Reviews

Handshake with the Devil: The Violin with Human Strings and Other Tales of Musical Madness by Antonio Ghislanzoni

[T]he real value of this collection is its aptly drawn portrait of the music world in nineteenth century Europe. . .

The Violin with Human Strings and Other Tales of Musical Madness by Antonio Ghislanzoni, translated from the Italian by Brendan and Anna Connell, Snuggly Books, 2024

Bach, Liszt, Paganini, Beethoven. . . these virtuosos have been immortalized in western societies—but what about the supremely talented musicians who clawed their path toward the zenith, only to ultimately fall short? In The Violin with Human Strings: And Other Tales of Musical Madness, written in Italian by Antonio Ghislanzoni and translated by Brendan and Anna Connell, the author paints the journey of four such less fortunate individuals. Throughout the collection, a recurring motif seems to ask: Is musical renown attained via wits and ambition, or via preternatural gift? Whatever the answer to the perennial debate on nature versus nurture in musical talent, the four stories here testify that a destructive impulse for mastery will eventually lead to madness.

A contemporary of revolutionaries such as Giuseppe Mazzini and Giuseppe Garibaldi, Antonio Ghislanzoni (1824-1893) was a multi-talented Lombard who began his career as a musician (principally as a vocalist), but turned to devote the latter half of his life to writing, resulting in a prolific corpus of articles, novels, short stories, and some eighty librettos. He was also an important member of the Scapigliatura movement, a loose-knit group of artists in Milan who gathered after the 1860 Unification of Italy. An Italian counterpart to the French Bohèmi, the group idealized patriotism, anti-conformism, and intellectual independence, with its writers being receptive to international writers such as Mary Shelley and Edgar Allen Poe—an influence that shows in Ghislanzoni’s fiction. READ MORE…

Announcing Our February Book Club Selection: Mountainish by Zsuzsanna Gahse

One of the pleasures of Mountainish is how its fragments flow together according to an obscure, free-associative logic.

Wandering, dizzying, echoing, gorgeous—spending time with Zsuzsanna Gahse’s Mountainish is not unlike being four thousand metres above sea level; the book conjures both the vastness and the minute details of the Alps with lyrical intuition, while constantly introducing surprising insights into the peaks’ social presentation. Through both a study of mountains and a poetic testament of the mind inside all that landscape, Gahse takes us across what it means to look, listen, feel, and think—with all the awe, fear, beauty, and inequity that is inseparable from our regard of worldly wonders. We are delighted to introduce Mountainish as our Book Club selection for the month, and to be travelling together along the excursions and perceptions of this singular work’s pursuit.

The Asymptote Book Club aspires to bring the best in translated fiction every month to readers around the world. You can sign up to receive next month’s selection on our website for as little as USD20 per book; once you’re a member, join our Facebook group for exclusive book club discussions and receive invitations to our members-only Zoom interviews with the author or the translator of each title.    

Mountainish by Zsuzsanna Gahse, translated from the German by Katy Derbyshire, Prototype, 2025

At some point while reading this strange, moreish book, one is likely to suddenly snap out of the trance it has induced, prompting a question into what this work does, and how it exerts its mesmerising effects.

Zsuzsanna Gahse’s Mountainish is a series of numbered notes, 515 in total. Certain sections appear to have come from a diary, while other parts resemble the scrambled embryo of a more substantial literary project—a travelogue, perhaps, or a parody of one. But very often, the notes never coalesce into anything; Mountainish might be best understood as the miscellaneous lint of a compulsive writer, a hodge-podge of scenes, sketches, proddings and testings of turns of phrase. This is not to say, however, that the book is lost to chaos. The numbers appended to the notes provide a semblance of order, and oblique patterns slowly emerge and disperse along the reading. Brief, slight, and faintly whimsical, the notes float by like cloud puffs, and if you look at them for long enough, they take on vaguely recognisable shapes. Within its diaphanous structure, the usual anchors to time and place—chronology, for instance—are done away with completely, leaving the book hovering ambiguously over its subject. READ MORE…

Complex Entanglements: A Review of Arasahas by Jaya Jacobo

Arasahas shows us not just how to hold multiple truths at once, but also how to embrace uncertainty. . .

