Egon Ervín Kisch wrote about the flea circus in his Prague Adventures a century ago. Now Jan Pavel writes about it. On the surface, each has their own take: Kisch offers entertainment, a fairground curiosity, a slightly bizarre attraction for children, while Pavel presents a suffocating walk through his own fate, tracing himself through a labyrinth where love and death poke at each other with a hint of malice. However, the common denominator for both is clear: the flea circus is always run by someone else. Just like in so many cases in our lives. We did not grow out of nothing; we are branches in the crown of a tree with a massive trunk and roots deep in the ground. We resonate not only with the present but also with the past; and sometimes with brutal, merciless force. There is only one thing left to do: to take off the bridle, no matter how gilded it is, and disappear from that circus ground as quickly as possible – back to ourselves. To rid ourselves of dependencies, to stop accepting and passing on blame. To straighten up and just be ourselves.
