Category Archives: Uncategorized

Winter Fundraising!

It’s winter, which means it’s one of the two times of year I traditionally ask you to pony up a little cash to support my work. Below, you’ll find a few reasons why you might want to support me, but if you don’t need any persuading and just want to go for it, here are the easiest ways to help:

Subscribe to me at Patreon — you get cool early peeks and exclusives, plus free copies of my ebooks (and a even print title, if you wanna go there . . .)

Paypal me — this is basically a one-time donation, or you can make it recurring, if you want to go that way and don’t feel like using Patreon for recurring donations (although then you’d miss out on all the cool free stuff that you get for subscribing at Patreon).









Buy stuff through my Amazon links — I know, Amazon is pretty widely despised (and if you’re shopping for books, why not go to your local indie and have them special order it? they can usually get it in 1 or 2 working days), but if you’re going to shop there anyway, maybe do it through my links, so you can ruin Jeff Bezos’s profit margin and help me out a bit?

Other stuff — If you’re unable to make a money transaction, I’d still love to have you support things in other ways. I encourage you to try writing for The Quarterly Conversation (email me at editor AT quarterlyconversation DOT com), or to interact with my social media on Twitter, Facebook, or the Gram. Or find some other creative way to be a cool person.

So anyway, why do I feel entitled to a little bit of your money?

I’ve done nearly 20 translator interviews this year, which includes championing the work of a lot of female international authors, not to mention making translators more visible and giving them a chance to shine.

I’ve edited another four issues of The Quarterly Conversation, which covers a ton of great literature that’s ignored elsewhere and that lets me mentor and help build up emerging critics.

I’ve done some cool lists, like this small/indie press gift guide, or this one of 28 female authors to read for Women in Translation Month (or the other 12 months).

Yet another year of my “interesting new books” list, championing (say it with me), lots of small press, marginal, etc, writers that tend to get ignored elsewhere.

And last of all, all year long I’ve been writing a column at Lit Hub—I’m up to #20, which represents nearly a book’s worth of writing. Over there I’ve championed a ton of small press and otherwise not-terribly-capitalist-economy-friendly authors. And maybe I’ve even personally inspired you, like with this piece on Clarice Lispector, this one on Bolaño, this one on my gender identity, or this one on indie bookstores.

Thank you to everyone who chooses to donate or who has already done so this year. It really does mean a lot, and in a practical sense it makes it much, much easier to make the things happen that you want to see me do.

Quarterly Conversation Issue 50

Features


Bakkhai by Euripides and Anne Carson

Bakkhai by Euripides and Anne Carson

The Bakkhai continues to be one of Euripides’s (c. 484-406 b.c.e.) most popular plays to stage, translate, and interpret, even though it was never performed in its author’s lifetime. The ancient Greek playwright and Athenian wrote The Bakkhai in the last few years of his life in Macedonia, where he had fled after becoming disillusioned with his native city-state. The play was found among his papers after his death and produced posthumously by either his nephew or his son at the Dionysia, the festival held annually for the eponymous god in Athens. The drama presents the god Dionysos arriving in Thebes disguised as a mortal to establish his cult in that city and exact a brutal punishment on his cousin, King Pentheus, who denies the existence of the god. Anne Carson’s unconventional new translation of The Bakkhai is a fitting interpretation of what is arguably Euripides’s most enigmatic tragedy.


The Novels of Jenny Erpenbeck

The Novels of Jenny Erpenbeck

Jenny Erpenbeck’s three recent novels are about displaced people, their lives swept here and there by mandates of poverty, anti-Semitism, war, and political crusade. Visitation and The End of Days trace the same swath of German history, stretching in both cases from about 1910 to 2000. Erpenbeck’s latest novel, Go, Went, Gone, is also about the precarious lives of outcasts in Germany. They are refugees from Africa, forced out of Libya in 2011 and grouped in a shelter in Berlin three years later. Their lives are as thin and as ruled by seemingly senseless laws as that of the Jews who fled and hid in her earlier novels. The huge difference between this new book and the novels that came before is that the luminous passing of lifetimes has been condensed to a few months in the present day. The fairy flickering that moved her characters through decades has settled down into a gray, newspapery light. Go, Went, Gone is less a transformation of material than a shaping of it, and its luster is low. It pushes us to think about the uses of art, and what kinds of projects the politically committed can pull off in this current moment of explicit racism and unchecked power.


From Johannesburg 2004 to New York 2017: The Exploded View by Ivan Vladislavić

From Johannesburg 2004 to New York 2017: The Exploded View by Ivan Vladislavić

Whether The Exploded View is a novel in four parts or a collection of four longish stories is a question akin to whether South Africa is a nation of peoples or a collection of nations. The four parts of The Exploded View are indeed linked, through setting and theme, but it doesn’t have the marked through-line of the short story cycles that so often come out of MFA programs here in the U.S. For one thing, the links between stories are underplayed, their fragmentation being essential to the structure as well as the governing visual and epistemological theme. Vladislavić’s reluctance to give a whole and holistic image of post-apartheid South African society has earned him some critics. As the idiom has it, “when Johannesburg catches a cold, South Africa sneezes.” So a representation of the fractured, divided city, with little cause for optimism about those divisions being overcome, has been sometimes read as a sign of Afro-pessimism and willful naysaying of the entire national project. Now, in 2017, not only do these critiques seem quaint and outdated, stemming as they do from a moment of unfounded optimism when the “Rainbow Nation” and the “African Renaissance” seemed plausible projects, but The Exploded View also seems more globally relevant than ever. The world is sneezing, and while Johannesburg’s cold is not the cause, it is certainly one of the clearest presentations of the symptoms.


The Iliac Crest and Its Female Imposters

The Iliac Crest and Its Female Imposters

Cristina Rivera Garza’s The Iliac Crest is a novel riddled with holes, disappearances that have the effect of warping and obscuring the world its reader inhabits. If this book were to have a single guiding principle, it might be these words: “Disappearance is contagious. Everyone knows this.” The narrator’s confidence in this fact is a bit alarming, and may come as news to the reader. Is disappearance a physical illness and this book some kind of existential science fiction treatise? Well, yes and no. It’s hard to assert definitively just what this book is, although what is clear is that, in Rivera Garza’s world, disappearances are not unconnected—they propagate through a chain reaction, through physical contact, as the narrator goes on to explain almost scientifically, as if we were dealing with an outbreak of the flu.


Thoreau’s Questions

Thoreau’s Questions

Henry David Thoreau didn’t like questions, or so he sometimes said.“ The wise answer no questions,—nor do they ask them,” he wrote in his Journal in 1841. In 1850 he wrote, “I do not love to entertain doubts and questions.” Yet questions were at the heart of Thoreau’s lifelong journey of self-exploration. His Journal itself, the mine from which nearly all his literary work was quarried, began with a question, thought to be posed to the freshly minted Harvard graduate by his Concord neighbor Ralph Waldo Emerson. “’What do you do now?’ he asked. ‘Do you keep a journal?’ So I make my first entry today.”


The French Invasion

The French Invasion

The conference has been called “epochal,” “a watershed,” “a major reorientation in literary studies,” “the French invasion of America,” the “96-gun French dispute,” the equivalent of the Big Bang in American thought. To hear the superlatives, one would have thought that “The Languages of Criticism and the Sciences of Man” symposium held at Johns Hopkins for a few frantic days from 18 to 21 October 1966 was the first gathering of its kind ever held. It wasn’t, but it did accomplish a feat that changed the intellectual landscape of the nation: it brought avant-garde French theory to America. In the years that followed, René Girard would champion a system of thought that was both a child of this new era and an orphan within it. He was at once proud of his role in launching the symposium, and troubled by some of its consequences. Let us consider what happened during this watershed autumn.



Interviews

“The Book Upside Down”: A Conversation on Ricardo Piglia

“The Book Upside Down”: A Conversation on Ricardo Piglia


Piglia used to say that everything he wrote—his novels, his short stories, his essays—were a mere excuse in order to one day publish his diaries. So, by the time he finally sat down to transcribe them, they had become mythical. The impressive thing is that they didn’t disappoint at all. On the contrary, they remain perhaps the clearest expression of his conceptual poetic. A shinning exploration of what it could mean both to devote a life to literature, as well as read a life as literature. They provide a wonderful final touch to his life’s work and, despite their absolute singularity, I think they should be read in tradition of the best diary writers, authors that Piglia admired, like Pavese, Kafka, and Gombrowicz.