Arasahas by Jaya Jacobo, translated from the Filipino by Christian Jil Benitez, PAWA Press in association with Paloma Press, 2024

My initial encounter with Jaya Jacobo’s Arasahas (Savage Mind Books, 2023) was primal. The title, a Bikolano word deliberately left unchanged by Christian Jil Benitez in his debut translation with PAWA Press, depicts a sensory experience; roughly translated from one of nearly two hundred languages in the Philippines, arasahas describes the warm, humid weather central to life in the tropics. My skin tingles when I read the word, and I recall the inescapable, invisible stickiness that life in the Philippines is steeped in. To the English reader, the word arasahas hisses, sizzles—even without its meaning, its sound, by virtue of the repeating a and s, coils and lingers in the ear. It clings.

A sharp poetic decision by both author and translator, the title invites the reader back into their body, and it is from the body that we approach the text. This is vital, because Arasahas is a collection that dances around what is almost, if not absolutely, unnamable but deeply palpable. It is a book of vivid, concrete images—a perfume bottle breaking, a bird’s nest delicacy, the tugging of “something within”—to allude not just to the abstract, but also the spiritual. In these acts of gesturing is the sense that there is something more, be it the supernatural or divine, that seeps into and transforms the everyday. I am reminded of how humidity, the invisible but ever-present water in the air, is fundamental to the proliferation of life. Similarly, Jacobo’s allusions and references perforate the text, and within these chasms are the hints at meaning that Arasahas alchemizes. Boundaries are challenged; left porous. In Arasahas, this simultaneity of meaning is not mere technique, but a sensibility formed by the lived experience of the poet. READ MORE…

Mario dell’Arco’s Colossal Miniatures

. . . dell’Arco has no problem poking fun . . . but as with the best comics, an edge of seriousness lurks under the poetry’s surface gloss.

Day Lasts Forever: Selected Poems by Mario dell’Arco, translated from the Romanesco by Marc Alan Di Martino, World Poetry Books, 2024.

In his homeland of Italy, Mario dell’Arco’s stature rivals that of the greatest Romanesco poets: Giuseppe Gioachino Belli, Cesare Pascarella, Crescenzo Del Monte, Trilussa, Giggi Zanazzo. Despite this, he has long been ignored in the English-speaking world, but that is due to change with World Poetry’s recent release of Day Lasts Forever: Selected Poems, a healthy folio of work that spans the poet’s twenty-nine collections, starting with 1946’s Red Inside and ending with 1991’s Roma Romae. All translated by Marc Alan Di Martino (a talented poet whose most recent collection is Still Life with City), the poems are by turns lively, melancholic, curious, strange, beautiful, humorous, sardonic, and pithy, rendered in a way that moves the reader to savor them like a fine Genzano wine—or, if you prefer, “the whole green meadow” of a pistachio ice cream.

In 1905, Mario dell’Arco was born as Mario Fagiolo. Around age seven, he began writing poems in his native Roman dialect, and placed his first piece—a sonnet—in Nino Ilari’s L’Amico Cerasa when he was just a teenager. Later, as he became an architect and helped design such structures as the post office in Piazza Bologna and the Zodiac Fountain in Terni, he invented a pseudonym that would reference this vocation: “Archi-tect, arch, dell’Arco.”

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What’s New in Translation: February 2025

February's latest in translation.

In this month’s round-up of recent translations, we present eleven titles from Japan, Iraq, Colombia, Indonesia, Austria, Ukraine, Italy, Spain, Sweden, and Slovenia. From neorealist postwar fiction to the graphic novel, stories capturing the tides of time and the turbulent eras of violence, narratives of migration and mystery, innovations of the short fiction form and unconventional looks into classic tales . . . these titles are invitations into hidden places and profound sights, stark realities and dreamy visions.

