Flashbacks

It was only a few years ago that we were all still in Bucharest, planning and dreaming and hoping to change literature and the world, convinced that the impossible was possible even if we were well aware of just how naive we were. Back in those days our hearts were as open as our agendas and we somehow managed to deal with the lack of sleep and disorganized schedules a lot easier than we do now. Apparently it did wonders for our creativity.

And there was no better feeling than getting our hands on an unpublished manuscript that we got to review for our magazine before everyone else did or to publishing an interview with an author we adored or to finally meeting a deadline - this actually only happened a few times and that's what made it memorable.

I remembered all of these things when reading one of the million articles published these days about Jonathan Franzen's new novel. If you're into this whole Franzen frenzy, you can find the article here. This fragment is a very accurate description of how things used to be. Surely, proportions do not bare comparison but the feeling is the same. It's one of those feelings I haven't had in quite a while and that makes me just a bit nostalgic:

So yes, I've read the new Franzen. In literary circles this is the equivalent of getting hold of the new YSL coat two months before it arrives in stores, or snaffling the new Radiohead album before they give it away for free. Truly, having some contraband Franzen in the Guardian office is like bringing pure cocaine powder into a record label company.