The Cristina Rivera Garza Interview

The Cristina Rivera Garza Interview


I am prone to write in between genres (remember that, in Spanish, género translates as both gender and genre). I am always interested in what happens there, in that middle ground or limbo. My suspicion is that relevant, interesting operations are met, and at times resolved, in those spaces. It’s a lucha libre of sorts, where the tools usually associated with one genre (verse to poetry, for example, of paragraph to prose) are subverted and diverted. Most contemporary works I read tread on those turbulent waters called cross-genre. The adjective I have used to describe these works is colindante, a term that describes what is both contiguous and colliding.


The Anne Carson Interview

The Anne Carson Interview


As I was interviewing the classicist, poet, and author Anne Carson in June, 2017 via e-mail about her new translation of The Bakkhai, the question-and-answer process felt like a consultation with the ancient Pythia. Much like an ancient Greek attempting to get an answer from the priestess of Apollo, I had to go through a few layers—book publicist and agent—and the answers I received back can best be described as intriguing and esoteric; they varied in length from a few words to a paragraph to no response at all. Every reply was also written in all lower case, including the first-person singular “i,” an idiosyncrasy that seemed almost playful, and is something I usually see in the prose or text messages of a student or a younger person. Like a Greek hearing those ambiguous missives given by the Pythia, I was repeatedly surprised by the puzzling, thought-provoking answers I received.



Reviews

Third Millennium Heart by Ursula Andkjær Olsen

Third Millennium Heart by Ursula Andkjær Olsen

Award-winning poet Ursula Andkjær Olsen’s Third Millennium Heart, translated into English by Katrine Øgaard Jensen, is narrated from the point of view of a monstrous, cyborg organ, a heart which is a sprawling, rumbling mega-structure; a cornubation made up of anti-heroic, Archigram-like constructions—fantastical towers and castles. From the heart’s radical connectivity emerges a puissant female voice, who unleashes a torrent of invectives, affirmations and auguries against capitalist market forces, patriarchy, toxic manhood, rape trauma, and the perversion of Western culture. A kind of germinal energy emanates from the fractal asymmetry of the 200-odd poems in this collection, like the vitality of patterns in river systems, tree branches and lightening bolts. In a state of interminable flux, the poems push back against facile interpretation even as they pull the reader closer towards self-knowledge.


The Tongue of Adam by Abdelfattah Kilito

The Tongue of Adam by Abdelfattah Kilito


No longer than the lead piece in the latest literary quarterly, yet unearthing a teleology for some of humanity’s oldest stories, The Tongue of Adam sets a reader thinking of noble forebears. W.G. Sebald comes to mind, though there’s no meandering involved, and Anne Carson, though there’s no anachronism or toying with form. Jorge Luis Borges, especially, casts his shadow, given the erudite cool with which this text handles Adam and Eve, Eden and Babel, effortlessly switching between Quranic (as spelled by Kilito) sources and Judeo-Christian. Similar material, in the hands of the great Argentine, resulted in amazing aesthetic objects, and to say the latest from Abdelfattah Kilito doesn’t shrivel in comparison—well, that’s high praise. Even more noteworthy, however, may be what the book accomplishes, at this hour of the world, for Arab civilization in general.


The Sacred Era by Yoshio Aramaki

The Sacred Era by Yoshio Aramaki


Born April 12, 1933, Yoshio Aramaki’s writing comes to us from a different time. His novel The Sacred Era, originally published in Japanese in 1978, has more in common with classic American sci-fi short story writers like Philip K. Dick, Isaac Asimov, Ray Bradbury—sharing their preoccupation with wonky metaphysics, biblical allegories, and performative misogyny—than with speculative fiction writers working in the present day. He leads readers down the same well-trodden genre path where impoverished young men discover they are, despite an often remarkable lack of initiative, destined for great things. But Aramaki’s brilliant leaps of imagination and use of experimental, non-linear plot structures are too ambitious for the resulting work to be dismissed as outdated or derivative.


March 1917: The Red Wheel: Node III: Book 1 by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

March 1917: The Red Wheel: Node III: Book 1 by Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn


In 1972 an English version of Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s August 1914 appeared. It is the first node (then called a “knot”) of a sequential novel with the overall title The Red Wheel. In 1989 an expanded and freshly translated edition came out in English, but it took until 1999 for the second volume, November 1916, to be published. Since then other books by Solzhenitsyn have reached English readers, most recently Apricot Jam: And Other Stories (2011), but we have had to wait until now to start reading the first book of four comprising March 1917, which will be followed by the two books that make up April 1917, thus bringing this mega-novel to a close. The books share common approaches—fictional characters mingling with historical figures, the use of actual telegrams, transcripts of State Duma debates, and newspaper accounts (when applicable, as newspapers weren’t always published), and an impressionistic screenplay treatment of mob movements—and the attempt to recapture for a wide audience (but foremost, one suspects, for Solzhenitsyn’s countrymen) the multitudinous events that culminated in the Revolution. Yet there is never one definitive story, one perspective, or one inevitable outcome.


A Long Curving Scar Where the Heart Should Be by Quintan Ana Wikswo

A Long Curving Scar Where the Heart Should Be by Quintan Ana Wikswo


Quintan Ana Wikswo’s A Long Curving Scar Where the Heart Should Be demands to be read and lived with for a few days or weeks—as long as you like, it’s got enough spirit and thought and music and visual interest to hold you. A considerable and openhearted novel, it is at once wild and sophisticated, poetic and prosaic. Although it is Wikswo’s first novel, it shows her to be intrepid storyteller, as she confronts issues of race, sex, gender, religion, and desire with an appreciation toward their complexity and oft-chaotic natures.


My Small/Indie Press Holiday Gift Guide

Each year I tend to do one of those “best reads of the year” lists, but this year I’ve decided to do things a little differently. Those lists tend to feature a lot of the same titles, and if you follow my Internet presence you’ve probably already got a pretty good idea of what books I’ve been really enjoying in 2017.

So instead what I’m going to do this year is do something along the lines of a gift guide to small and indie presses you may want to buy from this holiday season. I think probably everyone knows what the holiday season means to businesses and retailers, and presses are no different—this is make or break time for a lot of the publishers you love, so if you go and buy a few books from them for yourself and others, it’ll make a difference.

So here I’m going to recommend a book from each press that I think you should make an effort to check out this year. Look at them as entry points to presses I hope you get to know and buy a lot of books form in December. These books aren’t limited to things I read in 2017—they’re just great books that I think embody something important about each press. And I’m also going to try hard to get as many female, queer, & writers of color as possible in here.

And lastly, if you want to support this website during the holidays, you can shop through the Amazon links below, or if you detest Amazon then consider subscribing to me at Patreon, where you get a lot of digital downloads for your small monthly donation.

Sorrowtoothpaste Mirrorcream by Kim Hyesoon (tr. Don Mee Choi) — Action Books

Kim Hyesoon is a very in-your-face kind of poet, a loud poet, a poet with a kind of postmodern plasticity to her work. She talks about crazy pop cultural events like pig massacres, her aesthetics are weird, not-for-everyone, and very transgressive in the culture from which she comes. She’s also a writer who must have been a big challenge to translate, albeit a lot of fun and also one who opened up a lot of space for Don Mee Choi to re-envision this work in English. These are all things that to me make her a consummate Action Books author, as I have come to expect all of these things from this press.

Don’t Let Me Be Lonely by Claudia RankineGraywolf Press

I’m old enough to remember a time when Graywolf wasn’t a massively successful press notching winners and finalists of major prizes and being a fixture of the nation’s major reviews of books. I’m choosing Claudia Rankine’s first book with Graywolf for a couple reasons. First of all, this book emblematizes to me a lot of what has made Graywolf success a vital press in the last 10 years—its embrace of a lot of the lyric/personal/fragmentary essay aesthetics and and identity concerns that are present in this book and a number of its breakout titles of the decade or so since this one was released. of course, Citizen is the big book for Rankine, but I’m also recommending this one because a lot of people think Don’t Let me Be Lonely is the better book (myself included), but it hasn’t sold in nearly the same numbers. So check it out.

Madness, Rack, and Honey by Mary Ruefle — Wave Books

This is such a great essay collection, I’m not even going to try to sum up everything wonderful in here. Basically, this book will make you think about art and life in new ways—if that’s something you want, read it. And Wave Books is a really great press who can make a writer like Mary Ruefle a house author, along with a slew of other really remarkable books, mostly of great avant-garde poetry, but also a good deal of prose.