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A Perfect Day to be Alone by Nanae Aoyama, translated from the Japanese by Jesse Kirkwood, Other Press, 2025

Review by Rosalia Ignatova

Nanae Aoyama’s short novel, A Perfect Day to Be Alone, is the English-language debut of its lauded young author, offering a delicate exploration of existential drift through the eyes of Chizu, a restless twenty-year-old, and Ginko, her elderly relative who takes her in for a year. While the narrative is sparse on action, it is rich in atmospheric detail, focusing on the quiet moments that shape their unlikely cohabitation.

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Seeing and Unseen: Lowest Common Denominator by Pirkko Saisio

Getting a child narrator right is no easy task, and Saisio executes it perfectly.

Lowest Common Denominator by Pirkko Saisio, translated from the Finnish by Mia Spangenberg, Two Lines Press, 2024

When Pirkko Saisio’s father passed away near the end of the millennium, she decided to write a book that explored her history; what resulted was an autofiction that follows the only daughter of communist parents as she comes of age in 1950s Finland. First published as Pienin yhteinen jaettava in 1998, it is now out in a superb English translation by Mia Spangenberg as Lowest Common Denominator. The first of three thinly veiled autobiographical novels, it is preceded in the Anglosphere by The Red Book of Farewells, and the third, Backlight, will soon follow. It is hard to believe that someone who is so critically acclaimed in her native language—with a writing career spanning five decades—is being translated into English only recently. The hope is that this is just the beginning.

With the death of Saisio’s father at its root, Lowest Common Denominator focuses on our narrator’s childhood and is essentially plotless, with vignette-like chapters arranged in achronological order. The majority of the chapters take place in the past, while the few sections set in the present follow the narrator in the days leading up to her father’s demise, as well as the aftermath. Most of the former are on the shorter side, focusing on a particular incident, event, or person, while the longer chapters explore a certain aspect or individual over an extended period of time. These usually take the form of character studies or personal histories of extended and far-flung family members. Throughout, Saisio’s prose remains straightforward though formally fluid, capably mirroring the narrative’s varied directions. READ MORE…

Announcing Our January Book Club Selection: Underground Barbie by Maša Kolanović

[W]ith their youthful waywardness, the children in the novel subject their dolls to some of their most whimsical and anarchic impulses.

In the evocative, unexpected world of Underground Barbie, Croatian author Maša Kolanović merges the technicolor hues of childhood play with the startling and violent reality of her nation’s War of Independence. Instead of portioning imagination and historical fact as discrete realms, Kolanović aptly maps the whimsical trajectories of youth as they blur and subvert the sights and sounds of conflict, plotting out a sensitive, humorous, yet undoubtedly grounded view of how toys can give reign to both conscious and subconscious knowledge. We are proud to present this thought-provoking work as our Book Club selection for February, telling as it is about those phantasmagoric, shifty early years, where we all commence our becoming.

The Asymptote Book Club aspires to bring the best in translated fiction every month to readers around the world. You can sign up to receive next month’s selection on our website for as little as USD20 per book; once you’re a member, join our Facebook group for exclusive book club discussions and receive invitations to our members-only Zoom interviews with the author or the translator of each title.   

Underground Barbie by Maša Kolanović, translated from the Croatian by Ena Selimović, Sandorf Passage, 2025

“Until that day I thought you could only hear such a sound at an air show, when the planes in the sky left blue, white, and red trails and the pilots performed breakneck stunts like Tom Cruise in Top Gun,” so the narrator in Maša Kolanović’s Underground Barbie marvels at hearing and seeing planes whirring past her roof. Yet, on that particular day, “all the Tom Cruises were wearing the olive-green uniform of the Yugoslav People’s Army.” As the narrator observes the transformation of the “Tom Cruise” figure—the unruly, rough-edged aviator and his indelible presence—into a token of power and destructiveness, her readers are asked to assume the perspective of a country on the precipice of seismic change.

