About the author

Literary Connections

By Alexis Nelson
This article was printed in Abroad View fall 2004

The director of my Budapest program smelled pleasantly of cigarette smoke, rode a cute red moped, and boasted a certain boyish charm in his middle-aged features. Antal Örkeny also happened to be the son of István Örkeny, one of Hungary’s most celebrated contemporary writers. I was familiar with some of the senior Örkeny’s work, because I had read a number of his One Minute Stories in my Hungarian language class. These short pieces are about a paragraph to a page long and tend to use simple language that my American classmates and I had a fairly decent shot at wrapping our brains around; they are also packed with political innuendos and veiled acts of subversion, which we loved to have our teacher, Katica, explain to us.

Back at the University of California, I could only dream of having such a close connection to the world of literary superstardom—a world to which I was desperately eager to belong. I realized that another opportunity to benefit from such a connection might never come my way again, and so I decided to approach Antal with the hope that he might “know a guy who knows a guy” who could help me find an internship in the publishing field.

While living abroad, it’s more important than ever to establish strong connections and not be afraid to use them. While it might seem presumptuous or embarrassing to ask somebody for help, in fact I think it is entirely sensible. If you are looking for an internship or a job, or even a suggestion for a great restaurant, it is only logical that you should turn to a local for advice. Most people want to assist foreigners as much as they can, since they recognize the difficulties of living in an unfamiliar place. You might be surprised by how willing and able your local friends and acquaintances are to help you get your foot in the door at a great company or institution.

One afternoon, I was waiting for some friends in front of my host university in Budapest when Antal came outside with his black helmet under one arm and his leather briefcase tucked under the other. He smiled at me with genuine warmth as he walked toward his moped, and I decided that now would be as good a time as ever to ask him about internships.

“Hi, Antal,” I began. “We were just reading some more of your father’s One Minute Stories with Katica today. I really like them.”

“Oh, I’m very glad!” he replied with a humble smile. His impressive lineage aside, Antal was a highly respected anthropologist in his own right, but he always had time for his students.

“I was wondering…,” I went on, a little shyly, “if you might know somebody in publishing. You see, I would love to do some kind of internship while I’m here.”

“Ah!” he said, smiling even bigger now, “Of course. I think I have an idea for you.”

In very little time, Antal was able to arrange an interview for me with the editor of the Hungarian Quarterly, an English-language journal of literature and culture. In my wobbly high-heels, I was a little nervous as I approached the Hungarian Press Building, which keeps a keen eye on the city from atop the Buda hills, but I knew that with Antal’s recommendation, I would at least have that proverbial foot-in-the-door, wobbly or not.

Miklós Vajda, the journal’s editor, was a white-haired Hungarian man with a true gentleness of spirit. He politely invited me to sit facing him across the small desk cluttered with manuscripts, and asked me a few questions about myself—such as why I had decided to come to Hungary, what my interest in Hungarian literature was like, and why I wanted to work at the Quarterly. I got the feeling that my enthusiastic outpouring of answers not only satisfied him, but also amused him. He sat, nodding his head, smiling to himself almost imperceptibly, while I tried to remember to slow down and breathe.

As is true when you’re trying to get a job or internship in your own country, it’s a good idea to do some research on the place where you hope to intern while abroad, before you apply. I had gone to a bookstore and bought a recent issue of the Quarterly before my interview. I’d also talked to Antal and some of my other teachers about the journal. As a result, I was almost bursting with facts—as well as excitement—when I finally got to meet Mr. Vajda. There were so many things I wanted to ask him, but at this first meeting, I also knew that there were some things about which I should hold my tongue. I did not, for example, question my potential boss about something my Central European literature professor had told me—that Mr. Vajda had lost his position as editor of another journal under the Communists for being too subversive.

After Mr. Vajda had looked over my resume and we had discussed how many hours I could potentially work, he carefully placed the resume atop one of the many stacks of papers on his desk and folded his hands.

“We would be happy to have you,” he said.

I almost had to stop myself from reaching across the desk and hugging this man. Over the next few months, I would report directly to him, reviewing unsolicited manuscripts, working on research projects and performing some basic clerical tasks. I never really stopped being in awe of Mr. Vajda and all he had taken part of as a member of the Hungarian intelligentsia. So, too, did I continue to feel proud of myself for having had the courage to ask Antal for help and grateful to him for providing it so readily. AV