The Art of Flight by Sergio Pitol (tr. George Henson)Deep Vellum Publishing

Sergio Pitol is exactly the kind of author to put the translation scene in perspective—this guy is so good, and so legendary in the Spanish-language world, that anyone in their right mind would think that he’d be published by Random House, or FSG, or some other major prestige brand. But no, instead he was one of the first authors of this upstart translated literature press that just kind of came out of nowhere and started bringing him to the English-language world. That, to me, is a lot of the energy that Deep Vellum brings to the publishing community, and Sergio Pitol is exactly the kind of discovery that they would make for us to enjoy.

The Iliac Crest by Cristina Rivera Garza (tr. Sarah Booker)Feminist Press

I could say a lot of the same things for Feminist Press, except in this case Feminist Press has been around for decades—but still, they keep their ears close to the ground and keep finding edgy things that you would expect to come from a press that had only been around for a short time and still had a lot of that naive enthusiasm. The Iliac Crest is, again, exactly the kind of book that in any just world would be a bestseller. Even though it was written 15 years ago, it’s a book that captures a lot of what feminism currently is and where it’s headed, which is exactly what I feel about Feminist Press at any given moment.

My Katherine Mansfield Project by Kirsty GunnNotting Hill Editions

If you like book-length essays, this is your publisher, as this is pretty much all Notting Hill Editions does. It’s full of quirky, remarkable projects that probably would not have found a home anywhere else.

The Museum of Eterna’s Novel (The First Good Novel) by Macedonio Fernandez (tr. Margaret Schwartz)Open Letter Books

This was one of the first titles Open Letter ever did, and it was actually the way I first met Open Letter publisher Chad Post in person, and it was a book that for various reasons I was really, really excited to read, so for me personally it sums up a lot about Open Letter. This is a completely insane title that largely consists of dozens of prologues to a novel, penned by the man esteemed in his native Argentina as “Borges’s mentor,” a general weird genius uncle of Argentine literature, even though he’s basically completely unknown and unappreciated in the English-language world. And that, to me, is a lot of Open Letter—the weirdest most out there, next-level kinds of things that will blow your mind, if only you knew they existed.

Secondhand Time by Svetlana Alexievich (tr. Bela Shayevich)Fitzcarraldo Editions

This book perfectly sums up what Fitzcarraldo is to me: who on earth was ever going to publish this book if Fitzcarraldo didn’t step up to do it? This was the very definition of a passion project, an immense and costly labor that would have done modest business and, if very fortunate, have broken even 5 years down the line. Then Alexievich won the Nobel and suddenly Fitzcarraldo owned a hot commodity. God bless. Go see what else they’re doing with that windfall, like, for instance, publishing Olga Tokarczuk.

Bookshops: A Reader’s History by Jorge Carrión (tr. Peter Bush) — Biblioasis

This is such a lovely bookworms’ kind of book, basically a love letter to independent bookstores that is also erudite, entertaining, anecdotal, globe-spanning, passionate, meaningful, ironic . . . It’s a great read that makes you remember why you love the literary world and why it’s your place. And that’s a lot of Biblioasis to me, the passion project of a man who truly loves literature and who somehow turned that love into a rather sizable press that does truly great stuff that will be appreciated by the kind of person who feels completely at home in a great small bookstore.

Every Day Is for the Thief by Teju ColeCassava Republic

This one requires a little explanation. Teju Cole’s Every Day Is for the Thief is now published by Random House, but it was originally discovered in 2007 by this weird, funky Nigerian press called Cassava Republic, who were the ones the bring Cole to prominence. And since 2007 they have continued to discover equally as good (or better) Nigerian work, to the point that now they are no longer just a press distributed to Nigeria but one whose books now have great distribution to the U.S. and UK. This is a recent development, so to many readers Cassava Republic will be a “new” press, even though they’re quite older than a number of presses on this list, but they are absolutely one you should check out.

Iraq + 100: Stories from Another IraqComma Press

This book is totally, gloriously insane: it’s an anthology of speculative fiction that asked a bunch of Iraqi authors to imagine what their country would look like in 100 years. Like a lot of Comma Press books, it has a definitely political angle, and it mixes up a bunch of genres that you would at first glance think might not go together, but it’s also just completely refreshing, novel fiction that I can’t imagine any other press would have come up with. That to me is Comma Press, a press that consummately does its own thing and somehow ends up finding amazing literature in there.

Not Blessed by Harold Abramowitz — Les Figues Press

This is such a weird, uncategorizable little fiction, maybe what you’d call a “poet’s novel.” It’s the kind of beautiful little, entirely unforeseeable book that I’ve come to expect from Les Figues, whose catalog I always expect to provide me with the unexpected. There’s not a whole lot I can say to try and summarize this publisher other than “dive in and take a look!”

Hacker, Hoaxer, Whistleblower, Spy: The Many Faces of Anonymous by Gabriella ColemanVerso Books

I guess now that we’ve had the whole 2016 election and Wikileaks has become something along the lines of a lesser Breitbart, the whole idea of Anonymous somehow seems much more quaint than it did 12 months ago. But still I think this book has aged pretty well and tells you a lot about the world in which we live. And it’s also an extraordinarily fun read—what can I say, I really loved this book, and I learned a lot from it. A lot of Verso’s list can be heavy on the theory and fairly tough going for the non-theory-inclined, but also a lot of the list is pretty general-reader-friendly and pretty up-to-the-minute, this book included. Oh, and I’ve got to give a shot to my friend Juliet Jacques’ excellent transition memoir (and so much more) Trans.

Letters to Memory by Karen Tei YamashitaCoffee House Press

This is one of those books that’s so damn good, and also incredibly essential right now, but a book that I fear is getting lost in the fall publishing cycle, which is always severely impacted and incredibly full of “must-read” titles. Anyway, definitely check it out, and also check out Coffee House, which for over 30 years now has been finding and cultivating necessary talent like Yamashita and bringing it to the book-loving world. Somewhat like Graywolf, they seem to have hit a particular stride of late with authors like Valeria Luiselli who have gotten a major amount of attention. This is of course a wonderful thing, but the top-level successes should not keep you from digging in to the deeper recesses of their catalog, which is great all the way through and is full of a lot of things you really should read.

Dreams and Stones by Magdalena Tulli (tr. Bill Johnston) — Archipelago Books

Archipelago Books has of course attained notoriety for bringing the English-speaking world Karl Ove Knausgaard, which is a major achievement that everyone should recognize, but I like to them of them as the home of authors like Magdalena Tulli, writers who are doing truly out-there, crazy stuff but who are almost mathematically proven to never get the attention they deserve. Tulli is sometimes compared to Calvino, and if that comparison (whatever its actual merits) does anything at all to get you piqued, do check her out, and see what else Archipelago has to offer—they’ve done an amazing diversity of things in their 15+ years.

Torpor by Chris Kraus — Semiotext(e)

This is kind of an “obvious” one, now that Chris Kraus has gotten to the point of having tons of media attention and an Amazon series made out of her book I Love Dick, but all that success should obscure the fact that for a long, long time she was laboring as a largely unknown, underappreciated author—as well as an unknown, underappreciated publisher, as part of the team at Semiotext(e). if you’re someone who digs French theory, or feminist authors like Chris Kraus, you owe a big debt to the press, possibly without realizing it. They are the leading edge of a lot of this kind of writing in America, and even though much of their aesthetics have now become mainstream, they’re still doing leading-edge work that you should check out. And let me also toss in a recommendation for my first-ever Semiotext(e) title, bound direct from the Small Press Distribution warehouse many years ago, The Ecstasy of Communication by Jean Baudrillard.

Trace by Laurent SavoyCounterpoint Press

Counterpoint Press does things like The Guy Davenport Reader—books that are of immense value to the culture but that are just never going to be sexy in that Buzzfeed listicle kind of way. On the Buzzfeed listicle scale of sexiness, Trace probably ranks higher than The Guy Davenport Reader, but not nearly as high as it should. If an author like Rebecca Solnit is your dream-read, then please do yourself a favor and check out this book now.

Little Island Press

Little Island Press is new, so new that I can’t really pick a single book to recommend to you. But I trust that they’re doing good things and will continue to do great things, and I think they’re worthy of your support.

Civil Coping Mechanisms

This is one of my publishers, and I’m friends with a number of their authors, so I’m a little hesitant to go too hard for them lest it look like a conflict of interest, but they are really good books (in my obviously biased opinion) and you should give them a look. If you need a point of entry, try my friend Janice Lee’s The Sky Isn’t Blue.

