Hello Gentle Reader
The Best Translated Book Award always releases perhaps
one of the most extensive longlists for a literary prize. The fiction longlist
alone contains twenty-five titles from twenty-five different writers, who have
been translated into English. It’s a plethora of different experiences, themes,
languages, voices and styles. The poetry longlist contains ten poetry
collections in the same fashion, of different writers from all over the world
and linguistic landscape, ranging in styles, themes and preoccupations.
The following Gentle Reader is the fiction longlist.
Following the longlist is a rundown of some of the titles and writers who have
been longlisted for the prize. The sheer volume of the list often makes it
difficult to properly ruminate on each writer singularly; so under time
restraints and circumstances, it is often more economical to selectively
discuss some of the titles listed, which are viewed as either interesting or
worth commentary, while others may simply be glanced over. Without further delay here is this year’s
fiction longlist:
Yoko Ogawa – Japan – “The Memory Police,”
Ma Jian – China (United Kingdom) – “China Dream,”
Olga Tokarczuk – Poland – “Drive Your Plow Over the Bones
of the Dead,”
Burhan Sönmez – Turkey – “Labyrinth,”
Hiromi Kawakami – Japan – “Parade,”
Christos Ikonomou – Greece – “Good Will Come From the
Sea,”
Vigdis Hjorth – Norway – “Will and Testament,”
Khaled Khalifa – Syria – “Death is Hard Work,”
Ariana Harwicz – Argentina – “Die, My Love,”
Marcus Malte – France – “The Boy,”
Daša Drndić – Croatia – “E.G.G,”
Jean-Baptiste Del Amo – France – “Animalia,”
Nona Fernández – Chile – “Space Invaders,”
Donatella Di Pietrantonio – Italy – “A Girl Returned,”
Sinan Antoon – Iraq – “The Book Collateral Damage,”
Yuko Tsushima – Japan – “Territory of Light,”
Juan Carlos Onetti – Uruguay – “A Dream Come True,”
Marie NDiaye – France – “The Cheffe: A Cook's Novel,”
Vasily Grossman – Russia – “Stalingrad,”
Igiaba Scego – Italy – “Beyond Babylon,”
Guillermo Saccomanno – Argentina – “77,”
Rita Indiana – Dominican Republic – “Tentacle,”
Virginie Despentes – France – “Vernon Subutex 1,”
Selva Almada – Argentina – “The Wind That Lays Waste,”
Linda Boström Knausgård – Sweden – “Welcome to
America,”
As in years past, the longlist contains writers from
across time periods—living and dead—as well as different status in their
foothold in the English language. There are those with numerous publications
and translations, and those who are just beginning to have their work
translated and published and gaining some recognition.
Japan has three writers named on its longlist, much
like last year when three Japanese writers found themselves on the longlist,
and two of them received places on the shortlist: Masatsugu Ono and Sayaka
Murata. The Japanese writers currently nominated on the longlist are:
(i)
Yoko Ogawa – “The Memory Police,”
(ii)
Hiromi Kawakami – “Parade,”
(iii)
Yuko Tsushima – “Territory of Light,”
Yoko Ogawa was recently shortlisted for the
International Booker Prize with her novel “The Memory Police.” Up until this
point, Ogawa has found moderate success in the English language, with a few of
her novels and one short story collection translated into English. What is
available provides an overarching overview of her work, varying from the
hallmark sentimentality characterized in the understated domestic novel “The
Housekeeper & the Professor,” to the dark and grotesque stories of
underlying violence in her novels “The Diving Pool,” and “Hotel Iris,” and
reaching its pinnacle in the short story collection: “Revenge.” Yet each
translation and subsequent marketing fixated on these superficial elements,
while ignoring the poetic psychological underlying components that have
garnered Ogawa a following in Japan, as well as France. “The Memory Police,”
unfortunately suffers the same missteps. The novel is being paraded and
characterized as a dystopian novel, and a cautionary tale of totalitarian
control, manifesting itself through the ability to manipulate and command the
populace of the unnamed isolated island to accept and forget the disappearing objects
vanishing from its shores; both mundane and more menacingly surreal. The novel
is more Kafkaesque then it is dystopian, with more acute themes contemplating
memory, through the scope of hiding, remembering, documenting and recording the
sudden loss of objects. “The Memory Police,” is not about the notion of
authoritarian politics, but the poetic beauty of paying respect, remembering,
and the fleetingness of memory.
