Shadow IFFP 2012 - Round-Up Number Five

Our latest trip for the 2012 Independent Foreign Fiction Prize once again takes us to snowy Scandinavia, this time to Norway, the setting for Dag Solstad's novella Professor Andersen's Night, translated by Agnes Scott Langeland.  This short work was actually written in 1996, but it has taken a good fifteen years for it to appear in English - insert usual comments about the lack of translated fiction in English here...

*****
What's it all about?
The titular professor, Pål to his friends (pun intended...), is a professor of English literature at the University of Oslo, a divorcé in his mid-fifties and a man who lives, and is comfortable being, alone.  On Christmas Eve, he prepares his traditional yuletide meal, happy to conform to societal norms despite having no real religious beliefs, and after a sumptuous, calorie-laden and alcohol-accompanied feast, he absent-mindedly stands and watches the families in the apartments across the road, each celebrating the day in their own way.

While peering into the windows of his neighbours, suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, the good professor is witness to a disturbing crime, a brutal, bare-handed murder which tears him out of his self-imposed hermetic bubble.  However, as he hurries to the telephone to report the crime, he stops... and the call is never made.  This is the start of Professor Andersen's slow descent into depression...

While it would be tempting to think that Professor Andersen's Night is mainly concerned with the unravelling of the crime which begins it, nothing could be further from the truth.  The murder is merely the catalyst for something which has merely been waiting for the right time to emerge, namely the professor's mid-life crisis.  As he attempts to understand why he was unable to make the call (and why he continues to avoid going to the police), Andersen tries to distract himself to avoid thinking about it, drinking with friends, spontaneously leaving Oslo for a few days and then throwing himself back into his research and lecturing.

However, the more he tries to escape into his normal life, the more he realises how empty this has become.  The dinner party at his friends' house and the brief excursion to Trondheim, where he meets another friend and his young family, only show him how alone he is.  On examining his professional life more closely, he realises that he no longer believes in the power and permanence of literature, leaving him unable to go on as if nothing were wrong...

Towards the end of the novel, the mental strain has also begun to take its toll on his physical well-being.  Like a Norwegian Raskolnikov, his guilt is slowly tearing him apart, rendering his daily life unbearable, unmanageable...  Will he pull through?

Do you think it deserves to make the shortlist?

I'm not overly convinced...  It's a fascinating little book, if a little uneven, but I'm not sure that it's one which will win over the majority of readers.  There are times when it goes a little flat, not a good sign in a book of just 154 pages, and it's not always a smooth read.  That may be owing to the translation, which, while adequate, feels a little stilted and forced at times.  Yes, the professor probably does speak in this slightly unusual manner in the original, but some of the word choices felt a little... well, wrong.

Will it make the shortlist?
I'll stick my neck out and say no.  Solstad has been longlisted twice before (and shortlisted) once, so he has form, but I can't imagine that the jury will pick this one ahead of nine of the others - unless, of course, they're looking for something short to counterbalance any weighty novels they may have chosen!  On the other hand, I could see this being the kind of book that will have some fervent supporters, who are entranced by the depiction of the professor's downward spiral - all it takes is one or two die-hards to sway the group's opinion...

*****
That'll do for today.  I'm dragging myself off now to knock off another few pages of Parallel Stories, a book I'll be reading on and off over the next few weeks (the anti-Andersen, as it were!).  Join me next time for a trip to some warmer climes - I'm fed up with all this literary snow ;)

March 2012 Wrap-Up

Little did I know, when writing my previous monthly wrap-up, that my leisurely, random reading plans were about to be hijacked by a frenetic, strictly-structured schedule.  A few weeks ago, the longlist for the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize was announced, and after I foolishly announced that I was planning to read a good few of the books nominated, I was invited by Stu of Winston's Dad to join the Shadow Panel for the event.

So much for leisurely reading...

*****
Total Books Read: 13

Year-to-Date: 34

New: 13

Rereads: 0

From the Shelves: 5
Review Copies: 0 

From the Library: 6

On the Kindle: 2 (1 Review Copy)

Novels: 9

Novellas: 2

Short Stories: 2

Non-English Language: 9 (2 Hebrew, 1 Spanish, 1 Japanese, 1 German, 1 Chinese, 1 Icelandic, 1 Italian, 1 Norwegian)

In Original Language: 1 (1 German)

Books read in March were:

1) The Unconsoled by Kazuo Ishiguro

2) A Family Supper & A Village After Dark by Kazuo Ishiguro

3) Down the Rabbit Hole by Juan Pablo Villalobos

4) The Sailor who Fell from Grace with the Sea by Yukio Mishima

5) The Trumpet-Major by Thomas Hardy

6) Heimsuchung (Visitation) by Jenny Erpenbeck

7) Juliet, Naked by Nick Hornby

8) Dream of Ding Village by Yan Lianke

9) From the Mouth of the Whale by Sjón

10) The Prague Cemetery by Umberto Eco

11) Professor Andersen's Night by Dag Solstad

12) Scenes from Village Life by Amos Oz
13) Blooms of Darkness by Aharon Appelfeld

