Fiction shaped by memory, history and the fragile illusions of freedom.

My stories begin where private lives meet public history.

They return to Central Europe, to the echoes of the twentieth century, to Chernobyl, borders, political silence, national mourning, velvet revolutions, and the uneasy freedom that followed the collapse of old systems.

These are not stories about history as monument. They are stories about memory — about ordinary people who lived through extraordinary times, carrying the pressure of public events into their rooms, families, relationships and choices.

In my short stories and novellas, history is not a distant background. It enters through small gestures, silences, journeys, conversations, and the moments when a private life suddenly becomes part of something larger.

This is the literary side of Alex Buday: stories about transformation, illusion, loss, memory, and the private cost of public events.