Much like Yoko Ogawa, Hiromi Kawakami has found some
moderate success in the English language. Her off-beat fiction has endeared her
to her readers in Japan, and has found a somewhat cult following in the English
language. Her work is noted for employing simple language, and describing
routine daily activities, and social interactions to insinuate, the complicated
emotional ambiguities that exist between individuals. “Parade,” is by no means
any different; it traces the platonic and affectionate relationship between the
narrator and the teacher (sensei). What transpires is a novel of gentle
fairytale tropes, a peculiar blend of Japanese magical realism, and the sweet
yet striking sting of childhoods come and past. It’s a novel that explores the
quiet moments of life unperturbed by the grander demands of life; and in these
quiet moments the characters are encapsulated in the amber of lazy summer days,
stung to sleep by the sweet nostalgia of childhood, and days now past. Hiromi
Kawakami proves that literature is not just found in the grander themes of life
or contemplating human destiny, or existential crisis’s, or ones place in the
crystalline etchings of history; but rather a deeply human, understated and
overlooked elements of being. The quiet moments, past over as a mere footnote;
it is in these moments that Kawakami exploits to showcase literary pursuit is
not just the pursuit of the most scholarly, or recounting the most divine
testament; but also a celebration of the otherwise simple, mundane, and the
glorious magic that exists in that realm.
Of the three Japanese writers, Yuko Tsushima had the
longest career (she died in two-thousand and sixteen); and of the three, Tsushima
is the most acutely aware of providing a more concrete and direct commentary on
social, psychological, and political issues of the time. Her tone is realistic,
and unabashed. Where Yoko Ogawa will slip into the Kafkaesque to provide a
surreal reflection of the world; or Hiromi Kawakami employees folktale and
magical realism to extrapolate the bittersweet; Yuko Tsushima plainly recounts
the otherwise undiscussed with steel severity and iron conviction. Yuko
Tsushima’s work takes an interest in the marginalized populace of Japanese society,
and throughout her literary career she continually unearthed their stories and
crafted them into her own. The daughter of the late and tragic Twentieth
Century modern classic author, Osamu Dazi, Yuko Tsushima is credited for
following in her suicidal fathers’ literary legacy, specifically maintaining a
commitment to the ‘I-novel,’—a special Japanese literary form of
semi-autobiography and psychological realism. In “Territory of Light,” Yuko
Tsushima writes of abandonment, single motherhood, and the cruel aspects of the
feminine subject lost in society. The novel itself traces the relationship
between a single mother and her young daughter. The mother is bohemian and the
daughter of a celebrated but dead writer, but all the while ordinary herself.
She has left her husband, who is a man of few traits beyond habits and
addictions; but despite this she is constantly encouraged to reconcile, or
criticized refusing to do so. Society quickly abandons her—there is no alimony,
no joint custody laws, and the stigma of single motherhood is a vicious blight.
Then there is the opposition of self, the very real judgement and criticism
imposed on oneself. The novels true beauty, however, is found in the
descriptions, discussions, and depictions of the realistic quotidian life in
Tokyo, as an individual and as a single mother. Throughout her life and
literary career, Yuko Tsushima grew out of the shadow of her late and willfully
tragic fathers’ literary shadow, and in its placed fashioned a career all her
own, on which mixed personal and social commentary, where she became one of
Japans most conscious writers, engaged with larger concerns beyond the self.
Surveying the list of twenty-five writers longlisted,
one can’t help but notice Olga Tokarczuk. The recent Nobel Laureate in
Literature and Polish literary star, has had a modest output in English, but
gained recognition in two-thousand and nineteen when she won the International
Booker Prize for her monumental constellation novel “Flights,”—and a few months
later, she would receive the retroactive two-thousand and eighteen Nobel Prize
for Literature, cementing her success not only in the English language, but on
a global stage. Her longlisted novel “Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the
Dead,” is a blend of environmental commentary, murder mystery, and a heaping
spoonful of mysticism and astrological ruminations, along with contemplative
thoughts on William Wordsworth’s poetry. Despite this the novel would not be
described as one of the crowning achievements of Tokarczuk’s career. Its
literary and an enjoyable romp; but also lacking in the deeper content that was
continuously unearthed and discussed in “Flights.” It did not share the same
magical cast of characters of “Primeval and Other Times,” whose lives spun
through time, and the small miracles and strange wonders which continually
passed through the small village. “Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead,”
was nominated last year for the International Booker Prize as well.
The French language is also highly represented with four
writers on this year’s longlist.
