Never ask a Bulgarian, “How are you?” He’ll wince at the question, his mouth will turn down at the corners, and he’ll begin to catalogue his ailments, his misfortunes, and the infuriating things his neighbor’s done.
A finalist for both the Strega Europeo and Gregor von Rezzori awards, in addition to being a critical and commercial success in its native country, The Physics of Sorrow sees Gospodinov taking a deconstructed approach to narrative and underscoring the absurdity of life in general by jumping across time and space to craft a story of brief, evocative episodes that mostly take place in “the saddest place on earth,” as the Economist called Bulgaria in 2010.
It isn’t all melancholy in Sorrow—the tone goes from heartbreaking to hilarious in the matter of a breath, and Gospodinov’s style is so light on the page that the writing possesses an almost magical haze. The contrast to its origins is also palpable—there might be nothing light or magical about food and electricity shortages in the throes of communism, but therewith lies Gospodinov’s mastery. He never tells us what to feel.
