‘Absorbing … Blending reportage with literary technique, The Devil is a Black Dog aims to get at the truth of war and its atrocities through fiction. This captivating debut achieves its aim as it bears witness to the machine of war, dehumanising civilisations across continents.’
Sarah Gilmartin, The Irish Times
‘At what point should a journalist transmute first-hand experience into fiction? Where does one draw the line between what can be reported as fact and what should probably be reported some other way, even if one has seen it with one’s own eyes, heard it with one’s own ears? Sandor Jaszberenyi’s The Devil is a Black Dog brings these questions to the fore without ever stating them explicitly … While [his] work to some extent recalls that of Ryszard Kapuscinski (though he has obviously learned the lessons of Kapuscinski’s partly tarnished reputation, using the word fiction when it should be used), it has more in common formally with the interstitial vignettes of Ernest Hemingway’s In Our Time.’
The Australian
‘Unforgettable … an indispensable volume that helps us to remember and regard some of the greatest ruptures of our time.’
Kevin Rabalais, Sydney Morning Herald
The Devil is a Black Dog is an extraordinary book [which] blends and slides between genres: reportage, memoir and semi-autobiographical fiction … Jászberényi’s proze is visceral, his writing a testament to mankind’s endless capacity for killing and destruction. But he is a skilled enough reporter not to overload the reader … Among the blood and tear gas, there is always hope.’
Adam Lebor, TLS
‘Sándor Jászberényi writes world-weary prose that drinks heavily, dangles a cigarette from its lips and has a $5-a-day whore on its arm. It likes short sentences and doesn't worry too much about literary niceties … It fancies itself a little bit Hemingway, and likes an old-fashioned twist.’
The Saturday Paper
‘A Hungarian war correspondent pays tribute to Hemingway with tales of bare-knuckle brutality … The stereotypical war correspondent is a troubled macho figure struggling with inner demons, who has frequent recourse to booze, prostitutes or drugs, and who can only function under fire. Jászberényi pushes this formula to new extremes … [He] captures the darkness perfectly.’
Tibor Fischer, The Guardian
‘A rare specimen of acutely perceptive and enjoyably evocative contemporary writing about Africa and the Middle East … Jászberenyi joins the cadre of writers … who have come back from hardship postings offering not just trophy war stories but genuine insights into challengingly unfamiliar lands and cultures. Such writers remind us of the true role of a foreign correspondent (a role many of them, Jászberenyi included, play as their day job).’
The Quarterly Conversation
‘Extraordinary … Searingly truthful.’
The Independent
‘Through his alter ego, Daniel Marosh, [Jászberényi] examines the effect war has on those caught up in it … Humankind at its worst is on display in these magnetically compelling stories, but so is the struggle to remain human in the face of it all.’
Alastair Mabbott, The Herald
‘Impressive … standout tales … demonstrate the range of Jászberényi’s storytelling talents.’
Publisher’s Weekly
‘These stories sound more like Philip Caputo or Tim O’Brien than a postmodern accounting of current events … This is heady, dizzying writing … A master class in how to tell a war story.’ STARRED REVIEW
Kirkus Reviews
‘Each tale is a rich, poetic slice of life from places you might never go — such as Egypt and Chad … The stories all describe experiences alien to Westerners and skilfully explore material about which readers are curious: two guys bullshitting at their jobs, which happen to be verifying the numbers of massacred civilians; a dude living with townspeople who fear a wild dog that has enjoyed human blood … Mr J[ászberényi] is a gifted writer, this book is to be savored and relished.’
Library Journal
‘Until I read The Devil Is a Black Dog… it had never occurred to me just how distressing and traumatic it must be to live the life of a foreign correspondent … The world of the reporter in war-ravaged countries is one of brutish trauma and nihilism. Even amid the ceasefire or in the quiet, solitary moments, the darkness reaches out a chilly hand to remind each individual that savagery and barbarity are never far away.’
Salty Popcorn
‘Stunning … Jászberényi doesn’t glorify war and violence by any means. He is able to express their horrors in ways that, depending on the story, provokes outrage, heartbreak, cynicism and fear, all the while showing that there is a price to pay for … freedom … No one gets off scot-free in this book.’
B O D Y
‘With this book Sándor Jászberényi joins the top ranks of short story writers today.’
Élet es Irodalom
‘Jászberényi not just writes, but tells. Let me be a bit pathetic instead of him: he shows his heart. He would never call that particular organ a heart, that would be way too sentimental for him; instead he says: look at this fistful of bloody meat — that's me.’
Népszabadság
‘As a writer and photojournalist, Jászberenyi has figured out the fine art of storytelling, something he probably worked on during his years of covering wars, revolutions and conflicts as a foreign correspondent in the Middle East and parts of Africa.’
Deccan Herald
‘Reading Jaszberenyi is profoundly moving and unsettling—in his bewildering range of settings, ranging from forgotten villages in trackless, sandy wastes of Darfur, the highlands of Yemen, windswept towns in Gaza Strip where death is never far away, soulless cities in Europe, and more … These stories … show our imperfect and unjust world in ways you would never have thought possible.’
Business Standard
‘A must read – not just for aficionados of war fiction or readers interested in the Middle East, but for anyone interested in understanding the borders and boundaries of sanity in the face of extreme violence. A note of caution though: these stories have a way of sticking in the mind.’
Earthen Lamp Journal
‘[Jasberenyi shares with Hemingway] a certain tendency towards rhythmic repetition and variations on a theme or image within a paragraph or sentence. Though the stories here are not as short as Hemingway’s vignettes, that’s really what many of them are: nuggets of observation, distilled like the whiskey their narrators imbibe so profusely, into note-perfect ruminations — or at least vague suggestions of ruminations — on God, belief, death and, as the title of the collection suggests, the devil.’
Matthew Clayfield, Weekend Australian