(i)
Virginie Despentes “Vernon Subutex 1,”
(ii)
Marcus Malte “The Boy,”
(iii)
Marie NDiaye “The Cheffe: A Cook's Novel,”
(iv)
Jean-Baptiste Del Amo “Animalia,”
In two-thousand and eighteen, Virginie Despentes was
shortlisted for the International Booker Prize for her novel: “Vernon Subutex
1.” Last year Despentes was also on the Best Translated Book Award longlist
with her novel: “Pretty Things.” “Vernon Subutex 1,” is a transgressive
literary masterpiece. The novel is considered an eviscerating vitriolic comedic
ride, narrated by a post-punk eighties screwball, whose life has been
ultimately squandered, wasted, and left unfulfilled. Thriving off few
enjoyments, minor hedonism and a lot of couch surfing, while being fueled by cocaine
(most likely mixed with a lot of nostalgia); the narrative takes a detailed
account of the current political climate, complete with its contentious atmosphere;
its vibrating rage and anger; coupled with its eclectic cast of characters who
all embody the information age; the age of false media; and of course the
internet’s electronic junkies, the social medias narcissist’s, and everyone
in-between. It’s a novel that gathered interest due to its topical commentary with
its scathing and searing as its recounts the polarization of the world, and the
rise of anti-intellectualism, be it in France or the rest of the world. Virginie
Despentes is one of Frances most popular and read writers; much like Michel
Houellebecq, Despentes has made a literary career with her transgressive,
post-punk and socially critical novels. She continually questions the
boundaries of literary and moral decency, and fixates on the otherwise
subcultural elements, feminist critical theory, and a lot of graphic depictions
of the shadow aspects of life and culture. She is able to depict with vicious
vitriol and wit (and a heavy dose of post-punk sensibilities) the moral,
intellectual, and sociopolitical failings of the world.
Between Virginie Despentes and Marie NDiaye, is Marcus
Malte, who is relatively unknown. His novel “The Boy,” recounts the life of a
feral child who joins French society and falls prey to the torrid events of
first half of the Twentieth Century. The boy is but a naïve primal and bestial
being, who knows no human companion or interaction beyond his mother, who has
taught him the points of survival. He journey’s into the greater world to join
civilization; to learn to exist among other human beings; and what it is to be
a human being. Throughout his travels he encounters earthquakes and car
crashes; artists and monsters; and begins to understand that survival and
living are not synonymous concepts. The novel is peppered with a colourful cast
of characters: superstitious farmers; a caring circus performer; and an
influential elderly woman who teaches the wisdom of sensuous pleasures of life,
as well as the pursuits of life beyond making it till the next day. This feral
boy lost and adrift is the perfect embodiment of natural innocence and naivety,
and becomes the avatar in which Marcus Malte is able to expose society’s
beauties, absurdities, monstrosities, cruelties, and magical moments.
One of the wonderkids of contemporary French
literature, Marie NDiaye her work was discovered and published by Les Éditions de Minuit, while she was
still a high school student. From her initial publication onwards, Marie NDiaye
proved herself to being one of the most compelling literary forces and voices
in the French literature. Her work has routinely being translated and published
in English to the same critical acclaim. “The Cheffe: A Cook's Novel,” follows
the typical themes of Marie NDiaye’s usual novels. The novel traces the life of
a world renowned female chef, from the perspective of her former assistant and
unrequited admirer. The novel traces the chef’s life; her pursuit for love,
culinary delights, and career. Marie NDiaye once again uses the novel to
explore powerful and resilient woman characters.
In his novel “Animalia,” Jean-Baptiste Del Amo traces
the lives of a family of pig farmers from the late Nineteenth Century into the
late Twentieth Century. The novel traces the families complicated past, and the
continual inheritance of trauma manifesting itself in the forms of alcoholism,
incest, mental illness, financial ruin, abuse, and the torrent of barbarism
lying in their cradle of filth. The novel is circular, mimicking the lifecycle
of both beast and human, through the ages: industrialization, World Wars, and
other historic events. The novel is a bestial depiction of barbarism of the
family, through the ages; their emotional inadequacies; their own vicissitudes;
and their ever present failings as human beings. It’s a monstrous novel,
riddled with a bleak account of butchers cum family—whom from their first
germination into their legacy is infected with the dry rot of a past human
monstrosity that can only be suppressed on the most superficial level. It’s a
dark scatological novel, which enjoys its beastly narrative and recounting with
poetic flourish the horrors and monstrous legacy of the family.