NYRB Classics and New Directions Publishing

I can’t believe that anyone who regularly visits this site doesn’t know and love these presses. These catalogs are just so deep, and so ever-growing with incredible stuff, that it’s really hard to recommend just one thing. So I dunno, go read Bakkhai by Anne Carson, or Marina Tsvetaeva’s diaries (seriously? who even comes up with these things?), or Inger Christensen, or Silvina Ocampo.

AnimalInside by László Krasznahorkaithe Cahiers Series

The Cahiers is a series of little chapbook-like pamphlets from many of the best writers on Earth. i seriously mean that—the likes of László Krasznahorkai, Javier Marías, Lydia Davis, and Anne Carson have authored Cahiers, not to mention so many others. They tend to have a distinct translation and art angle to them, and each one is beautifully produced—an incredible item to have an hold. I’m choosing Krasznahorkai’s AnimalInside because it was my first, and because its combination of an extraordinary text and absolutely beautiful art, working in sync, is what the Cahiers are all about. And also because this little item did so much for Krasznahorkai’s reputation in the English-speaking world, showing just what kind of an effect the right work can have.

The Diaries of Emilio Renzi by Ricardo Piglia — Restless Books

This is an incredibly major book (the first of a trilogy covering Piglia’s whole life) by one of the great Latin American talents of the 20th century. A testament to publisher Ilan Stavans and the rest of the Restless team for making it happen. And they have so many other great books in translation.

Other presses to check out: This list is getting rather lengthy, but there’s still so much more to say. So in lieu of listing any more books and descriptions, I’m just going to point you toward these places, many of which you can find more information about elsewhere on this website. Give them all a try: Tilted Axis Press, And Other Stories Publishing, Transit Books, Dalkey Archive Press, Timeless, Infinite Light, Other Press, Melville House Books, Seagull Books, Tin House Books

Good Things Upcoming

It’s been a rather busy couple of months, hence the relative lack of new material on this website. But that will soon change! I’m working on a couple of translator interviews, plus a few other odds and ends, all of which will be appearing here shortly.

In the meantime, you may enjoy my latest at Literary Hub, where I wrote on the stunning new translation of Virgil’s Aeneid by poet David Ferry—a book that is an absolute must at least once in your lifetime (and hopefully more than once).

I’ve also put together a profile at Patreon, if you’d like to support this site with a small monthly donation. There are ebooks and other pieces of upcoming writing to be had at the $3/month level.

15 Movies I Wish I Could Have Included in The Doubles

As I’ve been doing events and interviews for The Doubles, and just having conversations about it, one question that seems to keep coming up is “what films didn’t make it into The Doubles?” So I thought I’d do a quick list of a bunch of really major films for me that I wish had been in the book but just didn’t make it for one reason or another.

Many of these 15 movies were at one point under consideration for The Doubles, and some of them are just things I love that were never going to work for the project.

These are all films that I absolutely recommend and that you should go out and see immediately.

Close-Up by Abbas Kiarostami. If you’ve read my essay “The Last Redoubt,” you know exactly how much this film has meant to me—just about as much as any film can. And, in fact, “The Last Redoubt” was originally going to be an essay for The Doubles. In my interview at Vol. 1 Brooklyn, I explained about how it ended up in The Surrender:

Well for one thing, it’s insightful that you mention The Surrender, because the middle essay in that triptych—which revolves around Abbas Kiarostami’s Close-Up—was originally to be a part of The Doubles. It was only subsequently that I realized that The Surrender would be written and that this essay would be a part of that book. So these The Doubles and The Surrender are very connected, even though there are big differences in the subject matter of each.

Ultimately, I liked the way that these two books ended up being connected and the theme of cinema that runs through each.

Le plaisir by Max Ophüls. Le plaisir is one of the best movies I’ve ever seen on the nature of love and all its attendant emotions (romance, heartbreak, longing, nostalgia, etc). It’s visually stunning, and just perfect. On top of all that, I also have a really strong story to go along with my screening of this movie. It ranks up alongside Close-Up in terms of being “the right movie at the right time” for me. But it just didn’t happen, in part because I’m not sure I’m ready to tell that particular story yet. But it is great, as is much of Ophüls. Go see it!

Certified Copy by Abbas Kiarostami. It’s really hard to pick whether I prefer Close-Up or Certified Copy—both are extraordinary films, and they each excel in their own way. Certified Copy is very much about language and translations—core themes to my work—and the movie feels incredibly close to the novels of Manuel Puig, a major influence on my writing (particularly The Doubles.) So to not have it in the book was not an easy choice, but it was one I ended up having to make. Possibly Kiarostami is the biggest omission in there.

At Berkeley by Frederick Wiseman. I can more or less tell you exactly why this film isn’t in The Doubles: 4 hours. It’s 4 hours long. It’s one of the most compelling long movies I’ve ever seen—this is definitely the best Wiseman I’ve ever seen, and likely one of his top films overall. But it would have killed me to re-tell this movie—not only for the length of it, but to figure out how to reproduce its rhythms and the depth of its conversations in the format of my book.

Vagabond by Agnes Varda. Varda is another huge omission. This is the first of her films I saw, and I still may like it the best. The mood of this film is incredible, and the storytelling is so taut.

F Is for Fake by Orson Welles. I’ll again quote from my Vol. 1 Brooklyn interview:

Earlier this year I watched for the very first time Orson Welles’s last film, the rather extraordinary F Is for Fake. This movie is generally categorized as a documentary, although such a term is hardly suitable for a movie that has such a tortured and halls-of-mirrors-like relationship with anything in the vicinity of the “truth.” It begins with a magic trick, and the rest of the film is constant cinematic sleight of hand, Welles screaming “look over there!” then manipulating something just out of your field of view, thrusting you from one situation to another, telling you to pay attention to this detail, only to then give the impression it is a red herring, or an outright lie, and then, 15 minutes later, telling you it is God’s own truth. I think I would need to watch it a dozen times just to sort it all out, and even then one could never really be sure. The film would be a distinct challenge to re-tell, and it offers so many points of entry for thinking about the nature of truth, as well as the original versus the fake, for a world in which our relationship with reality and truth is growing stranger by the day.

Summer by Éric Rohmer. Sometimes also known as The Green Ray, this is possibly my favorite Rohmer film of all. It is an extraordinary character portrait of a normal middle-class Frenchwoman on her summer vacation; her depths are beyond 99% of film. And it’s just a very strikingly shot, beautiful, romantic movie.

The Sunset Trilogy by Richard Linklater. I saw these too late for them to get into The Doubles (and Linklater is already represented by Boyhood), but they really are exquisite. the third in the trilogy feels almost like Linklater trying on the style of Kiarostami (and finding it a rather good fit), and the first two capture that feeling of young love while also managing to fit in so much else of the world. These movies will just make you feel good.

Woman in the Dunes by Hideo Teshigahara and Kobo Abe. This was such a powerful film when I first saw it; it’s filmmaking that makes you re-evaluate everything and think hard about who you are and what the hell you’re doing. Fortunately though I didn’t get to include this in The Doubles, I did get to write about the collaborations between Teshigahara and Abe for the next issue of The Scofield.

Thirty Two Short Films About Glenn Gould by François Girard. I saw this so long ago (I think it was around 2002), back then the Fine Arts Cinema still existed in Berkeley and when I knew so much less about everything. It would have been a remarkable film to revisit.

Kingdom by Lars von Trier. Not so much a movie as a miniseries, this would have been ludicrous to attempt with the method I employ in The Doubles, and anyway von Trier is already represented by The Five Obstructions. But I am convinced this is the greatest thing von Trier has ever done. If you think Twin Peaks is the best TV can be, watch this.

The Clock by Christian Marclay. This had to be disqualified because it’s currently only viewable in museum settings, and because I’ve only seen about 3 hours of it, but those three hours were unlike any other cinematic experience I’ve ever had. This “movie” is 24 hours long, and it changes virtually ever minute, so it would have been insane to retell, but it also would have been something wonderful to attempt. I do hope I get to one day watch this in full, preferably in a 24-hour viewing session.

The Long Goodbye by Robert Altman. I just can’t get enough of Elliott Gould mumbling his way through this movie as a down-on-his-luck Sam Spade. As far as I’m concerned, this is the definitive Los Angeles movie, and it’s also an incredibly enjoyable deconstruction/endpoint of the noir genre.

