Remembering the Balkans Muharem Bazdulj w riting over a year ago about Orhan Pamuk, on the occasion of the bestowal of theNobel Prize (2006), I felt it important to place Pamuk in the context that I thinksuitshim perfectly?to wit, theBalkan context.At that time I cited a definition fromE.M. Cioran, adding that, to some, a definition coming fromhim would certainly be considered "dubi ous," since Cioran himself came fromtheBalkans; I am repeating my main point here, because it impressesme as a fittingoverture for (yetanother) reflectionon theBalkans: "The problem with the Balkans, its fatefulcurse, isoftenprecisely theway itfits into outsiders' definitions, its susceptibility towhat a poet described thus: somebody from out side always comes to threaten us." The problem, however, is perhaps broader than this.Maybe definitions themselves are the problem. Itwould be easy to citehere definitions of theBalkans fromgeography, or fromdictionar ies or encyclopedias, but itseemsmore advisable, at least from my personal point of view, topara phrase St.Augustine. What is theBalkans?As long as you do not askme, Iknow; ifsomeone demands that I explain, I do notknow. In theoriginal,Augustine was, of course, talk ing about time.That phrase grew tobe legendary because itdescribes effectivelyand precisely the awkwardness a person feels when he or she has to "compress into unyielding words" (Borges) that which is thought or feltabout something insepa rable fromone's own life.Every life is necessar ily inseparable from time.Time is themedium in which lifeunfolds, and that would seem tobe why Augustine's sentence rings so true in all language and inall epochs. To all ofus who perceive theBalkans primar ilyas something that is our own, or of us, Augus tine's discomfiture is comprehensible whenever someone requests thatwe explain the Balkans, that we define it,that we talkabout it. In general terms,definitions are problematic inone otherway. Danilo Ki? defined thisproblem beautifully in his essay "Novels in the Palm of One's Hand": "If defining genre comes in on the ground floorof literary-theoreticalconsiderations, " that isa situation testifying more often thannot to| stagnation." This definition by Ki? is also appli2 cable,mutatismutandis,outside the world of litera- q ture. Itverymuch remindsme ofGeorge Steiner's g i 46 i World Literature Today remark that the literatureof the twentiethcentury resembles a walk through a museum five minutes before closing time.Defining, theory,contextual ization?these are phenomena characterizing the phase ofdecadence, notmerely stagnation. In thisvein it isworrisome that theBalkans have lately become?as they say?fashionable. Conferences, seminars, essay collections have become more and more common in the last several years. Does that mean that Stanko Cerovic's fear, uttered but recently,has actually reached us too late?Does this signifythathis hopes have already been betrayed? Before I attempt an answer, let us listen to Cerovic: I hope that no one will study this, for then it will disappear, like amagic spell. But there is something in this soil, in the zone roughly encompassing the Balkan peninsula, on account ofwhich the fruits of itsearthhave more robust flavors than elsewhere. I have heard that a similar phenomenon exists in part of theCau casus. It is as if some large creature had emerged from thewater and spread its arms at Boka, making a circlewith them so that the fingers interlace at Belgrade, at the confluence of the Sava and the Danube, encirclingHercegovina and part of Croatia, mountainous Bosnia and, to the south, across the plains of Macedo nia to the Peloponnesus and Athens, including Crete. That's how thispart of the world?where every taste and smell pushes to the limitsofwhat people can endure without devouring their own tongues?found itself in an embrace. That's how it was up tillrecently.Rumor has it thatnow globalization is arriving even there,and that the soil isno longer what itonce was. When people leave the vicious circle that is theBalkans, it is this very robust presence of the taste of the soil that makes themboth breathe easier and feel thattheyhave entered aworld of artificialityin which something isalways lacking. Everything is to be had there, except thatmost important thing. This creates great historical clashes and con fusion,but nobody gets either credit or blame for this; itall comes, rather, from...