By Jenny Gitlitz
Paul Olchvary grew up in Buffalo, the son of gentile Hungarian emigrés. Enchanted by both the language and the culture, Paul lived in Hungary for ten years – spanning his late 20s and early 30s – after getting a writing degree from Indiana University. When I met Paul in 2010, he had just left a comfortable full-time editing job at a publishing house in Connecticut and had moved to the Berkshires to pursue his dream of founding his own publishing company.
Living and working on a shoestring budget in North Adams and later Williamstown, Paul gave birth to New Europe Books, an imprint specializing in works by Eastern European authors or in subject matter about those countries. In the 14 years he ran the company, he published about two dozen books on subjects ranging from Hungarian cultural identity to middle east war reporting, from the emergence of Transylvanian vampire legends to the invention of the ballpoint pen. My favorite was Voyage to Kazohinia, a satirical, dystopian Hungarian cult classic that has been called Brave New World meets Gulliver's Travels. I loved going with Paul to sparsely-attended readings by his authors at Water Street Books in Williamstown – usually they crashed at his apartment afterwards and stayed up late into the night drinking plum brandy.
Because this venture was more a labor of love than a reliable income generator, Paul translated on the side for other publishing houses. Over the years, he developed a well-deserved international reputation for his translations, which were artful as well as literal. It was this reputation that led Alex Bruner -- Joszef Debreczeni’s nephew – to find Paul, and – after interviewing three other candidates – to commission Paul with translating Cold Crematorium into English for the first time. Paul talked to me often during the year he was translating the book, captivated by the elegant, deeply human writing on the horrific subject matter. Sometimes he'd ask me about the nuances of Hebrew or Yiddish words in the text. I was so excited that he was translating a Holocaust book – an intersection of our worlds that didn't come often. I told him he had to get on the Jewish Federation touring circuit, and come speak at my synagogue. Little did I know, Alex Bruner was already on the case!
Right after the book came out, Paul's first reading was scheduled for February 21 at the Williams Bookstore on Spring Street. He'd called me and emailed me with all of the glowing critical reviews for months – so of course I planned to be there with bells on. I never imagined I would be giving the reading in his stead, because he died suddenly on February 14 – Valentine's Day – when his heart gave out. My own is still broken, as are the hearts of his family, his girlfriend Gloria, and his many close friends in the Berkshires, in Buffalo, and all over the world.
Paul was a devoted son, brother, father, and friend. He had a gentle manner, a quick wit, and a knack for making friends wherever he went. He loved swimming, canoeing and hiking; he loved smoking his pipe and tossing back some schnapps; and he loved meeting friends at the Tunnel City café or inviting them over for a campfire in his backyard. He made a mean potato-leek soup using wild ramps (he was an expert forager), and his chicken paprikash was a delicious homage to his ancestral home. Paul lived his too-short life with gusto, and those of us who knew him are blessed. It is a tragedy that he didn't live to fully enjoy the success of Cold Crematorium - selected by the New York Times as one of the 10 Best Books of 2024. When I read its pages, I imagine him lingering carefully over every word, and I feel closer to him.