Croatia in the 1990s held war at its epicenter, and the narrator—anonymous throughout—was then a young girl living amidst intermittent air raids, political campaigns, and displaced communities. Accumulating Barbies, whose glamor and rarity constitute a source of longing, she and her friends often took them to play in the underground basement of her apartment building, and soon enough, the narrator’s reflections turn to the various scenes that had been staged by the children. The romantic escapades of the Ken doll Dr. Kajfěs (who is named after an anti-snoring aid commercial) aside; a Barbie presidential election featuring a standoff match between Dr. Kajfěs and the much-coveted Barbie of the narrator’s friend; and more. The imitation and invention present in the girls’ everyday games gesture toward a world-making in which the old rules are dismantled, recalibrated, and improvised upon—a world in which nothing yet everything is at stake, because it is at once rooted in and removed from the material reality. Translated into English for the first time by Ena Selimović, Kolanović’s novel offers an incisive reflection on childhood play, whereby the act embodies the power of imagination that transcends socio-political codes in times of violence, uncertainty, and scarcity. READ MORE…

Revathi And The Dismantling Of Neoliberal Respectability

This book has never been more necessary, offering a framework for trans reclamation and negation of the nonprofit industrial complex.

Revathi: A Life in Trans Activism by A. Revathi, translated from the Tamil by Nandini Murali, Tilted Axis Press, 2024

In November 2024, Tilted Axis Press published Revathi: A Life In Trans Activism, the story of transfeminine writer, actress, and community organizer A. Revathi’s experience at the intersection of the radical hijra community and the more traditional non-governmental bureaucracy. This memoir, originally written in Tamil, spread profound awareness of the transfeminine community in India when it was released in 2011; now, it is accessible to the English-speaking audience via Nandini Murali’s translation. A. Revathi, no stranger to a less than trans-friendly political climate, first wrote this text to critique the nonprofit industrial complex—a system in which state-sanctioned institutions prop up hierarchies of power and control—and share her experiences in making her NGO more inclusive and liberatory. In the United States especially, where even explicitly gay and lesbian nonprofits are prone to neoliberalism and transphobia while centralized government can border on the fascistic, this book has never been a more necessary read.

As an organizer at the nonprofit Sangama, Revathi wasn’t expecting to feel the same sense of belonging that she did in her hijra community, a subculture of transfeminine organizers who were assigned male at birth, which had helped her realize her own gender identity. But when she worked with trans men for the first time, she discovered the kinship she felt with others across the gender spectrum. Saying that she “literally lived their lives” after conducting interviews about their needs surrounding resource access, she found herself questioning the concept of binary gender as a whole. While lamenting that she would never be seen as a participant in an idealized binary, she eventually declared that “we need to go beyond male/female distinctions and learn to look at people as humans,” a sentiment that was less than popular with the binary and even transmedicalist establishment in the nonprofit world. READ MORE…

What’s New in Translation: January 2025

Discover new work from Palestine, Sudan, Syria, Iraq, Greece, Italy, China, Sweden, Germany, Chile, and the Democratic Republic of the Congo!

In the first month of 2025, the offerings of world literature are as rich as ever. To help you on your year of reading, here are ten titles we’re most excited about—a new translation of a stargazing Greek classic; the latest from China’s most lauded avant-gardist; a rediscovered Chilean novel of queer love and revolution; a soaring, urgent compilation of Palestinian voices; surrealism and absurdism from an Italian short story master—and many more.

arabic between love and war

Arabic, Between Love and War, edited by Norah Alkharashi and Yasmine Haj, Trace Press, 2025

Review by Alex Tan

 Addressing itself to the subtle but immense interstice between the Arabic words for ‘love’ and ‘war’, which differ by only one letter, Trace Press’s community-centric poetry anthology is as much a testament to beauty and survival under the conditions of catastrophe as it is a refusal to perform or fetishize suffering for a white gaze. The bilingual collection is, further, an intergenerational gathering of voices: canonical luminaries like Fadwa Tuqan are assembled alongside contemporary lodestars like George Abraham.

Throughout the volume, language gives in to its fecundity, at times carried by a voice that “condenses history to the depths of silence”, at others seeded within a word that “alone was enough to wither a tree”. The whispered syllable, across utterance and inscription, temporarily suspends the cruelties of the real: “I love calling you habibi / because then I feel as though they haven’t destroyed our cities.” In shared intimacy, an interregnum emerges, fragile as the stroke of an ر.   

