Pietrek has a friend with a flat, but whenever they try that, there are always other people having sex in it. They try Agnieska's flat, but it is always full of her hysterical mother or alcoholic brother, or sometimes her beaten down, overworked, unrewarded father is there having a lukewarm bath.
If there's anything we have to protect, surely it's this." "I don't want others walking over something that's important to me," she says. Agnieska vetoes the park, not because she doesn't want to be surprised by a dogwalker, but because of that distinction between public space and private space, how sad it is to have to do something in public that belongs in private. Hlasko's work opens with a couple – Agnieska and Pietrek – wandering round Warsaw and trying to find somewhere to have sex. It's a very beautiful book, but the world is full of those.
I read The Eighth Day of the Week years later on very trenchant family recommendations, when I was a teenager, and I'm trying to figure out retrospectively why my dad and my uncles were all so keen on it.
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