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CLINTON MACH ANN A Report from the English Department at Charles University, Prague, Czechoslovakia In the spring of 1989, I delivered a series of lectures on American literature at Charles University in Prague, Czechoslovakia. After one of the lectures, a student asked me what Americans thought about the Czech dissident playwright Vaclav Havel, who at that time was under arrest and facing the possibility of a long prison sentence. My honest answer was that aside from a few intellectuals and experts on Central Europe, Americans did not know of Havel's existence. When I returned to lecture at Charles in the spring of 1990, no one bothered to ask the question. The gala Washington reception given the new Czechoslovak president had been seen on television by nearly everyone. The typically calm demeanour of the crowds in Prague streets and in the city metro belies the frenzied pace of change in government and society there. As I write, the Czech and Slovak Federative Republic (even the name of the country is new, chosen after several weeks of heated debate in the Federal Assembly) has just conducted its first free elections in over forty years, elections which gave the Czech Civic Forum movement, along with its Slovak counterpart Public against Violence, over half the votes, and which will probably result in the continuation of Havel's preSidency. Twenty-two political parties and movements - including the Party of the Friends of Beer - had received equal time for television promotion, and in this amazing spectacle, a discredited Communist Party, under a bombardment of scatological humour and other abuse from the other parties, had attempted to revive its image by - among other things - adopting a sprig of cherries as its new symbol. The Communists did succeed in capturing over 10 per cent of the vote. The political show, however, is only one visible manifestation of deep ideological and cultural shifts in this country. As it happened, my visiting lectureship in the Department of English at Charles placed me at an excellent vantage point for observing these changes, because the study of English is at their centre. As I entered the building of the Philosophical Faculty (roughly corresponding to a college of liberal arts) for the first time last year, in early February, I noticed at once a very significant change. The traditional bust of Lenin, which had formerly stood conspicuously at the UNIVERSn"Y OF TORONTO QUARTERLY, VOLUME 60, NUMBER ), SPRING 1991 324 CLINTON MACHANN first landing of the central staircase, had been removed. A few days later, it was replaced by a statue of Tomas G. Masaryk, first president of the Czechoslovak Republic, just as statues of Masaryk have been replacing those of Lenin and Klement Gottwald (the first Communist president) all over the country. Then, as I approached the door to the main departmental office, a new nameplate caught my eye: the Department of English and American Studies. The old name had been the Department of English, German, and Scandinavian Studies. I was eager to talk with Martin Hilsky, department head, about all the changes since the November Revolution. Hilsky is a tall, angular man with thinning brown hair. By his own admission not an administrator at heart, he is an emotional, expressive man who tends to wave his arms when he makes an important point in a discussion. He is a lover of literature and an eminent translator whose English-to-Czech translations range from Shakespeare to D.H. Lawrence. Soon I visited him at the house where he lives with his wife, Kata, who is establishing her own reputation as a translator; his three children; and his father, a retired Prague architect. Over dinner and drinks Hilsky told me his own version of the recent changes. Other information I later gathered from acquaintances both in and outside the department. Hilsky had never been a member of the Communist Party, and his position as department head had been somewhat precarious for several years prior to the Revolution, but, as one of his colleagues told me, an apolitical stance and likeable nature had kept him out of serious trouble. The old department structure had been an administrative nightmare, incorporating scholars and teachers with...

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