Last Year at Marienbad by Alain Resnais and Alain Robbe-Grillet. This is what it’s like to be inside of memory—it’s a movie from the perspective of being within memory. In addition to this just being a great film, I also happened to see it at a very important juncture in my life. I had just been living in Argentina, where I had discovered Adolfo Bioy Casares (whose novel the Invention of Morel was the inspiration for this film), and now I was back home in the U.S. beginning to make my way back into the cultural scene of the Bay Area.

The Exterminating Angel by Luis Buñel. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to include any Buñel, particularly something as bizarre and open to interpretation as this absurdist, farcical film.

Listen to The Doubles Launch Events

Apologies for the relative lack of updates on the blog front throughout September. I’ve been traveling for The Doubles and work has been piling up. But I do have some audio from the launch events at Skylights Books in Los Angeles and City Lights in San Francisco for you to enjoy, if you so wish. My deep thanks to both bookstores for putting together really beautiful events and to my collaborators, Penny-Ante publisher Rebekah Weikel and novelist Micheline Marcom, who interviewed me in LA and SF, respectively.

Here’s the audio from Skylight:

And here’s the audio from City Lights:

Unfortunately, no audio was recorded from the New York City launch at Community Bookstore, where I was graciously interviewed by novelist Álvaro Enrigue, author of Sudden Death.

Quarterly Conversation Issue 49

We’ve just published Issue 49 of The Quarterly Conversation. Here are the contents:

Features


Louche Life: The Literary Crimes of Gary Indiana

Louche Life: The Literary Crimes of Gary Indiana

As the 24-hour news cycle exceeded Hollywood in narrative originality, the Menendez brothers became TV stars, O.J. got away with it, and California elected Arnold Schwarzenegger as its 38th governor (a friend who attended San Diego State University told me he voted Republican only so that his diploma would come adorned with the Terminator’s autograph). This Southern California—of Nathanael West’s The Day of the Locust, Irwin Shaw’s “The City Was in Total Darkness,” Kenneth Anger, Charles Bukowski, early Tom Waits, Bret Easton Ellis, David Lynch, Quentin Tarantino, and Kathy Acker’s death, of breast cancer, in a Tijuana clinic—is Gary Indiana’s Southern California, an oasis of junkies, con artists, prostitutes, and thieves sipping afternoon cocktails in hotel bars. As Jean Baudrillard wrote about one of its many symbols in 1981, “Disneyland is presented as imaginary in order to make us believe that the rest is real, whereas all of Los Angeles and the America that surrounds it are no longer real, but belong to the hyperreal order and to the order of simulation.” For every Marilyn Monroe, there are more than a few Norma Jeanes who never made it onto the lot, while others imitate the real thing in Las Vegas and West Hollywood––and then, Indiana reminds us, there’s Marilyn herself. Los Angeles is the city of Skid Row, but it’s also Kim Kardashian’s hometown.


Three by Krasznahorkai

Three by Krasznahorkai

In the nearly twenty years since László Krasznahorkai’s The Melancholy of Resistance first appeared in translation, his reputation in English has grown at the same gradual, inexorable pace that his books favor. Nearly all his novels of lonely visionaries and glimpsed apocalypses have made it by now into English, and later this year New Directions will substantially fill out the short fiction with a large collection titled The World Goes On. In the meantime, we have last year’s smaller volume; Herman/The Last Wolf picks out three pieces from Krasznahorkai’s short work, two early and one late, and joins them up in an inverted tête-bêche binding. Additionally, The Manhattan Project is a broad, slim volume co-credited to Krasznahorkai and the photographer Ornan Rotem and constructed as “a literary diary presented as twelve chance encounters or coincidences.”


Following The Peregrine

Following The Peregrine

Baker dedicates to this land an imagination that is foil and febrile kin to Wordsworth’s genius. His prose has a sheer disorienting power: the words of a place raised out of time yet shaped through historical time. The uncertainty of wildness is at its center, bound to a persistent human namelessness that hangs on the fringes: “As so often on spring evenings, no birds sing near me, while all the distant trees and bushes ring with song. Like all human beings, I seem to walk within a hoop of red-hot iron, a hundred yards across, that sears away all life. When I stand still, it cools, and slowly disappears.” Such prose slips the read


Herrera’s Trilogy-of-Sorts

Herrera’s Trilogy-of-Sorts

In the often-staid world of literary translation, it is rare to come across the true shock of something new—sentences like “a few houses had already been sent packing to the underworld, along with a soccer pitch and half an empty school” or “Three Times Blonde’s pants rode her all over.” Sentences that let their readers into a strange new view of the world. But this is what Yuri Herrera has taught us to expect in his books, and with the publication of Kingdom Cons, his trilogy-of-sorts is brought to a close at the very moment that it brings language itself into question.


“How It Came to Me to Say” Gordon Lish

“How It Came to Me to Say” Gordon Lish

If, as Jonathan Sturgeon has suggested, we have entered an era dominated by “autofiction,” in which “the life of the author is now the novel’s organizing principle” (“2014: The Death of the Postmodern Novel and the Rise of Autofiction”), then in the search for progenitors of this literary phenomenon we might consider the fiction of Gordon Lish. Indeed, a common reaction to Lish’s books, at least since Peru (which may be his last work of fiction to predominantly feature a main character who can, to some degree at least, be separated from “Gordon Lish”) is to question whether Lish is writing fiction at all rather than some sort of free-form (some would say self-indulgent) autobiography. However, the wary reader would be just as mistaken to trust Lish’s writing to provide reliable accounts of the author’s actual experiences as to expect his “stories” to bear much resemblance to the traditional well-made short story.



Interview

The Rodrigo Hasbún Interview

The Rodrigo Hasbún Interview


Kafka definitely is the best example of the writer as the permanent apprentice, to the degree that he often gives the impression of being unable to finish the texts he begins. His diary is a laboratory where we can see evidence of investigations that, after twenty years of writing, shouldn’t still be going but that he, miraculously, pursues until the very end. His is an almost childish approach to writing, and this I like, because maybe it’s in the beginning of a writer’s life where writing feels most necessary and truthful. With Bolaño I have a similar sense. I see a continual brilliance to his writing: for him literature is also like a fascinating game. This game doesn’t fail to amaze Kafka, but it preoccupies and torments him to not understand how it works. By contrast, it only brings Bolaño happiness. Reading him, one sees how much he enjoyed writing. It’s even possible to hear him dying of laughter between certain lines.



In Translation

From The Diaries of Emilio Renzi by Ricardo Piglia

From The Diaries of Emilio Renzi by Ricardo Piglia

The government’s intelligence services monitored him for months, censored his correspondence, controlled his visitors, and once in a while a nocturnal voice would threaten him over the phone. He would not treat it as a threat; in fact, he kept up a philosophical and theoretical conversation on the meaning of civil duty and moral responsibility with those deceitful voices. Those men were the new intellectuals, the thinkers of the future; any Argentine knows that a mark will be placed on his life if he dissents, which may be invoked at some future moment to track down and incarcerate him. The services had turned into the political version of the Oracle of Delphi; they decided in secret the fate of entire populations. Now they are the witches from Macbeth who control the power! They suppress everything that can threaten mediocre and average life; they attack diversity in all of its aspects, control it and surveil it, write our biographies. Conformism is the new religion, and they are its priests. He had reached a point at which he argued directly with the state, with the spokesmen for the state’s intelligence. Smash and grab exchanges in the depths of night; the voices came and went, through wireless circuits. They hounded him, cornered him, wanted to turn him into an intellectual outlaw. They know that I know; they want to destroy my thought.



Reviews

The Invented Part by Rodrigo Fresán

The Invented Part by Rodrigo Fresán


Having read The Invented Part, it is not surprising that Fresán is often mentioned in the same breath as Bolaño and Cortázar; Bolaño because he is widely considered to be the Chilean’s heir, a folly that I will not elaborate on here, and because Fresán was also a close friend of his; and Cortázar because, as I stated above, The Invented Part is, rightly or wrongly, compared frequently to Cortázar’s magnum opus, Hopscotch; but more importantly because, like Bolaño’s and Cortázar’s translated works, The Invented Part is a welcome addition to the canon of translated Latin American literature.


