The Balloonist's Correspondence

Hello Gentle Reader,

The province of Saskatchewan has styled itself The Land of Living Skies, the statement often featured on the provinces trademark green lettered license plates. Many Canadians often giggle to themselves when they see and hear this statement coming from Saskatchewan. For those unaware of Saskatchewan, it is one of the two only landlocked provinces of the country; rich in agriculture and natural resources (potash and uranium); and unapologetically rural. In its staunched identity for being rural, conservative, and valuing good ol' family values and traditions, one would most likely find inspiration and real-life basis of the mutant families of "The Hills Have Eyes," or the Sawyer/Hewitt family of the Texas Chainsaw Massacre film franchise. Looking past the provinces desolate rural landscape of an all-consuming nothingness, desolate villages and hamlets teetering on oblivion with a population of quite literally 40 people or less, one will find a province whose devotion to a football team (the famous Saskatchewan Rough Riders) is contagiously evangelical in scope, to the point where fans adorn themselves with mantels and headpieces crafted out of watermelon. Having traveled through Saskatchewan on numerous different occasions, and having visited and stayed with family in the province—both its edge of the world southern portion, with its expansive endless prairies, punctuated with a reprieve of rolling hills and coulees, before returning to all consuming nothingness of space and sky (there's something to be said: the abyss is not an eternal blackness of emptiness, but rather the endless nothingness and sameness of the great North American prairies droning onto the horizon); as well as the provinces northern solitary dark boreal forest and hidden lakes, like jewels and oasis within the evergreen shadows—I would still summarize all journeys through Saskatchewan as poetically desolate and uneventfully boring, to the point one could use a road trip through the province as a form of enhance interrogation technique. There are only so many abandoned barns, salt and peppered ghost towns, zombie houses, and freewheeling tumble weed a traveler can tolerate as the only highlights of the infamously bland landscape. It is also for these reasons, Canadians snicker when the uninitiated inquire about the 'exotic,' components of Saskatchewan, as its name would suggest. When researching (and hoping to see further translations) the Icelandic writer, Gyrðir Elíasson, and his work, I found myself smiling when reading about the premise of one of his untranslated short stories, Breffritarinn (roughly translated as: "The Correspondent,") where the main character spends the entire story receiving and responding to correspondence from around the world, which includes Saskatchewan. Perhaps it’s the parochial nature of Saskatchewan that makes the province in its own way fascinating. Both its unchanging scarcity and its intimate village like urban centers, summarizing its all-consuming nothingness and its smallness. There is something, however, to say about the skies that hang over the prairies.

The topography may embrace its otherwise conservative and stoic ideals of being unchanging, consistent, and lifeless; but the skies, the skies are mercurial in form, light and temperament. Dawns blossom to life in the streaming water colours of pink, lilac, orange blossom; while sunsets burn with molten intensity, clouds of blood clotted red, blazing yellows, fiery oranges; while evanescent dusks of russets and jaundice yellow fading into rich blues. Clear blue sky's stretching across the land in singular perfection, within the hour, however, a flock of clouds graze overhead. By tomorrow the conditions will have changed, and the tyrannical heat baking and scorching the earth will find reprieve when a storm system whips through, with the amnesty of rain, but at the cost of a thunderous tantrum and forked lighting striking out. When it comes to the prairies, the weather station is a frequent source of both information and conversation. The cover art of Ted Kooser's poetry collection: "Weather Central," immediately comes to mind. Those ancient televisions framed in their carved wood, receiving the broadcasted weather report in static and muted (if any) colour at all, glowing within those wood paneled cavernous rooms, of cigarette yellowed carpets and November autumnal brown upholstered furniture. The ability of the skies to change its scenography, through the spectacle of the weather, chameleonic and chimeric clouds, a palette of colours escaping definition and imitation, and shifting moods, there is reason enough Saskatchewan has styled itself The Land of Living Skies. This is perhaps why I often attribute and imagine hot air balloons existing, as if naturally, on the prairies.   

