thirteen short stories
(Libri Kiadó, 2012, 263 pages)

Balbec Beach is not a place, and not a dance. Maybe it’s just a seaside breeze, a strange fall of light, a distant melody. But it’s there on the streets of Budapest, when a pale coffeehouse diva looks for her father in the night, and it’s there on the seashores of Venice, when the sentimental traveller has to choose between two lovers. In the depths of the Berlin underground, where ghosts float through the aisles with the tunnel wind, at the psychic asylums of unnamed highlands, and at the modern-day ghettos of the capital of Hungary, where a twentysomething translator discusses the nature of pornography with a forty-year-old woman. Or in the private salons of the Ritz in Paris, at the imaginary meeting of Marcel Proust and Sigmund Freud. Read more about this book


short story with pictures
(Akademie der Künste, Berlin, 2010, 150 pages)

Made possible by the Junge Akademie programme of the Akademie der Künste, Berlin, this book is a collaboration with the Mexican artist Plinio Ávila, who was a fellow of the Academy at the same time as me. We prepared this project for the grand thematic exhibition Wiederkehr der Landschaft at the Academy’s Hanseatenweg venue, which basically featured all kinds of artworks on the theme of the connections and paradoxes between landspaces and urban spaces. This story, written for the drawings of Plinio about the Berlin U- and S-bahn system, the pride and joy of all Berliners, tells the story of a young man who has recently lost his father, a former driver of the West-Berlin metro, and who is recollecting his memories about him by taking day-long trips under the city, following the footsteps of his deceased loved one. Read more about this book

Repülési kézikönyv

(Flyers’ Handbook)
short stories and poems
(JAK-L’Harmattan, Budapest, 2007, 180 pages)

“Dunajcsik’s high-octane debut work is the perfect embodiment of his literary character. In Flyers’ Handbook, short stories mingle with essays, poems, and literary translations, all of them united by stylistic mastery, sensual refinement and a playful intellectualism. Though Dunajcsik loves to play and loves his own voice, he never fails to reflect on these loves with a degree of self-aware irony. Should one have to name Dunajcsik’s true genre, which is quite impossible at this point, one might say he is ultimately a lyricist. He breathes fresh air into the grand classical Modernist tradition and carries it forward to the mood of our own fin de siècle and its decadent life world. He might as well be living a century ago, though in that case he would be sitting in the historic literary cafés of Budapest, named after New York and Japan, with no wireless connection for his laptop – a subject that would no doubt find its way into his next poem.” Read more about this book

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