Murakami Challenge: 0 (0/3)

Aussie Author Challenge: 0 (4/12)

Australian Women Writers Challenge: 0 (4/10)

IFFP 2012 Longlist: 6 (9/15)

Tony's Turkey for March is: nothing

My last book of the month, Blooms of Darkness, almost tempted me into giving it the drumsticks, but in the end I decided that it wasn't quite poor enough to warrant the humiliation ;)

Tony's Recommendation for March is: Kazuo Ishiguro's The Unconsoled

Ishiguro's strangest novel was first out of the blocks this month, and despite the plethora of excellent novels consumed(!) in March, it was never really seriously challenged.  It's hard to give honourable mentions in a month as successful as this, but I suppose, if pressed, that I would have to single out Sjón, Eco, Oz and Mishima for special praise :)

And that's it for March!  April will (hopefully) see me power through the rest of the IFFP longlist plus a few other books I have lined for review.  There is one potential stumbling block though - Péter Nádas' monster of a book, Parallel Stories, may just keep me busy for longer than I'd like...

Shadow IFFP 2012 - Round-Up Number Four

So far in our Independent Foreign Fiction Prize magical mystery tour, we've been to a parallel Japan, Germany, South Korea, provincial China and seventeenth-century Iceland - and today we're going back in time again, this time to nineteenth-century Italy and France.  Who needs a holiday with books like these?  I spoil you all, I really do...

*****

The Prague Cemetery by Umberto Eco (translated by Richard Dixon)

What's it all about?

We begin in Paris, as an unnamed narrator guides us through dirty, disreputable streets until we enter a shop and peer over the shoulder of an old man.  Simone Simonini, an Italian resident for many years in the French capital, is beginning a diary of sorts in order to trawl through the depths of his memory and fill in some puzzling and worrying gaps in his recent history.  The reader is informed of Simonini's past by virtue of reading the pages of this diary; however, it's not quite as simple as that.  You see, Simonini is not the only person using the book to write down his thoughts...

The Prague Cemetery then is a conundrum of a novel, a story told by the unknown narrator, Simonini himself and the mysterious Abbé Dalla Piccola.  It's a dazzling creation, a tale drawing threads from all kind of real-life events and authentic literature to flesh out the existence of our Italian friend.  As the trio unfold daring intrigues and devious plots, leading Simonini from the combustible Italian states to a hardly more stable French republic, we begin to suspect that the three people may actually be one and the same person.

In terms of story, The Prague Cemetery is simply about how Simonini, a nerveless forger, a  murdering gourmet, a sexless sociopath, becomes caught up in some of the most explosive political and social events of nineteenth-century Europe.  Largely owing to his skills as a master forger, he is courted by the secret services of most of the major powers of the time, becoming a spy whose main talent lies in providing people with the information they need - all of it fabricated. The more he lies, the more his reputation grows, as the various services he works for have no real interest in the truth.  They are far more concerned with justifying the steps they take against various power groups - the Jesuits, the Masons and (of course) the Jews...

However, if that is not enough, the real concern of Eco's novel is Simonini and his identity.  Early in the novel, we learn of a casual acquaintance, a certain Doctor "Froïde", and the quest for the truth behind the unholy trinity of voices is definitely a Freudian one.  It is clear that a traumatic event has caused the partial amnesia experienced by both Simonini and the Abbé; we're just not quite sure what it could be.  Is it related to Simonini's forgeries?  To the various masonic lodges and cults he becomes involved with?  Well, you'll just have to read it to find out ;)

As well as reflecting actual historical events, the book also contains a plethora of meta-fictional aspects, referring to many books which, after further research, I found were all actually real.  One of the central pillars of the plot is Simonini's story of 'The Prague Cemetery', a fictional meeting of the Jewish leaders of the world, which several writers then adapt (or steal!) to both entertain an incredibly trusting audience and justify actions taken by various governments against the Jewish people.  There's definitely no such thing as an original idea in this context, but Simonini shows that original ideas are overrated, especially in an era where communication was not quite as advanced as it is today...

Do you think it deserves to make the shortlist?

Let me get back to you on that...  The Prague Cemetery is an excellent book, and the translation is a wonderful one, making it a pleasure to read, but the novel is not perfect.  At times, it all feels a little too clever, as if Eco is writing more to show his intelligence than to advance the story.  The plot can occasionally flag, especially towards the middle, and there is always the danger, when characters have continual anti-semitic rants, that the author's intention of condemning these views becomes almost overshadowed by his character's beliefs.