Hot air balloons have haunted my imagination and memory on and off over the years. Growing up on the periphery, that is: a small village close enough to the big city that its light pollution and proximity are tantalizing to tease, while being far enough (and I quote my parents in this decision) to ensure that its morally corruptible influence was out of reach, always meant that a journey, visit, or drive into the city was an anticipated affair. Lately, I've been reminded of an advertising hot air balloon that existed on the very edge of the city, its simple primary colours available to be seen, with the corporation's name written across it. Yet that balloon became a defining feature of the landscape of my childhood. Just like the city's skyline with its office tours reaching for the clouds and the sky, the balloon became a hallmark of the city, a disembodied autonomous limb floating over the outskirts like a sentry. In weary and sleep filled eyes, I would spot it lighting up in the early morning sun, while the western sky behind it, remained night bound. It could clearly be seen in the bright fullness of the day, hopeful and welcoming, a buoyant still figure. In the golden hour of the day, as the sun began to set the balloon became a black silhouette, occupying a state that was both romantic and dreamy. At sunset, a glow and aflame against the molten coloured clouds of the evening. During dusk it vaguely existed, but the traces of its figure still whimsically spotted in the last embers of the day, a mere flicker of an internal flaming glowing in its entrails. While on bright moonlight nights and even during the wintery light pollution, it cast a haunting figure. Its ubiquitous presence was taken for granted however. One day the balloon was gone. Its departure didn't even register in my young mind, as the trips to the big city were so infrequent, and so eventful unto themselves that the balloons absence went without mourning. Now only later, however, do I remember the balloon, thanks in part to Mavis Gallant's short story collection: "Overhead in a Balloon: Stories of Paris," – whose cover art endearingly depicts two individuals walking on the embarkment of the Seine, a bridge, and in the distance the titular balloon. This came about during an interesting conversation with an old friend, who couldn't remember the name of that Canadian writer: "the one everyone forgets. She lived in Paris, wrote about a balloon maybe?" he said, which was enough information to invoke and remember Mavis Gallant.  

Having never read Gallant's collection: "Overhead in a Balloon: Stories of Paris," I cannot provide any comment on whether or not a balloon made any appearance within the stories housed within the collection, but I can comment with certainty, that it will contain all the acute observations, crystalline prose, and the expatriate perspective of that otherwise cosmopolitan flare of a bygone era, which became defining features of Mavis Gallant's work. Despite this, the hot air balloon portion of the title resurfaced frequently in the subsequent days. First taking shape of the balloon from my memory, that amputated bauble drifting in the city limits, companion to the city's skyline. This memory and image mutated over the course of a few more days, becoming a curious image and thought. Upon further reflection that advertising balloon stands out in its singularity for being the only hot air balloon I had witnessed in my mortal life. This confirms that my life has remained in the periphery. Always at the margins. In the wings. Just on the outskirts. As someone once put it: a life left stranded not only in the shadows, but in the shallow end of the pool. Despite this realization, the hot air balloon has found itself exiled into the past. The balloon remains a bygone symbol that whimsical dream like invention introduced into reality. Not tragic like the dirigible. The balloon was man's answer to the sky. A trojan cloud, providing us the mode and means to propel to the heavens with such a casual and graceful pace, and look down upon the earthly realm with a bird's eye view. Since these initial flights, air travel and even space travel have become more sophisticated and utilitarian in scope and deployment. All the while, the balloon remains, existing as both daydream and leisure. It drifts and floats rather then flies. Rather then being a mode of transportation, it becomes the space where people can be amongst the living skies, correspond with the clouds, and enter into the illusion of exile that freewheeling state disembodied from the tethers of gravity. When I ponder the title of Mavis Gallant's short story collection, the balloon harkens back to an otherwise bygone age, one which required the balloons sense of whimsy, playfulness and character to rise above the ashes and wartime scars left behind by fascism. A distraction of existential uncertainty. The balloon to me, has begun to fill my mind with further ponderings and reflections. Some lives, have what can only be summarized as, little dignities. The thirst for life arrives when the body is old and running on tired blood. The hot air balloon cannot do much. The chance for exile and emancipation from one's own existence on the periphery may have long since parted; but the balloon can—for at least the moment—rise above the shallow end of the pool, and in such a small instance of only mere moments, one breathes new air at new heights.

