Virág Muzslai: I'm here with Mónika Rusvai, who is the Hungarian winner of this year's LLIF residency in Wales. In May - from the 17th - she'll be participating in this two-week writer's residency, where the focus will be on ecological and other related themes in a retreat setting. In light of that, we're now speaking with you, Mónika - welcome.
Mónika Rusvai: Greetings to the viewers/listeners as well, hi!
V.M.: I'll just jump in with a strong question right away. My first question is: your stories uniquely blend folklore, ecology, and speculative fiction - what drew you to these topics, and how did your distinctive voice in this field develop?
M.R.: I think my connection to nature might be the oldest because even as a child, I spent a lot of time outdoors. I was an orienteering runner for a long time, so the forests of Hungary have always been close to me, especially our mountain ranges like the Mátra and the Bükk, and nowadays I’ve spent most of my life in Piliscsaba, which is also very close to nature. The folklore aspect probably comes from being read fairy tales as a child, and also through my studies - I studied English at Pázmány University, which was literature-focused, and I was always really interested in old stories and myths. Then I discovered speculative literature, and that became my direction. What fascinates me is that through folklore and speculative techniques, I can examine questions in ways that we wouldn’t normally think about in everyday life, or notice as easily, and that’s very interesting to me.
V.M.: I want to ask a bit more about that, because I looked it up, but our viewers/listeners might not know exactly - what is speculative fiction?
M.R.: It’s this wonderful umbrella term we use for genres like science fiction, fantasy, and others. It also includes horror, and the boundary areas between sci-fi and fantasy, like science fantasy, for example. Essentially, it covers all kinds of literature and cultural products that depart from reality in some way. So it’s more than just 'one has dragons and the other has spaceships.'
V.M.: Yes, yes—so in a way, it’s a collective term, but it doesn’t limit itself to just one field, that’s how it feels to me, based on this.
M.R.: Exactly.
V.M.: My next question would be about your award-winning novel, The Country of Snakes, which revolves around themes of memory, magic, and nature. What inspired you to write this book, and what would you like readers to take away from it?
M.R.: I had two starting points. One was the theme itself, which really interested me. I noticed that in Hungarian society, there’s still this strong tendency not to talk about certain things, like family traumas, etc. And the fact that we don’t talk about them brings heavy psychological and social consequences. I wanted to write about this using Hungarian folklore, specifically, the magic of binding and loosening. The other starting point was a well-known Hungarian folk tale, Fehérlófia (Son of the White Mare), which has been adapted in many ways, like the animated version by Marcell Jankovics, which perhaps wasn’t even for children. I thought I’d use that narrative, and what interested me was that usually when a hero is called ‘someone’s son,’ the father is named. In Fehérlófia, that’s not the case, and I wanted to give a creative answer as to why not.
V.M.: So basically, you want this to come through to readers clearly and make them reflect, through a folklore line, on these traumas we don’t talk about and these connections, which are very unique to our Hungarian society.
M.R.: I believe—or at least I hope—that the novel includes many points of connection that spark memory and ‘family memory’ for readers. In fact, some motifs are based on true stories, for example, from WWII, and based on the feedback I’ve received, I think it worked. Some readers have shared their own stories with me.
V.M.: Yes, I believe this is one of those topics where, once you read a book, it brings up new topics to discuss, and starts new conversations. and in literature, I believe, that’s one of the most important things: that the story doesn’t end when you read the last word. But what happens afterward, what stays with you—that’s what really matters.
M.R.: I think everyone lives through stories, and we shape our identity through them. Writers are people who, by their position, can share stories with more people and start broader conversations. And sometimes that’s a responsibility. You can really feel it when a reader tells you they talked to their grandmother for the first time about what happened during the war, for example.
V.M.: That’s amazing, and you mentioned responsibility, and also how people often draw a line between ‘serious’ literary fiction and fantasy. From music, for example, we say something is classical music and something else is contemporary music, but really, it doesn’t matter what form the message takes, I believe, if it conveys a deep meaning, and the writer can use their tools to express that in an enjoyable way and spark conversation that’s what matters most.
M.R.: Yes, and I see that in every culture there’s a deep divide between so-called literary fiction and speculative fiction, just like we have.
V.M.: Yes.
