Love and Obstacles

On the writings of Aleksander Hemon, the warmth of Bosnians and East European humour

I can’t quite begin to tell you how special Aleksander Hemon is. I find special things are best felt, not described.

If you Google him, all the reviews will say much the same: they talk about his mastery of the English language, his stunningly fresh sentences, his brilliance. They compare him to Nabokov. Mention his MacArthur award…

I don’t have much more to add to these adjectives.

So I’ll tell you what I find so special about him.

I first discovered Hemon by accident. It was 2008 or 2009 when his third book, Lazarus Project had just been published. He was to be in conversation with Indian writer Amitava Ghosh at the 92Y in New York, across the street from where I lived. Being the good Indian, I knew very well who Amitava Ghosh was and as an aspiring writer, asked for special permission to skip my writing class for that day so I could go listen to him talk.

I did not know he’d be in conversation with another writer, let alone one with a strange name I had never heard before and was quite annoyed when I saw the program sheet.

Who is this Aleksander Hemon? I thought. I hope he doesn’t talk too much.

Five minutes into the conversation, I was silently begging Amitava Ghosh to shut up and let the other man speak for even though they were not talking about anything important or profound, absolutely anything Hemon said in response to the interviewer or Ghosh, made the latter seem just a tad more plebeian.

Funny Anecdote: My sister, the publisher and idiot, who happens to know Amitava Ghosh, actually went and told him this story (about the 92Y) . AG apparently told her that it was the worst public appearance of his life

The next day I went out and bought every single one of Hemon’s books (after doing my due diligence online of course).

This is the best way to discover a writer— without reviews, without recommendations—just through an instinct that you know you’ve come across something very rare.

This is the same way I’ve discovered all my favourite writers: Annie Ernaux, Munro, Katherine Boo. Never through reviews or word of mouth. always by accident and instinct.

That evening at the 92Y, all they talked about were their writing habits, routines etc. The standard fare. Yet everything Hemon, or Sasha, as he is known to many, said, I was writing down in my little moleskine like a guffawing student of literature.

I did not know then that he was a MacArthur Prize winner, that Lazarus Project was an NBA finalist. And personally about the latter, I could care less.

Hemon is not a very commercially successful writer but he is also not a very easy writer to read as far as contemporary literature goes.

He told me once, write stories you love to tell.

Well, Bosnians, I have come to the conclusion, love to tell stories, but this Bosnian, despite himself, doesn’t just narrate a story. There is so much subtext in them that in order to fully appreciate him, you have to be a careful reader. He’s not the kind of writer you read in a hurry and then put the book away.

I do think there are writers and then there are writers’ writers and he falls into the second category.

I receive not a single response when I post about him on social media other than a very few during the hey days of Twitter.

On Substack he seems completely obsolete. And it made me think, perhaps I can do my little part in today’s literature by introducing my followers and friends to him.

The story I’m discussing today is one I’ve posted before for you all to read: Love and Obstacles from his book by the same name. It is Sasha’s fourth book and second collection of stories. I admit I prefer his first collection— Questions of Bruno a little more, because somehow it is a little darker, and through its more ‘quiet’ style, speaks of a deeper hopelessness and bleakness of war and humanity that makes it almost chilling.

Love and Obstacles is still a properly excellent collection. I cannot think of one weak story in it.

What do I mean by properly excellent?

That every single one of these stories is engrossing from page one until the end, something I cannot even attribute Munro to, at all times.

It’s not the ‘plot’ per se that has me gripped though. To me, it is a combination of the plot and how it is handled.

His dark humor, which is also a personal characteristic of his.

His sentences and his very peculiar style of observation— they stay with me for so long, I sometimes think I wrote them. This is why I’m careful not to read too much of him when I’m working on my own writing.

When I first met him at the Jaipur Literary Festival in 2015, I, always shyly, happened to be saying something about Calcutta— how things were different a few years ago and I still remember what he said: nothing is the same as it was two years ago.

I also told him how I never travel anywhere without at least two books—one by Munro and one by him.

I was trying to explain the feeling of safety and comfort I get when carrying my precious books with me to strange lands. I was struggling to find the right words and sound impressive at the same time. He just interrupts me and says: Like a blankie.

I stopped.

Yes it’s that simple. There is no impressive four syllable word for this. It was like a blankie— warm and comforting.

How did I get talking to Hemon?

I fell in love with the images in Lazarus Project, which were taken, said the book, by a Velibor Bozovic.

I Googled him, found his artist website and sent him an email. I said I was a huge fan of Hemon and his photographs and would he consider selling me a print.

I bought four prints from him over the years and this led to a facebook only friendship.

I subsequently met Veba, as he is called by his friends, at an event he was doing at the Apple Store on Prince Street, Soho in New York.

Only for a few seconds though. I said hello, after the event and scurried off like a shy mouse.

It was raining, I remember and I stood at the entrance of the Apple Store, smoking a cigarette, shaking (I had already started having balance problems then) and wondering how I was going to make it back to Brooklyn.

Veba messaged me later saying: where did you go? We were all going out for dinner.

They were going out for dinner and wanted ME to come along? Who was ME to them? I only knew Veba via Facebook and bought some of his prints and didn’t know Hemon other than through his books.

But, this is how warm hearted these two Bosnians are.

Veba also happens to be Hemon’s childhood friend and from the little I inferred about Sasha, I knew he was, by nature, quiet and antisocial and preferred to be around his people (eg Veba) than hobnob at festivals.

In 2014, I heard, from the organizer of JLF himself: your favourite author has been invited this year.

Is he coming? I asked.

He hasn’t responded, said the organizer.

I know a sure way to get him to come. Invite his childhood friend Velibor and he will say yes. I guarantee you.

Of course I gave him the professional collaboration between Veba and Hemon and how crucial Veba was to The Lazarus Project.

The next thing I know, both Bosnians were coming to the 2015 JLF and Veba wrote to me saying: you must come

At this time I have already moved from Delhi to Calcutta, to rehabilitate in my parents’ home after a massive collapse.

How was I going to go?

But when there’s a will, there’s a way I suppose.

Both of them have become very special friends of mine ever since. Although Sasha will always be Hemon to me first.