It's also a little ironic that in a book which pokes fun at crowd-pleasing, salacious pulp fiction, Eco's own story actually takes a turn in that direction towards the end of the novel, reminding the reader of nothing more than Victorian 'sensation' fiction.  Of course, knowing Eco, this was almost certainly intentional ;)

On first finishing the novel, I wasn't quite convinced, but a few days of unconscious reflection have raised the book in my estimation, so I'll say that it does deserve to make the shortlist.  I don't think it'll be a winner though...

Will it make the shortlist?

I'll stick my neck out and say no, which may be surprising given what I said above!  Despite its undoubted excellence, the accomplished translation and Eco's stature, I have a sneaking suspicion that this may be one which is enjoyed by a minority, even among regular readers of literary fiction.  It'll have adherents who will defend it to the bitter end, but it may also leave a lot of readers cold.

I hope I'm wrong though ;)

*****

One more done and dusted.  Stay tuned for the next stop on my virtual tour, when I'll be heading north again to spend the holidays with a lonely friend - see you then!

Time, History and the Wonders of Chance

Although I like to devote a post to each book I read, with the number of books that pass through my hands in a year, that just isn't possible at times.  When the burden gets a little too much then, I try to ease the pressure by doing a combined post, usually attempting to twist together two books, often chosen for that very purpose.  But what happens when it's time to write up two different, randomly-chosen books together?  Well, it's amazing what you can do when you put your mind to it...

*****
The Trumpet-Major, regarded as one of Thomas Hardy's minor works, is his only historical novel.  It is set during the Napoleonic wars, taking place in Overcombe, a village near the sea port of Budmouth (Weymouth!), on the south coast of Hardy's beloved Wessex.  Mrs. Garland and her daughter Anne, gentry fallen on hard times after the death of Mr. Garland, now rent rooms at the back of Mr. Loveday's mill.  The days pass quietly, if somewhat tediously, until the arrival one day of a large number of soldiers.

The military are encamped in Overcombe both to protect the coast against any possible invasion by the devil in French attire and to keep an eye on the King during his summer holidays.  However, the King is not the only visitor - when Miller Loveday's two sons, Robert and John, sailor and trumpet-major respectively, appear on the scene, Anne no longer has to complain of a boring life...

*****
...but a boring life is exactly what the characters in Jenny Erpenbeck's Heimsuchung (Visitation) would like.  The novel is set by a lake just outside Berlin and spans more than a century of local and national history, telling the story of a house and the various inhabitants it receives over the course of its existence.  The location is, of course, all important as its position in the heart of the former German Democratic Republic means that just when the house's owners feel settled and secure, a change in the political environment is just around the corner...

Heimsuchung is divided into two sets of alternating chapters: one concentrates on the various people who call the old summer house their own; the other focuses on the one character who stays put through all the upheavals, the taciturn, enigmatic Gardener.  By the end of the book, the reader is left wondering just who the house actually belongs to - that is if anyone really can own anything in the long run.

*****
At first glance, these two books may seem very different, impossible to twist together into a cohesive, integrated post.  In fact, the two books have an awful lot in common.  For one thing, both explore the lives of individuals against the backdrop of a greater historical setting.  The Trumpet-Major would be a straight tragi-comic romance were it not for the ever-present threat of a French invasion, a menace which subtly alters how the Lovedays and Garlands interact.  It is the possibility of losing one of her suitors on a European battlefield that pushes Anne Garland into casting her reserve aside - and it is a very real possibility.  One of the genuine historical events taking place during the novel is the battle of Trafalgar...

This sense of the historical intruding on the individual is also present in Heimsuchung.  Many of the people who come to acquire the house live there for decades and expect to live out their days sitting peacefully by the lake.  However, the rise of fascism, the coming of the Russians, the beginnings of a Communist state and legal battles of restitution all eventually conspire to drive the owners away.  While the house's location may be particularly unfortunate given the hindsight of twentieth-century history, it is a telling reminder that nothing lasts forever...

...which is another concept which links the two novels.  As well as the effect of the political and national on the local and individual, both stories also look at how individual lives contrast with time, on a far greater scale.  In Erpenbeck's book, there is a prologue which tells of the creation of the lake, describing the advance and retreat of the glaciers in northern Europe, a process which will one day leave a large pool of water next to a fertile stretch of land.  This skillful evocation of geological time has the effect of putting all the petty land squabbles which follow into perspective...