Thank you for Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read

M. Mary

– XVI –

The obsession with authenticity is unimaginative. No one cares what you know, as few people know enough to write something of interest. Write to intrigue. Write to engage. Write out of curiosity.

Haruki Murakami wins the Princess of Asturias Award for Literature

Hello Gentle Reader,

Putting aside ones own personal thoughts and opinions, there can be no denying that Haruki Murakami has a talent for winning and receiving international literary awards. The latest accolade bestowed upon Japan's most well-known literary export, is Spain's Princess of Asturias Award for Literature (formerly Prince of Asturias). This award has been bestowed to many great writers through the years which includes both giants of international literature, and giants of the Spanish language still awaiting discovery in the English language. Previous recipients include:  

            Mario Vargas Llosa (1986)
            José Ángel Valente (1988)
            Francisco Umbral (1996)
            Gunter Grass (1999)
            Doris Lessing (2001)
            Claudio Magris (2004)
            Amos Oz (2007)
            Margaret Atwood (2008)
            Adam Zagajewski (2017)
            Anne Carson (2020)
            Emmanuel Carrère (2021)

Now the casual surrealist and spaghetti fetishist, Haruki Murakami, joins their ranks. It is interesting to read the judging panels rationale, praise, and decision regarding the chosen winner. In the case of Haruki Murakami, the panel praised Murakami's sense of approachability and bridging between cultures of Japan and the Western hemisphere, all the while tackling themes of urban alienation, youth driven existential uncertainty, and the rampant rise of loneliness in a postmodern and hyper-consumerist capitalist society.

The Princess of Asturias Award for Literature certainly pairs well with a many of the other international accolades bestowed upon Haruki Murakami, including the Jerusalem Prize in 2009 and the Hans Christian Andersen Award in 2016 and the America Award in Literature in 2018.

Congratulations to Haruki Murakami.

Thank you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read

M. Mary

Georgi Gospodinov Wins International Booker Prize, 2023

Hello Gentle Reader, 

Georgi Gospodinov has won this years International Booker Prize for his novel "Time Shelter," a time traveling parable full of irony and melancholy. Georgi Gospodinov is first Bulgarian writer to win the International Booker Prize, and "Time Shelter," (obliviously) is the first novel written in Bulgarian to receive the prize. 

The current Russo-Ukraine War has been fueled by an intense diet of propaganda. Vladmir Putin is known to have capitalized, rewritten, and glorified the former Soviet Union, acknowledging on a high level the former authoritarian regimes failures and imperfections, but hammers and pushes forward crucial realities about how the state was perceived by the world: they were respected, and if they were not respected, they were feared. To quote Svetlana Alexievich from her Nobel Lecture "On the Battle Lost,": "Russia chose to be strong over worthy." The continued force feeding of prior glory, previous greatness, the good ol' days, has created a society disinterested in creating a better future, but instead lost within the lapping comforts of the past on nostalgia's river bank. The current conflict has pitted two forces against each other, one refusing to go back to the mill to be grounded into submission again; while the other aggressive in scope and perspective, attempting to regain, relive, and reobtain that sense of glory of its past. A glory built on abject suffering and domination of any opposition. 

"Time Shelter," is a novel that discusses these critical contemporary issues of the need for memory, both to shape and steer the direction of a social future; their comfort in which to retreat into; but also, the entrapment they pose in turn, suffocating those too far and lost within. Georgi Gospodinov has written a marvelous novel about memory, but also provided a necessary tonic to the current and renewed ideological divisions continue to split nations apart. Bulgaria as a former Soviet Satellite state, is all to aware of the difficulty it is to march towards the future, or stay miserable in a broken system. This continued polarization and confrontation between democratic steps and the former communists anchor around the neck, have often stalled the nation. "Time Shelter," is a welcomed winner of the International Booker Prize, and is more then an intriguing read. 

