Péter Zilahy’s uncategorisable book – an illustrated blend of reportage, memoir and dictionary – has been a bestseller in many European countries. Taking part in the anti-Milosevic demonstrations in Belgrade in 1996-97, Hungarian writer Zilahy recalls the conditions under which he grew up in Budapest during the 1970s and ’80s. Imprinted on his memory from early childhood is a Hungarian pictorial dictionary that started with ablak (window) and ended on zsiráf (giraffe), hence the title of the present book, which borrows the dictionary device to provide a framework.
Zilahy captures the ‘Groundhog Day’ feeling of the protests in Belgrade, which he describes as ‘a never-ending dress rehearsal of a work-in-progress, a revolution which never reaches its dramatic climax, constant suppression, delayed ejaculation, a city on the verge of orgasm’. He understands the complex situation in the Balkans at the time, so you are not required to, and in fact it’s the personal rather than the political material that’s most compelling. While he can be very funny on the fashion sense of the Serbian riot police, and his flights of fantasy regarding the absence of any policewomen are entertaining, his personal reflections carry more weight. The author’s father, having suffered a heart attack at the age of 56, is in the ICU. ‘White walls, white beds, white bedside cabinets, white blankets – but above the door an unequivocally black clock with a heart-shaped second hand.’
His early exposure to ‘Window-Giraffe’ left Zilahy with a conviction that dictionaries had authority. Anything not found in one would have no meaning. If the lexicographer’s quest is the search for meaning, Zilahy finds it the moment he reaches Belgrade and notes, ‘Arriving in a strange city is a familiar feeling.’