Hardy too contrasts the brilliant, but ephemeral, lives of humans with the land that supplies the backdrop to their existence.  In one passage, he describes a military parade for the King, a dazzling display of English aggression and style:

"...by one o'clock the downs were again bare... They still spread their grassy surface to the sun as on that beautiful morning not, historically speaking, so very long ago; but the king and his fifteen thousand armed men, the horses, the bands of music, the princesses, the cream-coloured teams - the gorgeous centre-piece, in short, to which the downs were but the mere mount or margin - how entirely have they all passed and gone! - lying scattered about the world as military and other dust..." p.76

In setting his story eighty years before the time of writing, Hardy achieves a distance that allows him, and the reader, to see how small and insignificant life can be, even when (at the time) events appear to be of earth-shattering importance.

*****
Two novels chosen without much thought, two entertaining stories - and, as you can see, I did find a lot to connect the two books :)  It just goes to show you that, whatever people may say, when it comes to randomly picking books off a shelf, there's no such thing as chance...

Shadow IFFP 2012 - Round-Up Number Three

I'm back with more from the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize longlist, and today we're off to the frozen north for a book about... well, a lot of different things really.  Pack your harpoon, and let's get to it...

***** 
From the Mouth of the Whale by Sjón (translated by Victoria Cribb)

What's it all about?

Jónas Pálmason, an auto-didact in seventeenth-century Iceland, has been banished to a small island, ostensibly for his religious beliefs, in reality for refusing to follow a local leader's instructions to take part in a massacre of visiting whalers.  As he sits on his cold, lonely prison in the Arctic Circle, he watches the natural life around him, spins yarns and fills the reader in on the story of his life.  And it's a very good one.

It's actually quite difficult to really summarise From the Mouth of the Whale - it's not that kind of book.  It's best to just sit back and read it, let the words flow over you and enjoy the magical twists and turns the narrative takes.  The story begins with a short tale depicting the fall of Lucifer from a very different angle to the usual story, and it goes on from there, jumping from descriptions of the grim Icelandic countryside, to short encyclopaedic descriptions of plants, fish, birds and animals (both real and imaginary), to tales of myths and religion.

It's a stunning mix of religion, history, science and mythology, and it reflects very well the state of life at the end of the sixteenth century, where belief in science and unicorns could (and often did) go hand in hand.  At times, it is hard to see where the story is going, but that really doesn't matter.  The book is all about the journey, not the destination - the fact that there is one is an added bonus :)

The thing that lifts this book even further above your usual fare is a sparkling translation by Victoria Cribb, one of those rare, virtually seamless creations that make reading translated fiction a joy.  It can be hard to judge a translation sometimes, especially if it is merely adequate, but when you have a good (or bad!) example, it leaps out at you.  This is a very good one.

From the Mouth of the Whale is a relatively short novel, but it is thoroughly enjoyable and will have you looking Iceland up on Wikipedia for the next week (and possibly looking at the prices of flights to Reykjavik too!).  Be warned though - even in the middle of summer the average temperature is only about 15 degrees Celsius.  Perhaps you should just read some more Icelandic literature instead...

Do you think it deserves to make the shortlist?
Yes.  Next question

Will it make the shortlist?
Yes.  I've heard nothing but good things about this book, which augurs well for its shortlist chances.  The translation, as discussed, is excellent, and that is always an advantage.  Sjón also made the IFFP longlist back in 2009 with The Blue Fox, so he has form, again a bonus.  And he has a cool name.  What more do you want?

*****
That's all for this week - five down, ten to go.  Same place, next week.  OK with you?

Shadow IFFP 2012 - Round-Up Number Two

Thursday evening, and #translationthurs has rolled around again on Twitter, so it's time for my second round-up of books from the Independent Foreign Fiction Prize longlist.  Today we're off to the far east for a story told from beyond the grave - I hope you're not afraid of ghosts...

*****

Dream of Ding Village by Yan Lianke (translated by Cindy Carter)

What's it all about?

Dream of Ding Village is a fascinating novel, set in a small Chinese village in the countryside, and narrated by a corpse.  Our deceased friend, a boy who was poisoned by angry villagers, tells us of the plight facing his hometown because of a mania for selling blood.  His father, a rather nasty, grasping entrepreneur, got rich by convincing his fellow villagers to sell their blood - and by skimping on the hygiene while he was at it.  Now, a decade on, AIDS ('the fever') has broken out in the Chinese provinces, and the villagers are beginning to pay the real price for their past actions...

The main character is Grandpa, also called Professor, the patriarch of the Ding family and a retired teacher of sorts.  Attempting to make up for the role his elder son played in the misfortunes of the village, he decides to house all the sick inside the school, creating a kind of commune in which those who are destined to die can live out their days in comfort.  Unfortunately, human nature proves to be too strong for community spirit to triumph over: Grandpa's noble efforts are doomed to failure as his dream descends into selfish egotism...

