I can’t post about Novi Pazar without quoting one of my favorite bits from Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow:This lymphatic monster had once blocked the distinguished pharynx of Lord Blatherard Osmo, who at the time occupied the Novi Pazar desk at the Foreign Office, an obscure penance for the previous century of British policy on the Eastern Question, for on this obscure sanjak had once hinged the entire fate of Europe: Nobody knows-where, it is-on-the-map,Who’d ever think-it, could start-such-a-flap? Each Montenegran, and Serbian too,Waitin’ for some-thing, right outa the blue—oh honeyPack up my Glad-stone, ‘n’ brush off my suit,And then light me up my bigfat, cigar—If ya want my address, it’sThat O-ri-ent Express,To the san-jak of No-vi Pa-zar!… It is taking up so much of his time he’s begun to neglect Novi Pazar, and F.O. Novi Pazar, anyhow, was still a croix mystique on the palm of Europe, and F.O. The Firm knew just the man… But Lord Blatherard Osmo was able at last to devote all of his time to Novi Pazar. Months passed, World War II started, years passed, nothing was heard from Novi Pazar.