But how far can one measure the ruin and the specter of love in sentences? “I write rose and mean nothing,” the poet Qasim Saudi ventures, as if refuting the possibility of romanticism. The surveying ego can also be a trap—“my I wounding me”. Many of the writers here disclose a longing for dissolution, for blunting the edges of the self so that a liquid, collective consciousness might emerge in its stead. In Lena Khalaf Tuffaha’s idiom, “you never saw it coming, this cleansing, / how we have become this ocean”. Nour Balousha’s plangent question echoes, “Who told the wind that we were leaves?”  READ MORE…

Announcing Our December Book Club Selection: Monsieur Teste by Paul Valéry

What Valéry set out to accomplish with his Teste project was . . . a blueprint for intellectual liberation.

Perhaps for most of us, the idea of a poet still confers an indelible sense of the romantic, with odes and music and beautiful abstractions. For Paul Valéry, however, this association was at best weak, and at worst a diminishment of language’s complex facilities and capacity for precise worldly evaluation, never satisfying the sublimity and intensity that he sought in his writings. Thus, in 1896, he introduced an incarnation of reason and his “infinite desire for clarity” in a character named Edmond Teste, and this alter ego would remain one of the most enduring vehicles of thought throughout Valéry’s life. Now, in our December Book Club selection, Monsieur Teste, we are offered a fascinating collection of writings that track the poet’s evolving mode as he pursues his own consciousness in search of pure intellect and reason, puzzling out the dazzling relationship between language and existence. They are the imprints from a modernist icon’s search for self-knowledge.

The Asymptote Book Club aspires to bring the best in translated fiction every month to readers around the world. You can sign up to receive next month’s selection on our website for as little as USD20 per book; once you’re a member, join our Facebook group for exclusive book club discussions and receive invitations to our members-only Zoom interviews with the author or the translator of each title.    

                 Monsieur Teste by Paul Valéry, translated from the French by Charlotte Mandell, New York Review Books, 2024

At first approach, it’s tempting to interpret Edmond Teste, Paul Valéry’s brainchild, as an embodiment of the poet’s own curmudgeonliness, as the character’s appearance roughly coincides with Valéry’s early renunciation of poetry and recession from the public eye. In 1892, shortly after launching into the Parisian literary scene and positioning himself as Stéphane Mallarmé’s successor—as well as being in the wake of a bad breakup—Valéry seems to have had enough of the bullshit. His frustrations with literature in the afterglow of Romanticism, with writers’ delusions of grandeur and pretensions of divine inspiration, prompted a sharp pivot toward the sciences. Heavily inspired by Cartesian philosophy, Valéry came to embrace a highly empirical, mathematical approach to creation, eschewing the abstractions and vagueness he’d found so tiresome in poetry. His primary focus shifted inward, and he became chiefly interested in the mechanism behind creative construction, the series of mental operations occurring within the creator’s mind, and in testing the outer limits of human capability. In his Introduction to the Method of Leonardo da Vinci (1894), Valéry marvels at the polymath’s ability to intake external data and investigate it with the utmost rigor in order to produce works beyond our fathoming—creations so staggering that the common man, the unenlightened thinker, could only attribute them to flashes of inspiration, invocation of the Muse, or some other abstract force that Valéry so disdained. In Leonardo, Valéry found an ideal creative archetype—the “universal man”—who “begins with simple observation, and continually renews this self-fertilization from what he sees” in contrast to the lesser, unempirical thinkers who “see with their intellects much more often than with their eyes.” Valéry remarks that “when thinkers as powerful as the man whom I am contemplating through these lines discover the implicit resources of the method . . . They can, for the moment, admire the prodigious instrument that they are.” Shortly after publishing this study, Valéry continued on this theme with the first instalment of the Teste cycle, The Evening with Monsieur Teste (1896). This and the subsequent works and fragments of the cycle have now been arranged in a single volume: Monsieur Teste, a luminous new translation by Charlotte Mandell. READ MORE…

What’s New in Translation: December 2024

Discover new work from Germany, Lebanon, Romania, France, Taiwan, Hungary, Finland, and Tunisia!

In our last round-up of the year, we’ve selected twelve titles from eight countries, with tales of grand adventure and prose of intimate beauty, novels tracing orature or the piecing together of history, rediscovered poetry and letters from literary titans, stories tinged with horror or fantasy. . . All to send the year off the best way we know how: in the company of our world’s brilliant writers.