M.R.: Unfortunately, I’ve had some painful experiences with that. But I think the two should be placed next to each other and not in a hierarchical relationship. In my opinion, fantasy literature offers a different perspective. Both can be done at a high or lower level. The toolsets are different—of course I’m not trying to blur the two—but I believe there are overlapping areas.
V.M.: Absolutely. And as you mentioned, you studied English, here where I’m sitting now, in London, there isn’t such a sharp divide. There are categories, yes, but as a reader, I don’t feel there’s such a strong label of ‘this isn’t literary—it’s not serious’ just because it’s written in a fantastical style.
The next question is, you’ve said that the concept of ‘plant visibility’ is key in your work. What does that mean exactly, and why do you feel it’s important to talk about it and write about it?
M.R.: Plant visibility has an opposite term, called ‘plant blindness.’ Plant blindness means that humans, evolutionarily, are programmed to detect danger first. If something moves or makes a sound, it’s potentially dangerous. If something doesn’t move or make noise, it’s likely not dangerous. So, if you dropped someone into a foreign environment and they opened their eyes, they’d first notice a deer, a dog, or a vehicle. But plants—most people only register them as background, like ‘there are trees here.’ I often say, most people know their neighbour’s dog’s name because it barks at night. But if you ask what trees are growing on the street, fewer could answer, though these days more people can, as environmental awareness is growing. The problem is that this plant blindness also affects decisions on a global level, unfortunately, we tend to pay less attention to plant life. People are outraged if an animal shelter has to close because of a lack of food. But if plants die off due to deforestation, it touches people much less. That’s why I think it’s important to pay attention to plants, not to mention that plants make up over 80% of the biomass on Earth. And our diet, ultimately, depends on plants because the animals we eat also eat plants.
V.M.: Yes, that’s really interesting, and I hadn’t thought of it that way myself. I think many people haven’t even though I grew up in an agricultural environment. But most people can’t even identify the plants around them. And it shows even in small things, like not being able to appreciate the beauty around us like here in London, even though the city is full of parks and beautiful flowers, we often don’t notice because of this plant blindness you mentioned. This is a really interesting topic, and it connects perfectly with the next question and also with the theme of the residency. You’re about to go to the LLIF Residency in Wales. The focus there will be ecology, community, and so-called ‘minority languages.’ What was the main thing that motivated you to apply, and what are you hoping to get out of this writers’ residency?
M.R.: Of course, ecology as a keyword was an important factor. It’s also worth noting that I did a doctoral research project connected to human-plant relationships. So, I’ve already worked on this topic within academic communities, and I’ve attended conferences, which was very inspiring for me. So naturally, I was curious—how would it be if we did this same work, but as writers and artists? What would be different, what might be more or richer? How might it feed back into my own creative work? That was one part of it. The other part is that it’s a relatively short residency, only two weeks, and realistically, when you want to live your life and have a job, especially in Hungary, there’s a limit to how long you can get away for. But because it’s short, and because there will be fourteen authors, five from Wales and nine from different European countries, it’s mainly a networking event, and that really interested me. We’ll have different workshops as well, so it’s really a European networking-style program.
V.M.: I have one more question, connecting back a bit to the topic of speculative fiction. I think Hungarian speculative fiction, correct me if I’m wrong, is gaining more and more popularity. We’re seeing more books by Hungarian authors in the Hungarian bookstores, or translations of foreign speculative books. How do you see your own role in this process, and what future do you imagine for Hungarian fantasy on the international stage?
M.R.: I would say that over the past five or six years, Hungarian speculative fiction has definitely had a kind of boom. I think the Gabo Publishing House played a big role in that, especially the part of the company that focuses on speculative fiction, many Hungarian authors have published through them. Another thing that helps the visibility of Hungarian writers is that, unlike in the 1990s, when everyone used Anglo-sounding pseudonyms, authors now dare to publish under their real Hungarian names. This is partly because having a presence on social media is now expected, even though it’s not always easy, but more and more Hungarian names are appearing. There are more events too. I still tend to feel that the Hungarian name on the cover is received somewhat critically. Readers sometimes leave reviews like: ‘I was hesitant because the author is Hungarian.’ That kind of prejudice takes time to dismantle. But I think very positive changes have happened in recent years. As for how likely Hungarian authors are to break onto the international stage, I really don’t know.
V.M.: Thank you so much for this conversation. I wish you the best of luck with your residency, and I hope our listeners/readers will hear more about you in the future.
M.R.: Thank you so much for the invitation and the exciting questions.