South America, and Spanish language literature is
heavily mentioned on this year’s shortlist. Six writers from the southern
continent and romance language have been included on this short list:
(i)
Ariana Harwicz “Die, My Love,”
(ii)
Nona Fernández “Space Invaders,”
(iii)
Juan Carlos Onetti “A Dream Come True,”
(iv)
Guillermo Saccomanno “77,”
(v)
Rita Indiana “Tentacle,”
(vi)
Selva Almada “The Wind That Lays Waste,”
Of the longlisted writers, three authors hail from
Argentina, which has become one the most literary countries of the southern
continent producing remarkable young writers who have found their work translated
into other languages. These contemporary writers work in a completely different
direction than their predecessors of the Latin American Boom. Rather than
fixating on the solitarily homes, riddled with its exotic and magical realism
like narratives populated by Mario Vargas Llosa, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, or
Carlos Fuentes. Instead, their narratives take a global approach in experience
and narrative. Ariana Harwicz’s novel “Die, My Love,” takes place in the French
countryside, who battles her demons of alienation, loneliness, lack of
self-worth, and of course the concepts of wife and mother. “Die, My Love,” is
an intense and uncomfortable read, always bordering on the edge of insanity,
and a complete fall into the void. It was nominated for the International
Booker Prize in two-thousand and eighteen.
Unlike “Die, My Love,” “Space Invaders,” is more
fixated in the author’s homeland of Chile, tackling the personal and the
political. The novel is narrated through the chorus of a group of friends; who
during their childhood came of age during Pinochet’s military dictatorship in
Chile. The narrators remember a former classmate who all of a sudden turned up
in their class, and then suddenly disappeared, while her father disappeared. In
her absence she sent letters, until they stopped coming. Years later the
narrators are haunted by the memory of their erstwhile schoolmate. Through
remembering her, contemplating her, and dreaming of her they recount the times
of their childhood: their inability to gravitas of their lives, the external
political forces that control their lives, and their own ability to defend
themselves from it. In “Space Invaders,” Nona Fernández wrote a generational
narrative about those affected by the Pinochet’s government; who grew up its
brutality while being only superficially aware of it, while being unable to
comprehend its grasp. The novel is a potent reminder of childhoods deprived,
and recounting history regardless of the official records obsolete and
inadequate management practices, which only creates an era of oblivion.
Guillermo Saccomanno is not as well-known as other
Argentine writers: past giants: Jorge Luis Borges and Silvina Ocampo; or
contemporary stars: Hebe Uhart, Cesar Air, Ricardo Piglia, Samanta Schweblin. Guillermo
Saccomanno in comparison has not found his foothold in the English language.
His novel “77,” recounts the ‘Dirty War,’ orchestrated by Jorge Rafael Videla
who used the war and the military to suppress any questions, opposition,
ideals, or ideas that worked contrary to his dictatorships social, religious,
and political doctrine. The Dirty War saw thousands abducted (disappeared),
tortured, and of course killed. Guillermo Saccomanno structures the novel
through flashbacks, of the reminiscent memories of an eighty year old gay man
who lived and survived the Dirty War. The novel process that survival is often
an act carrying its own guilt and grief, where one witnesses the brutality and
yet remains silent. The novel though recounts the war, survival and silence, it
also recounts the attempt of personal reconciliation, the desire to come to
terms with the private in the historical and find peace.
“Tentacle,” is a post-apocalyptic voodoo dystopian
novel. The novel is riddled with gender bending concepts; queer politics and
theory; impending climate change conduced disaster; technological advancements;
voodoo rituals and rites; colonial history; poverty and sex; all wrapped up in
conversations on contemporary art. Rita Indiana is a controversial writer and
singer-songwriter in her native country of Dominican Republic, often referred
to as “La Monstra,” due to her explicit conversations regarding unconventional
notions in the Carribean, specifically gender fluidity and queer culture.
“Tentacle,” carries on this tradition, utilizing science fiction tropes to provide
a sociopolitical commentary on the state of the Caribbean—the division between wealth
and poverty; the uneven distribution of technology; and highly conservative
notions on social matters such as same sex relationships, gender fluidity, and
other matters under ‘queer identity.’ “Tentacle,” is a post-punk Caribbean
dystopian novel, fighting the good fight, while providing its own unique
commentary on the issues of today.