The reader of Dream of Ding Village is constantly reminded of various classic tales: the post-apocalyptic feel of Camus' The Plague; the Darwinist horror of Golding's Lord of the Flies; the "some animals are more equal than others" turn of events at the school, reminiscent of Orwell's Animal Farm.  The more the story progresses though, the more it appears like a biblical reckoning, a plague sent to punish the greedy and inconsiderate.  In a society where people only care for themselves, there is nobody (except Grandpa Ding) who bothers to think about what tomorrow may bring.

The extent to which the selfish villagers will sink to is frightening.  Several attempt to cheat the group out of their share of food by putting rocks in the bags of rice and flour they are required to donate.  A local youth with the fever arranges to marry an uninfected woman from a neighbouring town, and the village is sworn to secrecy.  And the trees - don't get me started on the trees...

Dream of Ding Village is not for the squeamish - there is a lot of talk of blood and rotting flesh -, but there are some bright spots.  The blossoming romance between Grandpa Ding's younger son and a fellow AIDS sufferer shows that there is a positive side to the live-for-the-moment feeling which has swept the community.  On the whole, however, it is a rather bleak picture of a serious subject, one which doesn't paint Chinese society in a favourable light.  Perhaps then it's not that surprising that it was banned in mainland China...

Do you think it deserves to make the shortlist?

Possibly...  It's a good book, but I'm not sure it's good enough to be one of the main contenders.  The translation was alright, but nothing special - the dialogue, especially, was a little stilted at times, a problem which often arises when the very different Asian forms of address are put into English.  It will depend a lot on the books I haven't read yet, so if I like a lot of the others, this is one which will probably miss the cut.

Will it make the shortlist?
Again, possibly.  Most of what I've heard from other people has been positive, and I have a feeling that people would like to see a non-European book on the shortlist.  I think this may be one which will be mid-table and pushing for that final spot on the list.

*****
Join me again on Sunday, when we will be leaving Asia and heading back to Europe.  Just a warning - it might be a bit chilly...

Childhood Corrupted

As a father myself, I'm a big believer in childhood as an age of innocence, a time to explore and discover the world from beneath the shade of a sheltering environment.  Sadly, this is not always the case, and literature frequently throws up examples of less-than-perfect childhoods, ones which make you hope you're not doing the same to your kids.  So, while you ponder today's offerings, I'm off to play with my daughters :)

***** 
And Other Stories is another of my favourite little indie publishers, purveyors of fine translated fiction, and one of their most popular books so far is Juan Pablo Villalobos' Down the Rabbit Hole, translated by Rosalind Harvey.  This very slim volume (which I received as an electronic review copy!) is a three-part story told through the eyes of Tochtli, a young Mexican boy.  Our friend has the usual issues faced by kids - spending as much time on computer games as he can, avoiding his lessons wherever possible, and trying to convince his dad to get him a pygmy hippopotamus.

Wait a minute...

Unlike most kids, Tochtli's dad happens to be a Mexican drug dealer, which (as well as making the hippo thing a real possibility) means that the young boy is witness to a lot more things than most kids will ever have to see.  The further we slip down Villalobos' titular rabbit hole (an apt expression seeing as Tochtli actually means 'rabbit'), the more we find out about Tochtli and his father - and the more disturbing it becomes.  Is it possible to grow up normally in such an unusual environment?

Down the Rabbit Hole is wonderfully narrated by the macho little boy, a character who uses a style of language which is one part arrogance to three parts naivety.  His first words - "Some people say I'm precocious" - tell us that he is living in a cocoon, kept away from the real world.  In some ways, his statement is true, as his casual acceptance of certain unpalatable experiences shows.  For a young boy, he is certainly at ease around guns and corpses...

In other ways though, he is just a boy.  His vocabulary is limited, and he constantly repeats the same four or five adjectives to describe anything from tasty food to third-world hotels.  He is also oblivious to certain activities happening under his nose, such as the reason for the frequent visits of attractive women - and their long disappearances into his father's room.  While he is aware of certain aspects of life, he doesn't really understand them, and the fortress-like environment he is raised in by his paranoid father is not the best one for setting him straight on them.

As a portrait of what happens when a horribly-twisted nurture triumphs over nature, Down the Rabbit Hole is a disturbing masterpiece.  A translation which doesn't read like one, it's compelling, page-turning reading, a book which will only take an hour or so to read, but which will stay with you for a good while longer.  Just don't talk to me about the hippos...


*****

Leaving Mexico, we turn our attention to Japan, a tranquil country where children live happy, carefree lives and would never think about death and...  oh.

Yes kids, it's another one about psychotic minors, this time set in the land of the rising sun.  Yukio Mishima's The Sailor who Fell from Grace with the Sea (translated by John Nathan) is a tense novel set in the Japanese port town of Yokohama, and it is centred upon an unlikely trio of protagonists: Noboru, a thirteen-year-old boy; Fusako, his widowed, but still young and beautiful, mother; and Ryuji, a sailor Fusako meets and falls for.