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What Remains: The Collected Poems of Hannah Arendt, translated from the German and edited by Samantha Rose Hill with Genese Grill, Liveright, 2024

Review by Liliana Torpey

In What Remains: The Collected Poems of Hannah Arendt, we are invited into the private, poetic life of the author behind the seminal political texts The Origins of Totalitarianism and Eichmann in Jerusalem. The door is not opened by Arendt herself—who never published her poems and seemingly never intended to—but by the volume’s translators, Samantha Rose Hill and Genese Grill, who dove deep into the archives to collect these poems. Reading them feels at once like a gift and a faux-pas, knowing that we are trespassing upon the intimate thoughts and gestures of one of the twentieth century’s great political thinkers.

The entirety of Arendt’s poetic corpus appears in this book. For a lifetime it doesn’t seem like many—seventy-eight in total—but the book’s thorough introduction, translator’s note, and footnotes reveal just how carefully Arendt stewarded these poems over the years. Hill and Grill detail the way that Arendt hand wrote each piece in a notebook or letter, then continued to edit by hand before finally typing up the poems and arranging them chronologically, by season. Packing many of them alongside her essential documents when leaving Germany, her poems “remained among her most prized possessions.”

This care is evident in the poems themselves, which often fall on the shorter and sparser side. It’s clear that Arendt had considered and reconsidered each individual word, trying to communicate what she felt and sensed. In many cases, that world appears to be a rather bleak one: “The sky is in flames, / Heaven is on fire / Above us all, / Who don’t know the way.” While her political writings directly address the mechanisms of violence and authoritarianism, her poems often reveal an unsettling and probing uncertainty.

Alongside—and perhaps stemming from—this uncertainty flows a desire and sensuality that animates Arendt’s curiosity and nostalgia: “Heart warmth / Heart grace / Inhaling deep emotional-being / Sighing softly / Like cloud mist / Audibly trembling touched-being.” Her precision and tenderness are disarming, though not totally distinct from the Arendt that readers may already know. Marked by ambivalence and vulnerability in the face of life’s great mysteries, these poems don’t simply reveal all that we hope to know about Arendt’s internal landscape; instead, they deepen a sense of wonder that hovers, always, just beyond our reach.

letters to gisele

Letters to Gisèle by Paul Celan, translated from the German by Jason Kavett, NYRB, 2024 READ MORE…

Poetry as a Therapeutic Tool: On the Continual Work of Poets During Wartime

History is not somewhere ahead of us—and nor is it far behind. We’re right inside of it, being already chewed on.

Dislocation: An Anthology of Poetic Response to Russia’s War in Ukraine, edited by J. Nemirovskaya & A. Krushelnitskaya, Slavica Publishers, 2024

In the second year of the war in Ukraine, even the title of this bilingual tome confirms my observation that recent anthologies may remind one of diagnostic manuals. Thankfully, there is no need to diagnose a breakage; while Russian aggressors have persisted in their assault, Ukrainian resistance is relentless. Ukrainians are still fighting for their land, and the land is more than territory; it means real people and individual stories. Yet, as such stories demonstrate, dislocations—occurring in the wake of global trauma—take a long time to heal. There is a palpable incompatibility between realities past and present, pain amounting to chronic, and ruptures shaping both local and international discourses into liminalities. Beyond the battlefield, injuries beyond broken bones proliferate in the form of shifted responsibilities, wounded memories, betrayed values, and faulty beliefs; at the end of the day, even the mysterious “Russian soul” has turned out to be an inflamed spirit of contradiction.

