The current Polityka carries a review of “Bored in Brno,” a film directed by Vladim�r Mor�vek, which “sends up the myth of Czech sexual potency.” I’ve been to Czecho (yes, yes, I have it on good authority that the name of the country is now “Czecho”) a few times but had never come across this myth. Sex is a noticeable feature in Czech books though. Or look at Petr Zelenka: people having it off all the time, or at least trying to. Another thing that happens in Czech books is that people drink beer (Hrabal, Hasek). People also go out and sometimes listen to music, including jazz (�kvoreck�). In sum, there’s plenty of socialising, drinking and screwing in the Czech world. What’s the outlook in Polish literature, then? Pretty grim, I’m afraid. People do sometimes have sex and they do sometimes drink but not often and certainly not for pleasure. (See Andrzej Stasiuk’s Mury Hebronu (The Walls of Hebron) or Marek Nowakowski’s “Wigilia” for the only correct treatment of sex in Polish literature.)

No, “ribald” is not the word that comes to mind in modern Polish literature, though Głowacki occasionally sales dangerously close to the winds of joie de’ vivre. Poland has been called the happiest barrack in the socialist camp but you’d never know from reading their novels. While Josef Skvorecky was chasing girls (see his short stories), Libera’s insufferable narrator in Madame was pining after an older woman, whom he never laid, of course: something to do with the communists. I haven’t read every Polish book there is so if you know of any exceptions to the gloom, shame and misery attached to simple, earthly pleasures in Polish books, let me know. Also, if you can remember how Madame ends, feel free to correct me. And lastly, any Freudians who would care to explain why a film that satirises Czech sexual potency should be re-titled for Polish audiences “Sex in Brno” are also invited to comment.