In the first part of the story, we see the unfolding of the relationship between Ryuji and Fusako, one which Noboru views with mixed emotions.  While unwilling to share his mother, he is fascinated by the sea and has a kind of grudging respect for the weather-worn sailor.  However, when he discovers that Ryuji is just as tedious as he and his friends consider all fathers to be, his opinion changes, and he decides that Ryuji will not do.  It's what happens next which is rather harrowing...

The key issue in The Sailor who Fell from Grace with the Sea is the importance of a strong father figure, and the damage that can be done to a young boy's character when there is no older man around to keep him on the straight and narrow.  It's probably not a viewpoint shared by all today, but Mishima certainly believes that the absence of a father, either through death or neglect, can lead to behavioural problems.  Or, in Noboru's case, an unhealthy interest in his mother's sex life.

This is actually shown more clinically in the character of The Chief, the leader of the gang of boys Noboru hangs out with.  Intellectually advanced for his age, he has an almost pathological hatred towards adults (especially fathers), despising their weakness and their willingness to conform.  He has a strong influence on the impressionable Noboru, and Ryuji's decision to attempt to become a father figure for his lover's son sets tragic events in motion, leading to a sickening denouement...

Typically for Mishima, beautiful writing is matched with horrible, horrible characters, making this novel another of those book which are a joy to read but, at the same time, slightly disturbing.  That's bad enough, but taken together, Down the Rabbit Hole and The Sailor who Fell from Grace with the Sea really do make you think about your role as a parent.  The two books remind us that children are very delicate creatures.  If they are to grow up happy and well adjusted, it's up to the parents to make sure they have the right environment to achieve this.

And if this means no peep-holes into their mother's bedroom and no pygmy hippopotamus for their birthday, that's just the way it will have to be...

Shadow IFFP 2012 - Round-Up Number One

It's #translationthurs on Twitter again, and what better way to celebrate than by kicking off a series of IFFP 2012 posts?  None, that's what ;)  And, to make things even better, I have been asked to be a late addition to the Shadow IFFP Panel - I feel extremely honoured :)

As I mentioned in an earlier post, I am planning to make my way through nine or ten selections from the longlist for this year's Independent Foreign Fiction Prize before the shortlist is announced, so I thought I might get the ball rolling by rounding up the opinions of the ones I've already read and commented on.  No full reviews here - I've already examined the books in more (and, in one case, exhaustive!) detail elsewhere.  For full reviews, please click on the hyper-link on the book titles.  Shall we?

*****

1Q84 (Books One and Two) by Haruki Murakami (translated by Jay Rubin)

What's it all about?

Haruki Murakami is one of the heavy hitters on the longlist, and his book, 1Q84, is not exactly light either.  A story of a man and a woman, whose love must overcome such obstacles as parallel worlds, sinister cults and weird little people, Murakami's novel brings together ideas from all of his life's work and attempts to blend them into one cohesive story.

Do you think it deserves to make the shortlist?

Possibly not.  I have a much more positive view of the book than many out there, but I still don't think Murakami quite nailed the landing with this one.  There are too many unresolved issues and passages of tedium to make this a success.  I would also say that not having Book Three here actually hurts its chances as I thought it was the best of the three - although not everyone agrees...

Will it make the shortlist?

Again, no.  The reviews of 1Q84 have been fairly negative, and I would be very surprised if it were to make it any further in what is a very competitive contest.  The fact that it wasn't included in the seven-book longlist for the Man Asian Literature Prize is another indicator that it isn't going down well with the people who make these decisions.

*****
Next World Novella by Matthias Politycki (translated by Anthea Bell)

What's it all about?

An ageing academic wakes up one morning to find his beloved wife slouched over scattered pieces of paper - dead.  As he attempts to come to terms with the shock, and before grief has even had the chance to set in, he notices the writing she was doing before she died - and starts reading.  The pages he sees contain a very different view of his relationship with his wife, one which destroys the image he has been carrying around in his mind for decades...

Do you think it deserves to make the shortlist?

Absolutely.  This was one of my favourite books of last year, and it is yet another of Peirene Press' little gems.  It's a cleverly-constructed cat-and-mouse game, carefully deconstructing the protagonist's life and laying bare the true state of his relationship with his darling wife.  One cautionary note though - I did read the original German, not the translation :)

Will it make the shortlist?

Possibly not.  There are a few big names on the longlist, and the cynic in me thinks that familiarity breeds shortlisting.  Politycki is not well known in English-speaking circles, so that may count against him.  Having said that, of course, translator Anthea Bell is extremely well known and respected - hopefully that will be a positive point!

*****

Please Look After Mother by Kyung-sook Shin (translated by Chi-young Kim)

What's it all about?

An elderly country woman goes missing on a trip to the Korean capital of Seoul.  As her family members frantically try to find her, a few of them relate their memories of her, only realising now how much she meant to them.