Dislocation is edited in a way that critics of different disciplines can equally appreciate its logic, reminding one that when life’s plot betrays us in its twists, we are still left with words. In the last days of February of 2022, the Moscow-born author, director, and Russian culture scholar Julia Nemirovskaya announced through social media that she would be collecting poetic responses to the war in a kopilka—a “piggy bank” in Russian—for safekeeping; this resulting collection has slowly turned into a historical document. Moved by the incessant thought that “the world must be made aware,” volunteer translators began working on poems that they found poignant, and by the end of that year, the first bilingual collection, Disbelief, was published in London. In the nearly two years that followed, the geographies and demographics of contributing authors continued to widen, and two new translators—Yana Kane and Josephine von Zitzewitz—joined the original team of Dmitry Manin, Maria Bloshteyn, Anna Krushelnitskaya, Andrei Burago, and Richard Coombes. Their work proves to be precise and emotionally relevant, and Dislocation houses 117 authors in translation, ranging from Russian citizens and expats to Ukrainian poets who write in Russian (their native albeit traitorous language), featuring a stunning cover with art by Maria Kazanskaya. READ MORE…

Moving in Circles: On Celebration by Damir Karakaš

[The] translation is exemplary . . . Karakaš’s original language lends itself to vivid descriptions, figurative imagery, and crisp exchanges.

Celebration by Damir Karakaš, translated from the Croatian by Ellen Elias-Bursać, Two Lines Press, 2024

An existential dilemma carries Damir Karakaš’s slim, engrossing Celebration, translated from the Croatian by Ellen Elias-Bursać. Mijo—a former soldier of the famously brutal WWII organization Ustaše—is hiding in the deep, dark woods of a forest near his home, wondering if he will ever be able to come out. Connecting the dots of this character study is an intriguing exercise in a non-chronological narrative, which begins in 1945 before working its way back to 1935, 1942, and, finally, 1928. The structure allows for a series of carefully coordinated overlaps and repetitions, soaking the disturbing story line in the consequences and repercussions of an intergenerational fascism. Flashbacks and backstories included in each section gradually develop Mijo’s character, eventually revealing the lead-up to his seclusion.

In an interview with the Center for the Art of Translation, Karakaš provides a penetrating analysis of the historical and personal background of Celebration. When describing his birthplace of Lika, he speaks of “its poverty, its harsh winters, its wolves,” as well as the pervasive nature of war in the region; his father, grandfather, and great-grandfather had all served as soldiers, and Karakaš himself too is a veteran—though he has since learned to abhor war. The static nature of such an environment informed the author’s choice of the reverse narrative, which he applies to suggest that “we are always moving in a circle,” as products of all that precedes us.

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Here There Be Monsters: Solvej Balle’s On the Calculation of Volume, Books I and II

On the Calculation of Volume is a mix of pensive reflection, scientific reasoning, and bone-dry humor. . .

On the Calculation of Volume (Books I and II) by Solvej Balle, translated from the Danish by Barbara J. Haveland, New Directions, 2024

Tara Selter, the narrator of Solvej Balle’s On the Calculation of Volume, takes a Roman coin out for walks and believes that a refrigerator is capable of sobbing: “It is quite permissible for a fridge that cannot hold onto its Christmas food to laugh—or cry—like a human being if it wishes.” A reader might reasonably infer that Tara has lost her mind, but there is a method to Tara’s madness, as her thoughts and behavior stem from wholly rational attempts to make sense of her absurd condition: each day, she wakes up on the morning of November 18.

On the Calculation of Volume is a septology, the first five books of which have been published in Balle’s native Denmark. This fall, Books I and II had their English debut in Barbara J. Haveland’s elegant translation from New Directions. The work begins in medias res—as much as is possible for a plot in which time fails to advance—the narrator having already lived with her curious predicament for 121 days. The first sentence is a tonal feint that wouldn’t be out of place in a suspense novel, but, here, primes the reader for the sense of estrangement that plagues Tara’s recounting: “There is someone in the house.” Identified solely by the sounds he makes, that someone is not an intruder but her husband, Thomas, with whom she runs a rare books business. By the time the novel opens, Tara has abandoned explaining her predicament each day and opted to avoid him, thoroughly estranged from a man to whom she once felt molecularly bonded:

Our love has always been microscopic. It is something in the cells, some molecules, some compounds outside our control, which collide in the air around us, sound waves that form unique harmonies when we speak, it happens at the atomic level or even that of smaller particles…

After four months of November 18ths, her husband has been abstracted into a “someone” and reduced to mere noise, “just sounds in the house.”

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