Congratulations to both Georgi Gospodinov and his translator Angela Rodel. 

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader 
Take Care 
And As Always 
Stay Well Read 

M. Mary

Martin Amis Dies, Aged 73

Martin Amis Dies, Aged 73

Hello Gentle Reader,

Martin Amis was a literary rock star amongst and member of a generation of formulative postmodern British writers, who capitalized on the waning postwar dwindling modernists of the early 20^th century, to explore a fragmented and ironic age that followed. This pack of writers includes: Ian McEwan, Salman Rushdie, Christopher Hitchens, and the younger Will Self. Amis is the son of the famous Kingsley Amis (author of the "Lucky Jim," and the Booker Prize winning "The Old Devils,"); despite their shared literary career, Kingsley Amis is reported to have treated his sons work with disdain. Martin Amis is famously stating that he could pin point exactly at what paragraph and clause of his novel "Money," that his father set it twirling through the air, accusing Martin Amis of breaking the general literary rules, inferring his own authorial voices within the writing, and succumbing the to the blatant principles of celebrity or perhaps more acutely: self-indulgence. Despite this disinterest and even infuriating negligence, Martin Amis came to be considered the shining star of the next generation of British writers, replacing the comedy and traditional writers like his father, Kingsley Amis. Instead, these writers understood the very nature of reality, society, politics, and intellectual discourse had changed dramatically at the closure of the Postwar years. The debut of the exposure of the Holocaust, the debut and deployment of the atomic bomb, the red scare, the entrenchment of the Cold War, and the ever-present threat of nuclear fallout and annihilation, it became clear the old world had concluded. The rules of engagement no longer existed, and these new postmodernists would begin to encapsulate, document, and record this new reality within their work. As a writer, Martin Amis, was the kind of writer who was all too aware of the pitfalls and prurience of celebrity and fame. His famous novel "Money," encapsulated this sense of celebrity culture perfectly, and remains one of the best celebrity novels to date. Then came his famous novel: "London Fields," capitalizing the acerbic wonders of "Money," and introducing further fragmentation and disorientation as one tumbles down the ironic hole of the postmodern. "London fields," is a novel of unreliable and unlikable characters and caricatures. Those inclined for a fit of nostalgia, might fan themselves now, remembering the decadence, radiance, and excess of purposeful transgressive literature back then. The kind which had purpose, but have since become bleached and chemically plagiarized to the point of sterilized that any purpose or outrage of commentary is peeled away to only be another foray into unrestrained solipsism. In his later years, however, Amis's literary pursuits became less paramount, as the author appeared to court controversy and his public persona of charmless curmudgeon. On another note, the cinematic adaption of his novel "Zone of Interest," debuted at the Cannes Film Festival has been generously received.

Rest in Peace, Martin Amis.

Thank-you For Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always 

Stay Well Read

M. Mary

Two New Members Elected to the Swedish Academy

Hello Gentle Reader,
 
The Swedish Academy (as it stands) will be in full running force for next year, as the academy announced the election of two new members who will occupy the two chairs left vacant after the deaths of Sture Allen (Chair No. 3) and Kjell Espmark (Chair No. 16). Now the accomplished linguist David Håkansson is elected to Chair No. 3, and Swedish writer Anna-Karin Palm. Both writers will be formally inducted into the Swedish Academy during their annual December meeting. Until then, neither author will have a participating role within the academy, and this years Nobel Prize in Literature will be debated, deliberated, and decided by the current members.
 
Prior to the announcement of David Håkansson and Anna-Karin Palm being inducted into the Swedish Academy, there was speculation that the Swedish Academy was facing a recruitment crisis, that writers they had propositioned and approached with an offer to join had all declined, as the institution still suffers some reputational damages from its 2018 crisis. In the 18-member institution, only 7 members have been inducted prior to the crisis, while the remaining 11 (including the two newest appointees) have all been appointed post-crisis.
 
