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Emil Krastev started as a reporter in “Orbita” newspaper. That same year he went to work as an editor at the Bulgarian National Radio, “Hristo Botev” program. Later on he worked at “ABV” newspaper and “Zemizdat” publishing house. In 1991 he founded “Gea-Libris” publishing house. As a journalist he wrote primarily on the subject of environmental protection and ecological balance. He made his debut with the short novel “Mad Hope” in the “Smyana” series of the “Narodna Mladezh” publishing house. He has also written the books “Lunar Tan”, “Dragon Chase”, “Seasons”, “The Shadow”, "Maquillage", "Placenta", Fragments, Fragmente, The Kite.

 Here is what the poet Parush Parushev writes on the occasion of his book “Seasons”.

Basing my knowledge on my long literary life, I am well aware that obtaining a style of one’s own is primarily a question of morality - to one’s own self and to the work one creates. Fashion penchants, which briefly place you into a certain trend and make your name visible alongside it, are actually a betrayal to one’s own nature. I have been following for years the original and, I would say, unostentatious road of Emil Krastev in literature, which took him to the success of his latest book "Seasons". What I intend to share about it (and about him as well) may be placed in the traditional rubric "The editor presents" as well as in one of its modifications - "A friend presents”. In both my capacities – a friend and an editor – I have direct observations on the endeavors of Emil to accomplish himself in literature only according to his own vision and regardless of how the critical opinions of others could judge him and where precisely they could put him among the fighters for literary fame. In this sense – first about the personality of the writer Emil Krastev, because it seems to be clear by now that style is the emanation of the moral creative personality. No matter how hard I try, I do not remember seeing Emil in the writer’s café of olden times, comfortably seated among his fellows, seeking in purportedly frolicsome conversations the thing that would impress a criticism lurking for tendencies. Instead I see him stopping for a short talk outside, hurrying to go his way. By some means he associated himself with a serious attitude toward problems of ecology, and his first texts combined fiction, documentaries, a scientific character. As if he was not at all interested in pure prose. But this was not in the least true. Emil Krastev was accomplishing himself as a writer, but in his own way, and “standing aside” was neither a facade, nor indecision. Essentially he has always known that true literary success comes when you reach your own idiosyncrasy. In the short introduction to “Circumrotation”, biblically named “Revelation” /I suppose in a self-ironic attempt/, Emil starts like this: “It’s a big thing being a writer!”, and shares that “a writer is born to write a masterpiece”, and that he himself won’t die until he has written it, but will postpone this moment, “so that the writer could live longer”, regardless of the fact that he will be tossing and turning in creative flames. If we turn the book to its back cover, we will see Emil, ironically winking, with a teenage cap provocatively turned with the visor backwards. Knowing him to a certain extent, and having sensed time and again the trepidation with which he has created his book, I am certain that he himself has foreboded his self-fulfillment. And now about the style. In the book he gave me, Emil wrote with overt excitement: “To Parush – the friend who was the first to say about a book of mine – it’s readable.” But this is not just a readability thing. The phrasing Emil Krastev uses to construct his text is clear and unambiguous, but this same text, as if following the stream of consciousness, suddenly swerves into another direction, sometimes returns into the thread of logic, but often does not. If we assess this from the prism of pseudo-postmodernity, which has recently defaced many writers, we could superficially conclude that we have a yet another meeting with a prose pretending for modernity. Yet this is not a modernity that is preferred, but a penetration into the mental processes that move a person and model his gestures and actions. I have the feeling that Emil Krastev captures the word, which consciousness creates, a little before it turns into cognizant speech, coming out of the mouth. This is the layer he presents to us, suggesting how delicately mental the human individual is and what unsuspected stimuli move him to one action or another. It is not at all by chance that the character of the book appears before us even prior to his birth, hearing and commenting on the world outside, preparing to enter it. Soon he finds himself into an office building the size of a city, the size of the world – absurd and infinite, because it is circumvolution, in which the way to each goal is a movement forward only at a first glance, actually it is an ironic return to commencement. The author has also composed his book like this, entitling its separate parts with the names of the seasons, ending with “and again winter-spring-summer…”. In this way he builds a metaphor of human existence, in which passions and ambitions look ridiculous. Finally, this is a multilayered prose as text and design, and it requires the alert attention of the reader.

Emil, I hope you still haven’t written your masterpiece.