Since his 1985 first novel, Satantango, the Hungarian novelist László Krasznahorkai, winner of the 2015 Man Booker International prize, has put out a series of fictions that are at once melancholy, fantastical and entirely original. That sustained originality means that a new reader will not necessarily feel entirely at ease: his novels unfurl in grand sequences, often neglecting to provide either regular paragraph breaks or full stops (The Last Wolf, for instance, contains a single sentence, lasting for 70 pages). This may, however, be a disguise. The apparently austere movement of his endless sentences is also a form of jazzy improvisation; the unstoppable surface permits a kind of zany proliferation of meaning.
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