Belladonna by Daša Drndić

Belladonna by Daša Drndić


For a reader not versed in the politics and history of Croatia, Yugoslavia, and, more generally, Europe, Belladonna can be a challenging novel. It is also enlightening and beautiful, sophisticated and tragic, haunting and stirring, not to mention a seamless blend of fact and fiction. It’s an angry book, at rage with nationalism and blind fanaticism, as well as the stifling mediocrity that can be academia. And it’s a heartbreaking meditation on aging and its many ills. Lest I forget to also mention, it is one of the most rewarding books I’ve read in years. The work that Daša Drndić asks of her readers does not come from the prose, which is razor-sharp, biting, and often hysterical in its outrage. The challenge lies in the constant shifts of time, which can often displace the reader. But I implore you to hold fast, because Belladonna is worth it.


Down Below by Leonora Carrington

Down Below by Leonora Carrington


Before Leonora Carrington became a famed surrealist artist and writer, she went mad. In the late 1930s, the English debutante was living with her lover Max Ernst (more than 20 years her senior) in a farmhouse in Provence, when Ernst was imprisoned on a visit to Paris and sent to a concentration camp. As the German army advanced, Carrington fled across the Pyrenees into Spain, where, after exhibiting increasingly deranged behavior, she was interned in an insane asylum in Santander. Down Below is Carrington’s brief yet harrowing account of her journey to the other side of consciousness.


Let Us Watch Richard Wilbur: A Biographical Study by Robert Bagg and Mary Bagg

Let Us Watch Richard Wilbur: A Biographical Study by Robert Bagg and Mary Bagg


In 1947, Louise Bogan reviewed for The New Yorker a first collection of poems by a 26-year-old who less than two years earlier had been discharged from the U.S. Army after seeing combat in Italy, France, and Germany. Bogan praises his wit and technical facility, and says he surpasses his contemporaries in “range of imagination and depth of feeling.” He possesses the gift, Bogan says, of “fitting the poetic pattern to the material.” She concludes her review with a forward-looking endorsement, almost a prophecy: “Let us watch Richard Wilbur. He is composed of valid ingredients.” Robert and Mary Bagg have written the first biography of our greatest living poet, now age ninety-six, borrowing their title from Bogan’s prescient review of The Beautiful Changes, published seventy years ago.


Old Rendering Plant by Wolfgang Hilbig

Old Rendering Plant by Wolfgang Hilbig


Long after he escaped East Germany to settle in the West, where he continued to reside until his death in 2007, Wolfgang Hilbig remained bound to the darkened landscapes of the GDR. He was not one to downplay the bleak and oppressive qualities of life amid the abandoned mines and crumbling factories of his hometown, Meuselwitz, and his dense, swirling prose evokes a world of strange, suffocating beauty. But his emotional attachment to his birthplace and his complicated misgivings about the benefits of reunification, left him forever torn between East and West—a conflict captured clearly in the stories that comprise the second part of the collection The Sleep of the Righteous. By contrast, Old Rendering Plant, the latest Hilbig offering to be released in English, presents a narrative firmly planted in the GDR that does not travel far beyond the immediate environs of the narrator’s home; yet this tightly defined arena affords the perfect space for a multi-layered exploration of one man’s struggle to define himself against the restrictions and expectations imposed by family, class, history, and circumstance.


Ten Questions for Margaret Jull Costa on Fernando Pessoa’s The Book of Disquiet

The Portuguese modernist par excellence Fernando Pessoa remains an immense figure in world literature. Any significant new translation of his work is an event worthy of attention (all the more so because much of his writing remains untranslated still). But what do you call it when his undisputed masterpiece is translated in a new, impeccably edited, expanded edition by possibly the greatest translator of Iberian literature working today?

That is what we have in Margaret Jull Costa’s new version of Pessoa’s The Book of Disquiet, forthcoming from New Directions later this month. This central text of Portuguese modernism—an unclassifiable, utterly original, and indisputable genius work—here gets what is possibly its most complete and best-translated English edition ever. Pessoa’s magnum opus is famously incomplete—we do not even know the correct order of the hundreds of fragments that now comprise this “book”—and this edition of The Book of Disquiet offers a version that has been carefully edited and is more complete than other available translations.

And, of course, it has been translated by one of the true legends of the translation field. In addition to being the lead translator of Nobel Prize winner Jose Saramago and frequent Nobel finalist Javier Marías, Margaret Jull Costa is also the translator of scores of other works from Portuguese and Spanish, both classic and contemporary. It is no exaggeration at all to call her the leading living translator of Spanish and Portuguese literature, and her work has won multiple awards. I corresponded with her via email to hear about her latest project.


Scott Esposito: This is not your first try at The Book of Disquiet—you did an edition with Serpent’s Tail in 2011, and you also received a 1992 Portuguese Translation Prize for what I take to be a different translation of Pessoa’s magnum opus. For all I know, there might even be other Margaret Jull Costa translations of Pessoa, as you’re rather prodigious. So can you enlighten us as to why you took the opportunity to translate this book again and how this edition might be different from other translations of Pessoa currently available, either yours or others?

Margaret Jull Costa: The 2011 edition was a reprint of my 1992 translation, and this new edition is actually an expanded version of that original 1992 translation. That first translation was based on Maria José Lancastre’s selection of texts for the Italian edition (translated by her husband, novelist Antonio Tabucchi). This translation follows Jerónimo Pizarro’s 2013 edition, and while this new English edition includes all the texts that appeared in my earlier translation, it also includes a large number of texts that did not. Jerónimo’s edition gives us the Book of Disquiet as it evolved, with the first part attributed to one heteronym—Vicente Guedes—and the second to the better-known heteronym—Bernardo Soares. These two “parts” are very different in tone, and you get a real sense of how the book evolved over the many years Pessoa was writing it. I can’t remember now whose idea it was to produce this new expanded version, but I found it fascinating to return to the book after all these years and to discover a very different voice in the earlier Vicente Guedes sections. I did revisit the texts from my 1992 translation, but I actually changed very little, which is encouraging!

SE: You’ve done extensive work with many classics of Portuguese literature, among them numerous books by José Maria de Eça de Queirós and José Saramago, as well as books by Teolinda Gersão, Lídia Jorge, and many others. I take it your knowledge of Portuguese literature is rather substantial. Where does Pessoa fit in for you? What is his importance?

MJC: I’ve been reading and studying Portuguese literature for the last forty or so years, but there is always more to learn. And I’ve been enormously privileged to be asked to translate so many of Portugal’s finest writers. Pessoa is the Portuguese poet, but, oddly, he had no real followers. I suppose the same could be said of Eça. But maybe that’s the mark of true genius. Pessoa was a contemporary of Eliot and Pound and other Modernists, but none of them produced that wild proliferation of other selves, that constant splitting off into different personalities. To me, he still seems utterly modern and speaks so directly to us across the years that he remains forever fresh.

SE: This is a strange thing about Pessoa—if you visit Portugal nowadays, he’s everywhere. As you say, he is the poet, he’s read by schoolchildren, etc, etc. But The Book of Disquiet only appeared as a complete book in 1982, which was half a century after Pessoa died. In his own lifetime he was a marginal figure, published here and there in little magazines, but not really seen as a great writer along the lines of an Eliot or a Pound. It is a real testament to this book that, as you say, it could appear six or seven decades after it was composed and still feel entirely fresh and new. What kind of an impact did this book have on its release, and who among the contemporary Portuguese writers have been influenced by Pessoa?

MJC: Yes, a whole industry has built up around Pessoa, and that image of him striding along a Lisbon street is everywhere. This does seem ironic, given what a very private person he was in real life. The late appearance of The Book of Disquiet can be put down to the many years it took for researchers to make any sense of the more than 200,000 bits of paper found in the famous trunk after Pessoa’s death. Since the first 1982 version put together by Maria Aliete Galhoz, Teresa Sobral Cunha and Jacinto do Prado Coelho, there have been numerous versions in Portuguese, all of them different and in a different order, and even more translations, again all different, all with a different selection of texts and all in a different order. I’m sure Pessoa would have been most amused at (or bemused by) this chaotic legacy and posthumous celebrity. Pessoa was already known as a poet prior to the publication of The Book of Disquiet, but this prose work seems to hold a perennial fascination for scholars and readers alike, perhaps because it is so incomplete and uncertain. Paradoxically, as I said before, I don’t feel that contemporary Portuguese writers have been much influenced by Pessoa, perhaps because he is a complete one-off.

SE: I’ve read The Book of Disquiet a couple of times, and I still have a hard time when it comes to the matter of categorizing this book. Is it a diary? Notebooks? A collection of pensées? A sort of philosophical work? Fiction or nonfiction? How would you classify The Book of Disquiet?