Uruguayan master Juan Carlos Onetti is longlisted for
his collected short stories: “A Dream Come True.” Where some of other writers
from the Southern Continent have trekked out their own path away from the influences
of the Latin American Boom, Juan Carlos Onetti was a participant and an
influence on it, though recognition beyond the continent evaded him. Now two
and a half decades after his death, Juan Carlos Onetti’s work is beginning to
take notice within the English language. His short stories are noted for their
subtlety, enigmatic, and elegant approach, sketching out the faintest
depictions and details within a few pages. The stories take place often in the
fictional town of Santa Maria, a backwater town riddled populated by Italian,
German and Swiss immigrants. Throughout the collection spanning five decades,
readers are given the enjoyable pleasure of witnessing; Juan Carlos Onetti’s
talents burgeon and grow. His work is noted for its skepticism, and is deprived
of the whimsy and fantasy perpetrated by later authors of the Latin American
Boom. Characters often teeter on the edge of madness, and have lukewarm
relations to the divine or philosophical treatises of the time. Instead the
characters are trapped in the encompassing rhymes of their lives. Reprieved is
recounted in the simple and small gestures of life, such as lighting a
cigarette; or drinking a cup of coffee. Beyond
his narratives, Juan Carlos Onetti was a linguistic stylist, which was
invigorating in its rattling use of adjectives, while effectively avoiding
awkward amateur pitfalls. Juan Carlos Onetti was a master of the quotidian and
the skeptical. “A Dream Come True,” is perhaps the overdue recognition awaiting
one of the greatest language writers of the Spanish Language of the Twentieth
Century.
Finally, Selva Almada’s novel “The Wind That Lays
Waste,” is a poetic account, of four people who come are forced by
circumstances to take shelter together. Their ideas, ideals, and belief could
not be any different—from a narcissistic evangelical minister who seeks to
spread his righteous message of God through the countryside of Argentina; his
daughter traveling with him, is restless and far more skeptical of having
unyielding and unquestioning faith in any matter; a young mechanics apprentice is
riddled with ideals and earnestness; and a mechanic who is riddled with apathy
and moral relativism based on previous embittering experiences. Over the course
of a day these characters come to terms with their beliefs as they are tested,
questioned, and defended. In the quarantined space of their shelter, tensions
inevitably run high. In her English language debut, Selva Almada writes a novel
cycling around the contrary beliefs; skepticism and a desire to believe or at
least belong to a larger idea. “The Wind That Lays Waste,” is a novel of contrary
perspectives; conflicting beliefs; and the bonds that bring individuals
together, and pulls them apart.
Christos Ikonomou takes the holiday idyll and pulls
back the cover to reveal the same concerns everyone suffers throughout the
world, regardless of their geographical location; the temperance of the
climate; or the culture they are beholden too. In his collection of short
stories “Good Will Come From the Sea,” Christos Ikonomou chronicles the
internal migrants of Greece into the rural countryside to escape penury of the
financial crisis, and instead are greeted with a rural community they have
sense of being above, while the rural community built on a rigid social order,
corruption and organized crime. What results is a darkly comedic collection of
stories form the Bard of Crisis (Christos Ikonomou) recounting a nation at war
within itself.
Since Karl Ove Knausgård began to publish “My
Struggle,” to critical acclaim, the autobiographical novel has come to have
been accepted by western readers as an acceptable literary form; one that can
be both literary and scandalous. Vigdis Hjorth’s novel “Will and Testament,”
was a best seller in its native Norway, and recounts the trial, tribulations,
and destructive cycle of one family, who in turn are prescribed abuse and
trauma, and later go on to administer it
to their own children. The power political of family is acutely measured and
recounted by Vigdis Hjorth in unsentimental and matter of fact prose. What
begins as a dispute over inheritance and real estate (the obvious contentious
topics amongst family) leads into a startling and destructive recount over ones
past, and the conflicting perspectives each individual views them. When it comes
to recount, record, and personal history versus another’s, no one is guaranteed
a winner—let alone any winner declared. What follows suit is by a repetitious
cycle of the bitter ugly internal strife each family is bound to have lurking
beneath its otherwise sense of normalcy, waiting to escape and invectively
disrupt the daily discourse. Over and over again, the cycle of administration,
prescription, endurance, and resentment is repeated, from one generation to
another. Linda Boström Knausgård (the former wife of Karl Ove Knausgård)
follows a similar path of Vigdis Hjorth, once again recounting trauma. “Welcome
to America,” recounts the family tragedy of a young girl who no longer chooses
to speak. Stuck between the superficial buoyant light of her mother, an
acclaimed actress who enjoys and lives for the limelight of the stage; and her
father a mentally ill and unstable man who tormented and tortured the family;
and whose death—though prayed for—ensures that the narrator (Ellen) questions
the power of language and speech. The novel is an interior driven recollection
and narrative of the strange, tortured, and complicated family. A brother who
has entombed himself in his room (literally); to the narrator who no longer
speaks; to the flitting mother who flutters forwards to the refuge and
spectacle of the stage. “Welcome to America,” is essentially the girl who meets
the void and in her silence stares into it, and what stares back but the
brutalized family who surrounds her; both victims and participants in the
continual barrage of horror in their lives.
