By Josip Novakovich
Ivan Dolinar is born in Tito's Yugoslavia on April Fool's Day, 1948 -- the auspicious starting of a lifestyles that might be derailed through backfiring sturdy intentions in an international of propaganda and paranoia. At age nineteen, an blameless prank cuts the younger Croatian's budding clinical occupation brief and lands him in a infamous hard work camp. published at the eve of civil warfare, Ivan is drafted into the incorrect military, changing into a pawn in an absurd clash during which the principles and loyalties shift all of sudden and all of sudden. yet even in an international long past mad, one plan of action continues to be eminently sane: survival. advised with bitingly darkish humor and a deep tenderness, April Fool's Day is either a devastating political satire and a razor-sharp parody of conflict.
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Additional info for April Fool's Day: A Novel (P.S.)
Ivan was surprised: the rough giant admonished him to be gentle. April Fool’s Day 47 “Look what you have done! ” Ivan bowed, and saw two fingertip prints. Not an auspicious start. Nevertheless, whatever the professor asked, Ivan answered, slowly, hesitantly, and accurately. For the theoretical part, Radulovic asked Ivan to outline the blood vessels of the liver and the path of the nervus ischiadicus. If the brain was crosscut vertically in line with the ear opening, what would you see? Ivan prepared his answers for ten minutes, in his head, and gave them, slowly, struggling through the mists of his memory, looking through the window at the rain.
Ivan sometimes walked to a Hungarian restaurant just to use a clean toilet. The dorm was not shy in announcing its presence. Within a two-hundred-yard radius of the dorm, you heard screams, laughter, Muslim prayers, Montenegrin mountain songs, partisan marches, classical violin exercises, quarrels, laughter. Lousy mono record-players, cranked up, distorted all shades of music. Cracked vinyl records flew out the windows alongside newspapers, soft-porn magazines, old textbooks, shoes without soles, beer bottles, yogurt containers.
Ivan did and he still saw smoke coming out of him. “See, even if you blow it out, it will get into you unless you watch out. It takes work not to get the poison into your system. ” Tito made another puff. The ash on his cigar had grown long. The ash tip on Ivan’s was longer, and Ivan shook it off. “Wrong,” said Tito. “When you are outside, let the ashes fall on their own. ” asked Tito. “Slovak? ” “No, sir . . comrade. ” “You are not quite sure. ” April Fool’s Day 55 “No, comrade. ” Tito turned to Ms.