By Sylvie Germain
"a haunting vintage" Madeleine Kingsley in She Magazine
“An complicated, finely crafted and polished story, The Weeping lady at the Streets of Prague brings magic-realism to the dimly lit streets of Prague. during the squares and alleys a lady walks, the embodiment of human pity, sorrow, dying. everybody she passes is touched by way of her, and Germain skilfully creates an extreme temper and believe in her try to produce a religious map of Prague." The Observer robust on emotion and surroundings. a really own view of either Prague and existence.
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Extra info for Prague Noir. The Weeping Woman on the Streets of Prague City Noir
Sample text
While I was crossing Chorvatska street at Vinohrady, I saw the giant-woman; she was half-way up the sloping street. Below, the district of Vrsobicc seemed sunk in shadow. She was walking briskly despite her limp. Her great body plunged leftwards, then seesawed back towards the right with its regular pitching. Her tall silhouette stood out clearly against the background of the stormy sky, where a shaft of pale blue had just opened up. The wind sent her long rags flapping and drove the bits of newspaper strewn over the pavement briskly before it.
Suddenly time was that sloping street. Time was that street which dipped down towards a low-lying area of the storm-beleaguered city. Time was that street stretched like a tight-rope above an abyss. The past was striding forwards – but it was going so fast that it was also the future. There is no such thing as time in the abstract: time is always the time of a body which feels and bears it, the time of the history of a living person. And it turned out – in that brief flash of an instant, the colour of bluish soot – to be the time of a man who was at that moment lying on a bed a thousand kilometres away, his body broken by illness.
The chance which prevails at the manifestations of this strange wanderer, which guides her steps as she sweeps through bricks and mortar, has nothing of the fortuitous about it, still less anything of the random. This wandering woman has such gravitas, such patience and endurance in her roaming, and there is such power in her fleeting appearances. For when she does appear, she fills the space of all the visible, compelling attention from all eyes, from all senses, sowing alarm in people’s hearts.