As for David Håkansson and Anna-Karin Palm, both are considered exceptional additions to the academy. Håkansson is an accomplished linguist, who achieved academic acclaim with his dissertation regarding Old Swedish grammar and has since settled into an engaging career in academia. In addition to his academic and professional expertise in language, David Håkansson injects a youthful vitality into the Swedish Academy, at 45 years old, Håkansson is the youngest member currently occupying a chair within the academy.
 
Anna-Karin Palm is perhaps a more conventional choice for the Swedish Academy, as she’s a writer who has written both novels, short stories, essays, a biography of Selma Lagerlöf, but perhaps more interestingly, is an accomplished children’s writer, which is a literary genre the Swedish Academy has lacked expertise in.
 
Thank-you for Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
 
M. Mary

– XV –

Tolerating fools means you’ll never feel alone. In turn, tolerating fools means you never have quality company or conversation.

The International Booker Prize Shortlist

Hello Gentle Reader,

The International Booker Prize has released its six finalists for this prize. The shortlist has been self-professed by members of the jury as being remarkably cool and deserved; yet, as with all awards, lists, and decisions (however arbitrary they are) there is a sensation of something amiss with this year’s award.

The shortlist for this year’s award is as follows: 

Georgi Gospodinov – Bulgaria – “Time Shelter,”
Cheon Myeon-Kwan – (South) Korea – “Whale,”
Eva Baltasar – Spain [Catalan language] – “Boulder,”
GauZ - Côte d'Ivoire [French language] – “Standing Heavy,”
Guadalupe Nettle – Mexico – “Still Born,”
Maryse Condé – Guadeloupe [French language] – “The Gospel According to the New World,” 

I am not surprised to see Eva Baltasar shortlisted for this year’s award, her short novel “Boulder,” has created explosive waves, with praise being provided both to her ability to be concise and intense in scope, creating a fever dream of sensations, and exploring the alienation of the individual within an otherwise hostile world. In turn, Cheon Myeon-Kwan has written a sweeping epic multi-generational novel that becomes both fable and farce, as the novel buzzes and brims with a sense peculiar and eccentric fantasia improvising into a colourful fantastical vision that thrives within the interlinked destinies of three women, who exist both within the absurd and the dreamlike, recounting the peculiar insular and original world of a remote village in South Korea.   

At 89 years old, Maryse Condé is the oldest writer to be nominated for the International Booker Prize, with her novel “The Gospel According the New World,” which has been described the judges of this year’s prize as warm and generous, proving that Maryse Condé is not haphazardly called the Grande Dame of Caribbean literature without good reason. “The Gospel According to the New World,” is parabolic in nature, following the miracle child rumored to be the child of God, Condé traces a divine bildungsroman of a messianic figure through a contemporary and postcolonial age with compassion and humour, this is a novel of lucid conviction, which explores the seriousness of our preoccupations with the ephemeral and enduring questions of fate and the shared destiny of mankind.

I am rather surprised to see some novels omitted from this year’s shortlist, for example, the French writer Laurent Mauvignier’s novel: “The Birthday Party.” “The Birthday Party,” was described in almost restrained and subtle wording. Further investigation proved that the novel is a spelunking lantern into the cavernous horrors of existence, bringing the light to the most torturous and disturbed thoughts of an individual. The tension of “The Birthday Party,” is palpable upon reading reviews and descriptions of the novel itself, recounting the isolation and the bubbling sensation of violence running in undercurrents beneath the placid façade of normalcy. I’m rather surprised to see this novel not included on the shortlist. As the world goes intensely more absurd and more favourable to encourage—even endorsing—primal urges and unrestrained releases of rage, as a sign of protestation and acknowledgement of their own displacement and dispossession. Instead, the shortlist and writers appeared to move in a different direction, with novels which may be viewed as ‘safe,’ or grappling with far more topical subjects in polite or otherwise uninteresting ways.

Congratulations to the writers shortlisted for this years International Booker Prize.

Thank-you for Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read
 
M. Mary

For Further Reading Please See: 

The Guardian: "International Booker prize reveals 'very cool and very sexy' shortlist."