Do you think it deserves to make the shortlist?

Nonononononono.  No.  This book is definitely one which polarises opinions, and I'm on the side which believes that it is a pile of melodramatic rubbish.  Badly written, badly translated, sentimental clap-trap which may well turn out to be my least favourite book of the year.

Will it make the shortlist?

Probably - life's cruel like that.  There are a lot of people who liked this book, so there's a fair chance that some of them will be among the judges.  Now if there's a judge there who shares my view, that will make for a very interesting discussion indeed ;)

*****
Three down, many to go - watch this space...

Dinner for Two at the Fusion-Lit Bistro

Today's post may make more sense if you read this one first.  Then again, it may not...

[The camera fades in from black to reveal a quiet restaurant; not full, not empty. A few people are standing chatting at the bar over drinks - dinner jackets and cocktail dresses aplenty. We start to zoom in gently to the entrance, on the left of our picture. Tony is walking into the restaurant, chatting to a middle-aged man of Asian appearance as they make their way to a table in the corner.  From the right, a tall, gaunt waiter approaches unhurriedly and elegantly, carrying two burgundy leather-bound menus with Fusion Lit Bistro written on the front in gold script.  The name tag on his jacket is, as always, blank.  He stops neatly at Tony's table and offers the menu to the newly-arrived guests.]

Waiter: [Bowing] Good evening, sir. Nice to see you here again.
Tony: Thank you! [Smiles] I had such an enjoyable meal last time that...
Waiter: [Addressing Tony's companion] Yes, always nice to have you here Mr. Ishiguro.  Our guests do so enjoy your creations - delectable one and all.

[He hands the menu to Ishiguro, who opens it and peruses the offerings.  Tony goes to take the other menu, only for the waiter to absent-mindedly swap it to his other hand and tuck it under his arm, causing Tony to overbalance slightly and bang his elbow on the table.]

Ishiguro: [Handing the menu back to the waiter] I think, on the whole, as it is the reason we are meeting, I would like to try The Unconsoled here.  Lightly poached, please.  [He nods to the waiter.]  Thank you, Stevens.
Waiter: [Bows] An excellent choice sir.
Tony: [Rubbing his elbow with barely concealed irritation] I'll have The Unconsoled too, Stevens, medium-rare please...
Waiter: [With a look of great disdain] That doesn't surprise me at all...  And no.
Tony: But, but... he... [Pointing to Ishiguro, who is casually surveying the restaurant's interior]  ...he called you Stevens.
Waiter: A man of Mr. Ishiguro's talents can call me what he wants.  If he so desires, I'm happy to answer to Betty.  [Tony opens his mouth to speak.] Don't.  Even.  Think. About. It. [Tony slumps back in his seat, slightly abashed.]

[The waiter strides off into the distance carrying the two menus, muttering something to himself which could be construed as 'imbecile bloggers'.  Tony sits in his place, apparently counting to ten under his breath, then turns to his dinner partner.]

Tony: So, tell me a little about today's choice then, it sounds rather intriguing...

Ishiguro: [Smiling] Well, it is rather different from my usual fare, a little more surreal, one might say.  Eastern European undertones, a man not quite sure why he is where he is, dream-like excursions through the chill night...  I rather think it's one to be judged on reflection, as a whole, not evaluated in a single mouthful, as it were...

[He is interrupted by the return of the waiter, who carefully lays down two objects on the table.]

Waiter: I thought, sir, that these amuse-bouches would complement your choice...

Tony: [Peering across] What have you brought us this time, Gustav? [The waiter glares at Tony, who sits back in his seat and suddenly finds the need to examine his nails in minute detail.]

Waiter: [To Ishiguro] A pair of minor delights, A Family Supper and A Village after Dark - these should whet the appetite. [He bows and then strides off, glancing once, disdainfully, over his shoulder at Tony as he leaves.]

Ishiguro: Please try these.  They're not high-class creations, but I'm fairly happy with them.  A Village after Dark is a sort of preparation for the main course, an interim stage towards creating The Unconsoled.  A Family Supper, on the other hand is a little Japanese something I whipped up.

[Tony tries the two items carefully.]

Tony: Mmm, very nice.  Delicate and yet unmistakeably from the same creator.  [He looks to one side as if thinking.]  Definitely a hint of seafood in A Family Supper - perhaps...

Ishiguro: Fugu.

[Tony gags momentarily, before recovering and taking a sip of water.  The waiter returns with the main course, and the two men set to their task in silence.  Later, the waiter returns to take the remnants away, and the two diners sit back in their chairs.]

Ishiguro: So, what did you think?