MJC: I think The Book of Disquiet defies categorization. It is all of those things, and never just one of them. I would prefer not to classify it at all.

SE: Are there particular books, essays, stories, poems, or writers that you would recommend to read alongside The Book of Disquiet?

MJC: I think perhaps as an antidote, people should read Eça de Queiroz, so eminently unneurotic and unintrospective. For something similar, Pessoa himself recommends Henri-Frédéric Amiel’s Journal. And he has another kindred spirit, I think, in Italo Svevo’s The Confessions of Zeno.

SE: What are the particular challenges of translating The Book of Disquiet? Were there certain resources you drew on for this project?

MJC: The translator of Book of Disquiet really has to be able to use his or her own language as inventively as Pessoa used Portuguese. That is, of course, also the great pleasure of translating, and the book is full of wonderful passages which are, at once, so physical, so vivid and so strange. For example: “The trams growl and clang around the edges of the square, like large, yellow, mobile matchboxes, into which a child has stuck a spent match at an angle to act as a mast; as they set off they emit a loud, iron-hard whistle. The pigeons wandering about around the central statue are like dark, ever-shifting crumbs at the mercy of a scattering wind.” Isn’t that amazing? And I don’t mean the translation (!), but the imagery, so vivid and so original, that ‘iron-hard whistle’, for example. Translating such wonderfully creative writing forces the translator to find what his or her own language can do, to test it to its limits. Fortunately, English is a wonderfully rich and flexible tongue. As for resources, I suppose I drew on what every experienced translator would draw on, many years of translating and a life spent reading and absorbing both languages, Portuguese and English.

SE: Could you talk a little about one or two particular ways in which Pessoa’s Portuguese differs from that of the other Portuguese-language authors you’ve translated?

MJC: All the Portuguese authors I’ve translated have their own particular style and voice. Eça, for example, writing in the nineteenth century, is full of detailed descriptions of people and places, but also very funny, naturalistic dialogues. In his earlier work, Saramago also contains brilliant descriptions of nature (his descriptions of rain and darkness in All the Names are unsurpassed) and excellent dialogues embedded in long, long sentences. Teolinda Gersão has a plainer style, but with every word weighed carefully, and with some exquisite descriptions of nature, particularly in The Word Tree. Ana Luisa Amaral’s poetry is perhaps the closest to Pessoa’s writing in its obliqueness, in the challenge it lays down for the translator to step outside the usual boundaries of language, of what we can say. And Pessoa is constantly trying to say the unsayable, to describe the undescribable, but in way that the reader can understand, because Pessoa, for all that linguistic complexity, does speak to us so clearly across the years.

SE: Pessoa is rather voluminous, prodigious. And though The Book of Disquiet is rather well-represented in the English language, as well as scattered volumes of his poetry in excellent translations, there is still so much of his writing that has never made it into the English language. Do you have plans to go further with him? And beyond your own translation work, are you aware of any future editions of Pessoa that we should know about?

MJC: I’ve heard Pessoa described as “o homem interminável”—the interminable man—which doesn’t actually sound that complimentary in English! But he was SO prodigious in his output. I don’t know about other Pessoa projects, but New Directions have asked me to translate all the poetry and prose of his three best-known heteronyms: Alberto Caeiro, Alvaro de Campos and Ricardo Reis. That will take me a few years. And there is a possibility that I might translate some of his detective fiction—you see what people mean about his interminability!

SE: In The Book of Disquiet, Pessoa’s heteronym Bernardo Soares writes, “I’m always astonished whenever I finish anything. Astonished and depressed. My desire for perfection should prevent me from ever finishing anything; it should prevent me even from starting.” How did you feel upon completing this translation?

MJC: Oh, those words have haunted me for years! As a translator, I have that same ‘desire for perfection’ and the same fear of falling short. I only hope that I have done justice to Pessoa’s prose. Perfection is, they say, for the gods. Although when one considers Pessoa’s prodigious output, of course, his desire for perfection clearly didn’t prevent him from starting!

SE: Lastly, we’ve talked a bit about how this book did not see the light of day until four decades after its author’s death, and how even then the writing was still quite fresh and relevant. What would you say The Book of Disquiet has to offer readers in the Anglosphere in this year 2017?

MJC: I think certainty is a very dangerous thing. Beware of people who are too certain about anything. The Book of Disquiet embraces doubt and uncertainty and an awareness of human frailty. Alongside those feelings, though, there is an intense love of life and the physical world, a celebration of seeing, and that, in our overly busy, screen-fixated world, is something to be treasured.

28 Women Authors to Read This Year for Women in Translation Month

August is Women in Translation month. Here are a bunch of writers to enjoy. Add more suggestions in the comments, and share you reading on your favorite social network!

And if you like this list, you should also check out my 22 Classic and Contemporary Female Latin American Authors to Read.


Can Xue

Leading Chinese avant-garde author and Nobel contender known for her highly eccentric idiosyncrasies, her prolific output, and her indescribable books (one of the most frequent points of reference, and a large influence on the author, is Kafka). Start with her short stories, Vertical Motion (tr. Karen Gernant), or dive into a longer work: Five Spice Street (tr. Karen Gernant), The Last Lover (tr. Annelise Finegan Wasmoen), or Old Floating Cloud (tr. Jian Zhang).

 

Silvina Ocampo

Mystic, student of de Chirico, master of the short story, and close friend of Jorge Luis Borges, for years Argentina’s best-kept literary secret until NYRB Classics released a large selection of her stories, Thus Were Their Faces (tr. Daniel Balderston). Known for her cruelty, her dark humor, her exceedingly strange plots, and her remarkable language.

 

Marlene Van Niekerk

A South African author writing in Afrikaans, she is know for her penetrating explorations of apartheid society and its aftermath. Her books can veer toward the graphic, and she is not a writer to shy away from harsh scenes and difficult relationships. Try her best-known novel Triomf (tr. Leon de Kock), about a poor Afrikaner family in Johannesburg, or Agaat (tr. Michael Heyns), about a wealthy white woman dying of ALS and the black servant who cares for her paralyzed body in her final days.

 

Mariama Bâ

Senegalese author who strongly criticized gender inequality in her society. Her recognized masterpiece is So Long a Letter, called “the most deeply felt presentation of the female condition in African fiction.” A second novel, Scarlet Song (tr. Dorothy S Blair), was published posthumously.

 

Magdalena Tulli

Leading Polish author, influenced by Italo Calvino and creator of postmodern fables with affinities to the work of Jose Saramago. Archipelago has published a number of her works, including In Red, Moving Parts, Dreams and Stones, and Flaw (all tr. Bill Johnston).

 

Kim Hyesoon

One of the leading Korean poets, known for her aggressively postmodern writing, her strident feminism, and her bizarre sense of humor. Sorrowtoothpaste Mirrorcream is a great one to start with, as is All the Garbage of the World, Unite! (both tr. Don Mee Choi).

 

Basma Abdel Aziz

This is the first book in translation from the Egyptian writer, psychiatrist, and visual artist who has waged a struggle against the darker sides of Egypt’s regimes. The Queue (tr. Elisabeth Jaquette) is a dystopian work about subjects of an authoritarian regime who must wait in an interminable line to have their needs met. To make matter worse, they live in the repressive aftermath of a failed popular uprising. The New York Times compared The Queue to George Orwell’s 1984 and Franz Kafka’s The Trial.

 

Malika Mokeddem

The daughter of an illiterate nomad family in Algeria, she established herself as a doctor and eventually moved on to writing full time. Try The Forbidden Woman (tr. Karen Melissa Marcus), her surprising memoir My Men (tr. Laura Rice, Karim Hamdy), or Of Dreams and Assassins.

 

Svetlana Alexievich

Nobel Prize winner for her oral histories of Russia and the post-Soviet nations. Her largest book, and likely masterpiece, is Secondhand Time (tr. Bela Shayevich), a massive history of the end of communism. The Unwomanly Face of War, recently reissued in a new translation by Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky is acclaimed as a landmark work of gender studies.
Voices from Chernobyl (tr. Keith Gessen), about the nuclear disaster near Pripyat, Ukraine, is also fantastic.

 

Simonetta Agnello Hornby

Italian author whose work has met with great international acclaim and has been widely translated. Try reading The Almond Picker (tr. Alastair McEwen), which won a number of Italian prizes, or The Nun (tr. Anthony Shugaar), a tale set in the 19th century and involving a woman who is forced to join a convent.