– XIV –

Even though it was the thought that counts, the pain still hurts all the same.  

The International Booker Prize 2023, Longlist

Hello Gentle Reader,

The International Booker Prize has recently announced their longlist for 2023. Thirteen titles from across the geographical and linguistic world, providing an invigorating global perspective, expanding readers horizons. Since its inception in its current format (post-2015), the International Booker Prize has made a conscious effort to promote translated literature within the English language, awarding some marvelous writers. Previous winners include:

Han Kang – 2016 – “The Vegetarian,”
David Grossman – 2017 – “A Horse Walks into a Bar,”
Olga Tokarczuk – 2018 – “Flights,”
Jokha Alharthi – 2019 – “Celestial Bodies,”
Marieke Lucas Rijneveld – 2020 – “The Discomfort of Evening,”
David Diop – 2021 – “At Night All Blood is Black,”
Geetanjali Shree – 2022 – “Tomb of Sand,”

The inaugural award in 2016 was a catalyst in how the International Booker Prize would be a catalyst for the award. By awarding Han Kang’s English debut “The Vegetarian,” the International Booker Prize was able to capitalize on a poignant and potent novel, but also affirm itself as both a outstanding literary award with enough relevancy to set trends. After her International Booker Prize win, Han Kang’s entry into the English language was affirmed, ensuring she is recognized as one of the most important contemporary (South) Korean writes currently writing. Kang’s novels are written with the effortless lyricism and grace and air of a ballet dancer, while providing the most subtle examination of her characters psychological state, as well as the daily violence encompassing human existence.

In 2018, the International Booker Prize judges named the marvelous and inventive Polish writer Olga Tokarczuk the winner with her magnificent constellation novel: “Flights.” Once again the International Booker Prize proved that it could keep itself relevant when reviewing and awarding great international literature. “Flights,” is considered Olga Tokarczuk’s breakout novel in the English language, despite having two published previous (“Primeval and Other Time,” and “House of Day, House of Night,” – both masterful novels in their own right) “Flights,” finally confirmed Olga Tokarczuk’s status as being one of the most innovative writers of Europe. Tokarczuk would receive the 2018 Nobel Prize in Literature retroactively the following year.   

Last years winner, Geetanjali Shree is the first Hindi language writer to receive the prize with her novel “The Tomb of Sand,” which was rumoured from its initial nomination to be the front runner and favoured novel to receive the prize. “Tomb of Sand,” was beloved by the judges for its humour and humanistic vision, a slow burn novel, “Tomb of Sand,” affirms the International Booker Prize’s ability to curate and promote international and translated literature into the English language.

This year’s longlist for the International Booker Prize is as follows [in no particular order]:

Maryse Condé– Guadeloupe [French language] – “The Gospel According to the New World,”
Andrey Kurkov – Ukraine – “Jimi Hendrix Live in Liviv,”
Eva Baltasar – Spain [Catalan language] – “Boulder,”
Cheon Myeong-Kwan – (South) Korea – “Whale,”
GauZ – Côte d'Ivoire [French language] – “Standing Heavy,”
Georgi Gospodinov – Bulgaria – “Time Shelter,”
Vigdis Hjorth – Norway – “Is Mother Dead,”
Clemens Meyer – Germany – “While We Were Dreaming,”
Laurent Mauvignier – France – “The Birthday Party,”
Perumal Murugan – India [Tamil language] – “Pyre,”
Guadalupe Nettle – Mexico – “Still Born,”
Amanda Svensson – Sweden – “A Systems So Magnificent It is Blinding,”
Zou Jingzhi – China – “Ninth Building,”