Tony: It was wonderful!  As you said, very complex, not one for the casual diner.  From the first mouthful, there were strong undertones of Kafka, especially The Castle, but the more you allow it to linger on the taste-buds, the more original and bolder it becomes.  Definitely hints of dream analysis there, lots of Freudian touches, sublimation and condensation and all that - intriguing use of location, allowing our friend Ryder to move from one building to another easily, even when they are apparently miles away.  

Ishiguro: And what did you think of the family element?

Tony: [Enthusiastically] Oh, I loved that, I loved the way that the whole thing read like a session of psycho-analysis for Ryder.  You could see the various characters and families as different aspects of Ryder himself, trying to work through his family issues, step-fathers, alcoholism.  Really excellent!  But...

Ishiguro: Yes?

Tony: Well... [Pauses]  Don't you think it's a little... at times, I mean... all a little too...

Ishiguro: [Leaning forward] Yes?

Tony: Gimmicky?

[Ishiguro leans back, a frown settling upon his hitherto placid features.  Tony waits nervously, the fear of having offended his companion written all over his furrowed brow.  Ishiguro finally sighs and gestures at the restaurant around him.]

Ishiguro: So, you're discussing a novel in an imaginary restaurant - with a writer you've never met - just to avoid writing a proper review?  And I'm the 'gimmicky' one?

[He stands up, nods curtly, and disappears in the direction of the exit.  Tony sighs and slumps back in his chair.  Moments later, the waiter walks up to the table.  He takes a leather folder and places it abruptly on the table.]

Tony: [Roused from his stupor] What, sorry, what's this?

Waiter: The bill. [Raises one eyebrow] Sir.

Tony: [Confused] But.. but, I thought this was on Mr. Ishiguro...

Waiter: Apparently, he has changed his mind.  [Smiles] Although if money is a problem, we do have a lot of dishes waiting to be washed...

Tony: [Standing up]  Come on then, Brodsky, let's get this over with.

Waiter: As you wish, sir. [Scowls] And not even close.

[They walk towards the kitchen - Tony appears to be throwing more and more names at the irritated waiter as the screen fades to black...]

Tony's Reading List's IFFP 2012 Plans

I think that many of you will be aware by now that the longlist for the 2012 IFFP (Independent Foreign Fiction Prize) has been announced, and regular readers of my blog will understand that this is one of the year's more interesting literary prizes for Tony's Reading List.  While I'm not committing myself to reading the whole list (that would be very silly and would be tempting fate in a way guaranteed to bring down retribution from various gods), I am hoping to make serious inroads into the fifteen works chosen, so here is a brief overview of the current state of play...

Books I've already read and reviewed:

• 1Q84: Books 1 and 2 by Haruki Murakami, translated from the Japanese by Jay Rubin (Harvill Secker)

• Next World Novella by Matthias Politycki, translated from the German by Anthea Bell (Peirene Press)***

• Please Look After Mother by Kyung-sook Shin, translated from the Korean by Shin Chi-Young Kim (Weidenfeld & Nicolson)

Books I have on order at my local library:

• Dream of Ding Village by Yan Lianke, translated from the Chinese by Cindy Carter (Corsair)

• From the Mouth of the Whale by Sjón, translated from the Icelandic by Victoria Cribb (Telegram Books)

• The Prague Cemetery by Umberto Eco, translated from the Italian by Richard Dixon (Harvill Secker)

• Seven Houses in France by Bernardo Atxaga, translated from the Spanish by Margaret Jull Costa (Harvill Secker)  

Books I can't get at the library and may buy:

• Alice by Judith Hermann, translated from the German by Margot Bettauer Dembo (The Clerkenwell Press)***

• New Finnish Grammar by Diego Marani, translated from the Italian by Judith Landry (Dedalus)

Books I may consider if they get to the shortlist stage:

• Blooms of Darkness by Aharon Appelfeld, translated from the Hebrew by Jeffrey M. Green (Alma Books)

• The Emperor of Lies by Steve Sem-Sandberg, translated from the Swedish by Sarah Death (Faber & Faber)

• Hate: A Romance by Tristan Garcia, translated from the French by Marion Duvert and Lorin Stein (Faber & Faber)***

• Parallel Stories by Peter Nadas, translated from the Hungarian by Imre Goldstein (Jonathan Cape)

• Professor Andersen's Night by Dag Solstad, translated from the Norwegian by Agnes Scott Langeland (Harvill Secker)

• Scenes From Village Life by Amos Oz, translated from the Hebrew by Nicholas De Lange (Chatto & Windus)

***Please note that any books in French or German will be read in the original, not the translation...

It's a big ask, but I'll do my best.  If any publisher wants to donate review copies, that would be lovely too!

And if you're looking for more quality reviews of this longlist, you could do worse than stop by the Winston's Dad blog and see what Stu and his sterling selection of shadow panelists make of this year's choices.  That's quite enough blathering on for now though - it's about time I cracked open another book...