The Middle East is always refracted through the lens
of complicated connotations. Khaled
Khalifa tackles the Syrian Civil War in “Death is Hard Work.” The novel traces
three people who traverse the bloodied, wounded, and scarred landscape of Syria
in civil war, whose only weapon to get them through the wasteland of peppered
by the soundtrack of screams, gunfire, and routine bombings. “Death is Hard
Work,” depicts three siblings who are forced to put their differences aside,
either by conscious or by their own sense of paternal endearment, to carry on a
quest to have their father buried at the family’s ancestral plot. This odyssey
of obligation sees them wade through the warzone of Syria; they are captured,
interrogated, released, recaptured, and imprisoned. “Death is Hard Work,” is a
unsentimental odyssey through the warzone, to lay one man to rest; where three
siblings must settle their own squabbles to begin what maybe the final journey
for them, as it is for their father. Similarly, Sinan Antoon recounts the Iraq
War in his lyrical novel: “The Book of Collateral Damage.” Rather than fixating
on the statistical evidence of the conflict; Sinan Antoon writes about the
consequences of the wars loss through lives, stories, books, buildings,
objects, manuscripts, antiques and so on. “The Book of Collateral Damage,” is a
catalogue of loss through the obliteration, destruction, and abandonment of the
objects during the Iraq War. It’s a beautiful and poetic premise, which only
adds to Sinan Antoon’s small, but impressive bibliography and cements his name
as one of the most important voices in contemporary Arabic literature.
Italian literature for the longest time was dominated
by male writers such as: Alberto Moravia,
Italo Calvino, and Antonio Tabucchi—great writers, Tabucchi in particular is
one of my favourites; but alas they were niche by the general reading public’s
standards. Then Elena Ferrante took the literary world by storm, and dominated
translated literature. Her novels of the lives of girls and women, and the
complications of being a woman throughout the ages and in different roles and forms,
such as: daughter, friend, wife, mother—captivated readers in the English
language. It will be hard to imagine any Italian language writer attempting to
crawl out from beneath her shadow. Donatella Di Pietrantonio and her novel: “A
Girl Returned,” will undoubtedly suffer comparison to Elena Ferrante. “A Girl
Returned,” follows a complicated relationship of a girl with her family. She
was relinquished as a newborn to an aunt who raised her until she was thirteen,
only to be returned to her biological mother. What follows is a complicated
relationship the girl has between the complicated maternal bonds she feels
towards the two women who have raised her during her life. The juxtaposition
from a life of privilege to one of impoverishment is defined quickly, and
creates a situation for resilience and self-determination. Still, “A Girl
Returned,” will suffer from the shadow of Elena Ferrante, and comparisons will obviously
be made. Igiaba Scego’s work will be able to avoid and navigate and retain a
safe distance from Ferrante’s shadow, and any comparison to the global
breakthrough writer. Where “A Girl Returned,” was a novel of set in the
claustrophobic spaces of the internal struggles of family relations, Igiaba
Scego’s novel takes a global approach, as her epic novel “Beyond Babylon,”
explores the unsettling and chaotic world of authoritarian politics through Argentina’s
dirty war; Somalia’s collapse into a brutal civil war; and the contemporary
re-emergence of right-wing politics, values, and ideals; and the corrosive and
traumatic impressions these events leave on the unexpected, who are mere
collateral damage. The novel traces these events through the lives of people:
two mothers, two half-sisters, and one who is connected to all of them; yet
absent all the same. The mothers escape the political crises of Argentina’s
Dirty War and Somalia’s collapse into Civil War—though not without the scars of
sacrifice. The daughters suffer their own in the realms of the personal; in the
landscape of violation; as the subjects of powerlessness. Igiaba Scego has
written a powerful novel of the historical and political, and interwoven into
the personal, creating a powerful testament of resilience, determination, and
the traumatic price of survival. “Beyond Babylon,” is not a topical novel,
rather it is a masterpiece of historical and personal consequence, intensely
brutal, and unapologetically upfront with the ruthless costs of war,
dictatorships; and the sacrificing penance required to survive them.