Of the 13 books listed, 11 languages are represented which includes: Bulgarian, Tamil, Catalan, Spanish, French, Korean, Swedish, German, Ukrainian, Norwegian, and Singaporean. French is the most represented book on this year’s longlist. Maryse Condé is the oldest writer on the longlist at 86 years old. The Guadeloupean writer is a giant of postcolonial literature and is revered as the Grand Dame of Caribbean literature. Condé finds herself nominated with the novel: “The Gospel According to the New World,” is a bildungsroman set in modern-day Martinique, it follows the life of a child who is rumoured to be the messiah. What follows is a epic quest of this rumoured child seeking to discover their origins and mission in the world. Maryse Condé proves herself to be a remarkable epicist in spirit and scope, tackling with colour and flare the complexities of Caribbean life and history, but also the universal human condition, seeking meaning, order, and purpose with an increasingly chaotic and meaningless world. In a direction away from the epic and complex, comes the intensity and sensuality of Eva Baltasar’s novel “Boulder,” depicting the sensuous physical and emotional pleasures of intimacy between two women working on a merchant ship. The novels page count just reaches over a hundred pages, which is why “Boulder,” is praised both for its intensity and an exemplary piece of concision. In a manner similar to the great and legendary Maryse Condé, the Ivorian writer GauZ grapples with the French colonial history in his novel “Standing Heavy,” which recounts the journey and stories of Ivorian immigrants attempting to etch out a new life in France. The novel is praised for both grappling with colonial past of the wester African nation, while satirizing contemporary French society.

The Norwegian writer Vigdis Hjorth has drafted a novel of icy acuity and complexity that is both challenging, subversive, and difficult company to keep. The narrator is described as one of the most impossible, ugly, and unlovable characters, becoming in full scope and antihero, through her jaded perspectives, narcissism, and malicious motivations; these very same traits make her palpable even relatable. Compared to the exacting psychological analysis of Marguerite Duras and her exploration of intimate and personal relationships, Vigdis Hjorth has written a dark examination of family dynamics and the complex even violent power struggles between mother and daughters in her novel “Is Mother Dead.”  Clemens Meyer in turn tackles a sense of despondency and pathos with his novel “While We Were Dreaming.” Recounting a country on the brink of both unification and change, “While We Were Dreaming,” captures the pivotal moments of a group of friends as they live during a memorable moment in history, but also fall prey to the all the disappointments of life and growing up, when all the certainties of the world evaporate and future is no longer as straightforward. Clemens Meyer has written a novel that encapsulates the anxieties, anger, and lived experience of East Germany as the Berlin Wall fell, and the once divided Germanies reunified. A novel with credibility and palpability, providing a boot on the ground fresh perspective to a historical moment which has been eagerly propagated as an essential win to democracy and freedom, “While We Were Dreaming,” provides a more nuisance layer to those memories regarding such a historical moment.

Cheon Myeon-kwan’s novel “Whale,” is described as a riot, a multigenerational novel set in a remote village in (South) Korea, this otherwise carnivalesque novel brims with surprises, entertainment and enjoyment, a truly epic and adventurous romp, which entertain readers as three exceptional and surreal women traverse the Korean landscape. “Whale,” is an ode and requiem to self-transformation and the power of restlessness. While Georgi Gospodinov’s dystopian novel regarding memory and the past proves to be both thought provoking and humorous, tackling subjects regarding nationality, identity, and ageing, as well as both the horrors of loss of memory, its rejuvenating capabilities in addition to its destructive attributes. In “The Birthday Party,” by French writer Laurent Mauvignier is a novel that has been described encapsulating two very primal emotions of the human experience: empathy and dread. Amongst the mundane, even celebratory joys of simple life, external malevolent forces take intrude and disrupt. Make no mistake, “The Birthday Party,” is a novel riddled with tension, agony, and an unapologetic contributor to horror. A surveyor of the most disturbed thoughts and actions people can muster, the very dysfunction of existence in itself, and the delusions we tell each other to muster through. “The Birthday Party,” is described as a novel of marvelous thrilling intensity, I would not be surprised to find it on the shortlist.

As in years past, this years International Booker Prize longlist proves itself to be a diverse medley of languages, perspectives, cultures, and narratives. The judges are put in an unenviable situation of creating the shortlist, but it will surely be a refinement of what is currently on offer in the longlist.

Thank-you for Reading Gentle Reader
Take Care
And As Always
Stay Well Read

M. Mary