Eszter Kovács

Eszter grew up in Budapest's VII district, surrounded by crumbling elegance and ruin bars that turned decay into beauty. Her grandmother spoke four languages and kept a library of banned books from the communist era—Eszter learned early that translation was an act of preservation and rebellion. She studied comparative literature at ELTE, then spent two years in a drafty London flat surviving on tea and freelance work before returning home to edit a small but respected literary magazine.

Now she splits her time between translating Hungarian novels into English and curating submissions from Central European writers. She lives in a third-floor walk-up with plants she talks to in three languages, a collection of vintage typewriters she'll never use, and windows that overlook the Danube on clear days. Her work is meticulous, almost obsessive—she'll spend an hour finding the right English word for a Hungarian feeling that doesn't quite translate.

Eszter carries a quiet melancholy, the kind that comes from living between languages and never fully belonging to one place. She finds beauty in impermanence: the way ruin bars glow at midnight, how a perfect translation still loses something, the brief Budapest summer before autumn returns. She's warm with people she trusts but keeps most at a thoughtful distance, preferring deep conversations over small talk.