Before her untimely death in two-thousand and
eighteen, Daša Drndić has been one of Europe’s most intellectually potent and powerful
writers for well over four decades. Over her four decade literary career, Daša
Drndić produced eleven novels, noted for their literary postmodern and use of
intertextuality: characters, scenarios, situations, and settings often remerged
in her work, creating a complex literary and narrative tapestry, which recounted
the Twentieth Centuries history, with an acute eye of detail and research,
while also providing personal commentary on the events. “E.G.G,” her final
novel is by no means any different. The novel is narrated by a known literary
figure in her oeuvre: Andreas Ban—who was a character in one of her most
critically acclaimed novels: “Belladonna.” Andreas Ban is a retired psychologist
and former émigré to Canada, beyond that and being a narrator for the novel: “E.G.G,”
Andreas Ban is nothing but a literary persona and stand in for his literary
creator: Daša Drndić; and recounts the lives lost through the Twentieth Century,
from the wars into the following dictatorships and authoritarian states, which
followed. Andreas Ban recounts numerous deaths, suicides, mass murder, concentration
camps, and unfortunate events within the novel—as instructed by Daša Drndić. The author herself was always praised for her
finely tuned historical research. Drndić has always avoided the historical novel
though, her work does not necessarily provide testimony or depict the events in
a dry manner; instead it recounts the events through the objective perspective
of her narrators, who provide mere opinions on the events from a temporal
distance, and in doing so restores the humanity of the statistics; the
evidence; the records and recounts; by reciting the names of those lost, those
destroyed, those killed, and those now lost and forgotten. The novel also
digresses, through the interior monologue providing thoughts on politics,
literature, and people. “E.G.G,” is a tour de force, and a final send off by a writer
whose impending doom grew closer everyday during its composition.
It would be curious to now think of the “Chinse Dream,”
considering the controversy, outrage, and anger now being directed towards the
largest communist country in the world. Yet, in two-thousand and twelve, President
Xi Jinping crafted the creative slogan (after pilfering it from the usual
propagated slogan of the antiquated 1950’s United States of America) to refer
to the rejuvenation and restoration of a new China. Now eight years later it’s
hard to see what that might be. Ma Jian on the flipside takes the new slogan,
and in his literary fashion shapes it as a poignant criticism against the
authoritarian and autocratic rule of the Chinese Communist party and its oxidized
iron ideals. “China Dream,” by the exiled Chinese critic and author, satirically
and viciously depicts the slogan “Chinese Dream,” as a dystopian device. The novel
concerns a writer, and vice-chair of the municipal writer’s association, which
now takes the added responsibility of ensuring the Chinese Dream becomes a permanent
fixture in all citizens minds, by repeated propagation. Of course, the narrator
(Ma Daode) envisions a dream device implanted in every citizens mind would
ensure their dreams conformed to those of President Xi Jinping’s notion of the
Chinese Dream. However, no dream is without its nightmare; and Ma Daode recalls
and remember the atrocities of China’s contemporary past as it became the Communist
Red Giant of today. Sites for new development, hold mass graves of the previous
civil war; cemeteries are demolished as their unsightly or in the way of progressing
the Chinese Dream. Ma Jian writes of a China rushing towards their idealized
version of the future, while obliterating or ensuring their unsavory past
remain either obsolete; or at least oblivious to its citizens and if at all possible:
the wider world. Thankfully through the utilization of satire, Ma Jian is able
to pull his punches, while easing the tension for its readers. Yet, considering
the pandemic and the increased criticism being aimed east, one can only wonder
what will remain of the Chinese Dream.
The final writer of who I can give commentary on is
the Turkish writer, Burhan Sönmez, who is nominated with his novel: “Labyrinth.”
In the novel “Labyrinth,” Burhan Sönmez asks questions regarding memory as the cornerstone
of self. After a failed suicide attempt, and being discharged from the hospital,
the novels protagonist Boratin, finds himself at home, but in a disorderly
state. Boratin is unable to recall memories—that is if any were retained from
his previous suicide attempt. What remains is a man alienated from his personal
sense of being; a vague sense of time; an understanding of language; and a list
of names: film titles, singers names, band names, sports teams, and the other identifying
markers of the peripheral. What follows is a man attempting to recollect his
past life, and retain his sense of being. “Labyrinth,” is a novel concerned
with how the past and memories create one’s sense of being; one’s sense of
identity. Boratin’s dissociation is praised as being masterfully depicted by Burhan
Sönmez, as he attempts to reconnect with who he was, from the standpoint of who
he is now.
