of extracted writing, the narrator, never explicitly identified as Rankov, though the biographical details match, along with the name of the story itself, settles into the retreat and begins to write. He made his way there on the strength of his acceptance by a major literary journal to publish his review of a French novel that once inspired, but no longer manages to rouse his interest. Wait to do? The narrator casts about in search of a topic, wondering first about the possibility of exploring the previous regime's unpleasant tendency to imprison its political foes as “insane”, locking them away for an unspecified period of time, and then he shifts to a story concerning a prison camp, echoing the radio report he had heard the day before.

It was then that he realized that his story could describe this labor camp in its current situation. The forced labor would end, the prisoners were now only expected to line up for inspection once a day rather than four times, the prisoners would be waiting with bated breath for the camp to be closed, the wardens would be nervous since they wouldn't necessarily believe the words of the acting president – who was still saying that those who made mistakes in the past would not be unpunished.

And on it goes. The narrator/Rankov is caught up in the breathless throes of creation, his thoughts spinning along, unwilling to pause themselves with a period. When an author becomes caught up in the spinning out of his artistic web, it sometimes seems that only commas would suffice. A period – a pause – a rest – is a restraint, a pulling back of thought to be replaced with consideration, which can be (but isn't always) death to the creative process. Rankov's narrator often becomes embroiled in these extravagant sentences and extended paragraphs as his thoughts cascade amongst one another, spilling out wherever they will go.

Perhaps the most appealing aspect of the story is its constant commenting on itself, its frenzied reflection and its creative excesses. He quotes himself, placing dribbles of “The Period in Which We Live” into the text and then critiquing accordingly. As the reader, we are placed at several removes from the text itself, for what we are reading is not the story but it's gestation, and on top of that, the writer's reflexive comments concerning the act of creation. It could be a heady game of post-modern trickery, but it's not – instead, we come to know a solitary, slightly sad, recently divorced, but hopeful, author, who isn't quite sure how he managed to snag such a prestigious position except that the government has been overthrown and the money had to go to someone.

Rankov's text is enjoyable, enthusiastic where it needs to be, and it possesses heart. The double-ending is sweet on one hand and effective on the other, and both provide a reason for the creation of the piece we are actually reading. It's a clever trick that has been used before – to have the reader discover that the text a character has been developing is in fact the text one is reading – but it's not overdone here, and it isn't played for laughs, or used for deceit. Rankov's text is immediately itself, and it declares, within its opening paragraphs, exactly what it is about and what it is trying to achieve. And it does, tremendously well.
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Author	Pavol Rankov
Title	The Period in Which We Live Original Title: Doba, v ktorej žijeme taken from My a oni/Oni a my (We and They/They and We)
Translator	Clarice Cloutier
Nationality	Slovak
Publisher	The Dalkey Archive Press
Availability: ---Amazon (US) ---Amazon (UK) ---Fishpond (AU)

See Also

Other stories from the The Review of Contemporary Fiction Vol. XXX, #2 Slovak Fiction issue include:
---Hochel, Braňo - My Best Story
---Johanides, Ján - Berlin in the Afternoon, at a Quarter to Winter
---Juráňová, Jana - Clips
---Karvaš, Peter - Xerox of a Document about One Half of (the Art of) Life
---Kompaníková, Monika - Slávko
---Kovalyk, Uršuľa - Mrs. Agnes's Bathroom
---Šimko, Dušan - Excursion to Dubrovnik

Also of interest:
---Other titles under review from The Dalkey Archive Press
---Index of short stories under review