 

Minae Mizumura

A Japanese novelist, scholar, and critic known for formal innovation. Try her lengthy A True Novel (tr. Juliet Winters Carpenter), which is a re-telling of Wuthering Heights in postwar Japan. Or read her work of scholarship, The Fall of Language in the Age of English (tr. Mari Yoshihara), which explores the struggles to retain a native language against the invasive and dominant English language. Her Inheritance from Mother has just been released.

 

Celia Dropkin

Yiddish modernist poet known for her rough poems exploring dark themes of sexuality and depression. Try the recent The Acrobat (tr. Faith Jones, Jennifer Kronovet, and Samuel Solomon)

 

Anne Garréta

French novelist and member of the Oulipo since 2000. Well-known in English for her experimental, genderless novel Sphinx, as well as her erotic memoir Not One Day (both tr. Emma Ramadan). She won the Prix Médicis in 2002 for Not One Day, awarded each year to an author whose “fame does not yet match their talent.”

 

Jenny Erpenbeck

An award-winning German novelist and theater director known for her innovative ways of exploring multiple lives in the same novel, mixing politics and penetrating analyses of character. Try Visitation, The End of Days, or Go, Went, Gone (all tr. Susan Bernofsky).

 

Samanta Schweblin

Argentine author known for her mixing of surreal touches into everyday stories, as well as for her gothic touches and her love of the grotesque and the nightmarish. The only one thus far translated is her debut novel, Fever Dream (tr. Megan McDowell), the very frightening story of a dying woman and the young boy who seems to control her demise. Stories from her debut collection, Pajaros en la boca, are available in English translation in various journals, online and off.

 

Bae Suah

Korean author known for her bizarre plots and experimental prose. Try A Greater Music, called “another addition to a growing body of literature that explores the idea that human sexuality is more pliable and fluid than the rigid labels we assign to it” by Melissa Beck of World Literature Today; or Recitation, a fragmentary novel about language, travel, and memory (both tr. Deborah Smith).

 

Marie Vieux-Chauvet

Haitian author known for her in-depth portrayals of issues of class, race, gender, and family attendant to political upheaval in Haiti during the U.S. occupation and the regime of dictator François Duvalier. Try her family saga Dance on the Volcano (tr. Kaiama L Glover) or Love, Anger, Madness (tr. Rose-Myriam Rejouis).

 

Sara Uribe

Mexican poet and author of seven collection, living in the northern state of Tamaulipas. Her booklength poem, Antígona González (tr. John Pluecker), based on the story of Antigone, is about a woman’s search for the lost body of her brother, who has died in the Mexican drug war. It is spare, evocative, moody, and heartbreaking.

 

Margarita Karapanou

Classic Greek modernist who integrates surreal and fantastic elements into her labyrinthine plots, as well as for her depictions of madness. Try Kassandra and the Wolf (tr. N.C. Germanacos) narrated by a frightening 6-year-old child or The Sleepwalker (tr. Karen Emmerich), an absurd, postmodern mixing of genres involving the appearance of a new Messiah on a Greek island.

 

Dubravka Ugresic

A Croatian author widely regarded as the master of post-Yugoslav literature, known for her acerbic wit, and deemed “the fantasy cultural studies professor you never had” by Ruth Franklin. Try Thank You for Not Reading (tr. Celia Hawkesworth and Damion Searles), essays that masterfully dissect and mock the realities of the literary marketplace; Karaoke Culture (tr. David Williams, Ellen Elias-Bursac, Celia Hawkesworth), more witty deconstructions of Western culture; The Museum of Unconditional Surrender (tr. Celia Hawkesworth), a postmodern, innovative novel exploring the realities of a life lived in exile; and Europe in Sepia (tr. David Williams), more masterful essays.

 

Hiromi Itō

Prominent Japanese poet exploring transgressive themes, including pregnancy, feminine erotic desire, and bodies, using very in-your-face, frank language. Try Wild Grass on the Riverbank, or the very powerful and grotesque Killing Kanoko (both tr. Jeffrey Angles).

 

Carmen Boullosa

Mexican author, playwright, and poet who has mastered a variety of fictional genres and is known for her deep exploration of feminism and gender roles. Try the historical novel Texas: The Great Theft (tr. Samantha Schnee) a re-writing of the history of the U.S./Mexico border regions, They’re Cows, We’re Pigs (tr. Leland H. Chambers) a feminist fantasia of the wild and chaotic 17th-century Caribbean world, or Before (tr. Peter Bush) a coming-of-age story that received won Mexico’s two most prestigious literary prizes.

 

Christa Wolf

Major, and controversial, East German author exploring themes of illness, fascism, and feminism, one of the most widely read and respected authors of her generation. They Divided the Sky (tr. Luise von Flotow) was the book that brought her to prominence; also try The Quest for Christa T (tr. Christopher Middleton), which was denounced as “an attempt to replace Marx with Freud” or her modern retelling of Medea.

 

Mercé Rodoreda

Regarded as among the greatest Catalan novelists of all time. The Time of the Doves (tr. David H. Rosenthal), a novel of the Spanish Civil War, is considered her masterpiece and is her most famous work. Death in Spring (tr. Martha Tennent) has also been popular in English translation, and it is the story of a bizarre, violent unnamed town. Also of interest is The Selected Stories of Mercè Rodoreda (tr. Martha Tennent).

 

Lina Meruane

Prominent Chilean author whose only translated work is the remarkable novel Seeing Red (tr. Megan McDowell). It is an autobiographical novel about a Chilean writer who moves to New York and suffers a stroke the leaves her blind. This novel won the prestigious Mexican Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz Prize in when it was originally released in Spanish in 2012.

 

Laia Jufresa

Up-and-coming Mexican author whose novel Umami (tr. Sophie Hughes) has met a great deal of success in English translation and has been translated into multiple languages. The book follows the lives of five different families in Mexico city following the death of a little girl.

 

Clarice Lispector

Widely acclaimed as the greatest Brazilian novelist of the modern era and memorably described by Hélène Cixous as what “Kafka would have been had he been a woman, or if Rilke had been a Jewish Brazilian born in the Ukraine. If Rimbaud had been a mother, if he had reached the age of fifty. If Heidegger could have ceased being German.” Start anywhere, as they are all extraordinary, but popular starting points are her haunting final novel Hour of the Star (tr. Ben Moser) and her Complete Stories (tr. Katrina Dodson).

 

Qiu Miaojin

Taiwanese queer author who became a cult phenomenon in her home nation and tragiclaly killed herself at 26 years of age. She lives on through her remarkable, Lispector-like autobiographical work Last Words from Montmartre (tr. Ari Larissa Heinrich), as well as her novel about queer youths coming of age in the post-martial-law era of late-1980s Taipei, Notes of a Crocodile (tr. Bonnie Huie).

The Missing Books Version 2

The Missing Books Version 2 has just been released.

The Missing Books is a curated directory of books that do not exist, but should.

When you now purchase The Missing Books you will receive: 1) a PDF of The Missing Books Version 2; 2) an ePub of The Missing Books Version 2 3) a PDF changelog highlighting new text to The Missing Books Version 2.

The original The Missing Books was released in October of last year and was featured in Literary Hub, 3 Quarks Daily, the Los Angeles Review of Books, The Millions, and many others, as well as co-signed on Michiko Kakutani’s Twitter feed.

Featuring missing books from: Cormac McCarthy, the Oulipo, Margaret Atwood, Stephen King, JM Coetzee, Roberto Bolaño, Vladimir Nabokov, Mario Bellatín, Jose Saramago, Philip K. Dick, Christian Bök, Kenneth Goldsmith, Gerald Murnane, Jorge Luis Borges, László Krasznahorkai, Edouard Levé. Nearly 100 titles in all.

You can read more about the project here, or get it below.

Kindle ($4.99)

 

THE SURRENDER

The Surrender is Scott Esposito’s “collection of facts” concerning his lifelong desire to be a woman.


LADY CHATTERLEY'S BROTHER

Two long essays of 10,000 words each on sex in—and out of—literature . . .

The first essay dives in to Nicholson Baker’s “sex trilogy,” explaining just what Baker is up to here and why these books ultimately fail to be as sexy as Baker might wish.

From there the book moves on to the second essay, which explains just why Spaniard Javier Marías does right what Baker does wrong . . .


THE LATIN AMERICAN MIXTAPE

5 essays. 2 interviews.

All in all, over 25,000 words of Latin American literary goodness.

3 never-before-published essays, including “The Digression”—a 4,000-word piece on the most important digression in César Aira’s career.

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