The writers on this years Best Translated Book Award, explore
a variety of different themes, concepts, and concerns with their novels. The
novels move from notions of memory as it is tied to existence and being, to the
questions of the survival in the face of political adversity. They trace dystopian
lands; and give commentary on the frivolous notions of contemporary society. The
circumstances and settings move from the quiet domestic concerns, to the globe
trotting efforts of others. As in years past the longlist is riddled with a
plethora of themes, characters, narratives, experiences and notions. It’s a massive
and monstrous list for the judges to wade through and eventually reduced to the
shortlist, it’ll be interesting to see what the shortlist looks like, as there
are some powerful narratives which certainly standout in the thicket of the
longlist.
The Poetry longlist in comparison to the fiction
longlist is much smaller. Rather then twenty-five works to read; the poetry
judges are given the task of reading ten collections of poetry to read and ruminate
on. Personally, Gentle Reader, I am not a fevered poetry reader. Poetry has
always been some cryptic correspondence, whose keys and codes eluded my
understanding and remained solipsistically intrapersonal, rather then communicative.
I won’t be able to give much detail or commentary on the writers longlisted, so
this section will inevitably short. In that regard the Poetry Longlist reads as
follows:
Kim Hyesoon – (South) Korea – “A Drink of Red Mirror,”
Gemma Gorga – Spain (Catalan Language) – “Book of Minutes,”
Reina María Rodrígue – Cuba – “The Winter Garden
Photograph,”
Stéphane Bouquet – France – “Next Loves,”
Shimon Adaf – Israel – “Aviva-No,”
Amanda Berenguer – Uruguay – “Materia Prima,”
Kulleh Grasi – Malaysia – “Tell Me, Kenyalang,”
Pere Gimferrer – Spain (Catalan Language) – “The
Catalan Poems,”
Etel Adnan – Lebanon (French language) – “Time,”
Lupe Gómez – Spain (Galician Language) – “Camouflage,”
The (South) Korean poet Kim Hyesoon, is once again
nominated for the Best Translated Book Awards Poetry section. Last year Kim
Hyesoon was shortlisted with her poetry collection: “Autobiography of Death.” Prior
to being longlisted or shortlisted for the Best Translated Book Award, Kim
Hyesoon has had a continual output of her poetry collections translated into English,
providing a fresh visceral and feminine perspective to Korean poetry in
translation; and in complete contrast to the poetry of Ko Un. “A Drin of Red
Mirror,” is no different; this collection of poetry once again shows the poets
interest in paradoxical intimacies, contrasting preconceived notions and
conventional understandings against an electric new perspective, that is both
surreal and invigoratingly new.
Reina María Rodrígue writes about the power and the limitations
of images and photography in her poetry collection: “The Winter Garden
Photograph.” The poetry collection traces the magazine images and photographs
displayed in publications, which Reina María Rodrígue admired and begun to
imagine in relation to her city of Havana. What follows is a treatise on images,
photography and their limitations, quietly observed in her refined lyricism.
Love poems bring to mind the poems many teenagers
wrote, chronicling their condensed lustful expectations they held towards their
unarticulated teenage crush. Those embarrassing confessions uttering devotion
and affection in whisper tones. Stéphane Bouquet’s poems in “Next Loves,” Bouquet
writes about homosexuality, love, desire, loneliness and alienation through the
lens of global inequality, and the rise of social precarity.
The final two poets I’d like to provide a short comment
on are: Pere Gimferrer and Gemma Gorga. Pere Gimferrer is one of Spain’s greatest
living poets, whose work has spanned multiple genres (poetry, essay, novels) as
well as languages, interchanging between Spanish and Catalan, and modest forays
into French and Italian. His longlisted collection of poems: “The Catalan
Poems,” is a career spanning collection of his poetry written in the Catalan
language. Throughout “The Catalan Poems,” Pere Gimferrer’s career as a poet is
showcased through the capsulation and development of his work, showcasing his
early relationship with modernism, into his mature meditations and influences. The
Catalan poet Gemma Gorga’s monumental poetry collection: “Book of Minuets,” has
finally been translated and published in English. “Book of Minuets,” is a
collection of prose poems, which grapple with the natural world, as well as the
complicated relationship between the personal and the divine. “Book of Minuets,”
is a remarkable collection of poems by one of the greatest Catalan language poets
currently at work. The entire collection shimmers with radiance and contemplation,
as it discusses a variety of subjects including reanimations on past poets;
metaphysical treatises; philosophical conundrums; and commentary on the quotidian
life.
There you have it, Gentle Reader, the Longlist for
this years Best Translated Book Award. It’ll be interesting to see who will
make it on to the shortlist. I have my suspcisions of some of the writers who
will certainly be shortlisted; such as Yoko Ogawa, Igiaba Scego, Daša Drndić,
and Sinan Antoon—but at this point all chances are equal.
Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
M. Mary
