Posts filed under 'change'

Recurring Conflicts between Tradition and Modernity: An Interview with Czech author Bianca Bellová

July 17, 2024  |  in Interviews  |  by Ellen Elias-Bursac

When I look back at my childhood, it feels like a thousand years ago.

Bianca Bellová‘s astonishing novel, The Lake, was originally published in 2017 as Jezero; it has since been translated into two dozen languages, and Parthian came out with Alex Zucker’s compelling English translation in 2022. From the get-go, it was met with an enthusiastic reception, receiving first the Magnesia Litera in 2016, then the European Prize for Literature in 2017, and the EBRD Literature Prize in 2023. Toby Lichtig, chair of the judges for the EBRD prize, describes it as: “utterly propulsive, immersive and unique, [it] deserves to become a European classic, to be read by many generations to come.” 

The story unfolds in a small town on the shores of an extremely polluted lake in an unidentified (but possibly) Central Asian country, of an unidentified (but probably) post-Soviet time. The local population is beset by pollution-related cancers and eczema, and hemmed in by outposts of Russian engineers and soldiers. The protagonist, a boy named Nami, is raised by his grandparents, and he sets off across the lake and into a near-by city to find his mother. There are occasional fantastical elements to the story, and, humming with a fusion of Bellová’s ingenuity and Zucker’s playful and electric English, The Lake sets off all sorts of environmental alarm bells. It brings us such an unusual setting and characters that I was eager to learn more about Bellová’s work. Intrigued by Sal Robinson’s excellent interview with the author on Words Without Borders, I was grateful when Bellová kindly agreed to respond to a few questions.

Ellen Elias-Bursać (EEB): I find that the label “dystopian”—frequently applied to The Lake—feels both apt and inapt. The story plays out on the shores of a polluted, shrinking lake, somewhere on the border between the plausible reality of the world as we know it and a dystopian future. Do you feel that the story you tell is dystopian, or is it more about today’s world?

Bianca Bellová (BB): I am a big fan of readers interpreting my books in any way they wish, and I often do find that they discover contexts and meanings I never intended. And that is perfectly fine—it is the way I believe art should work, as a conversation between the piece and the receiving party that should trigger something in the reader/viewer/listener. Something that is already there, but that the creator was never aware of. So when some say “dystopian,” who am I to argue with it? I never thought about a dystopia when writing it; to me it was a struggle of a boy in a harsh world with the little weapons he had. The lake was a backdrop to it, even if a very important one.

There is a lake called the Aral Sea that is very similar to the lake from my book, and it is in a state so much worse than the fictitious one that it simply beats any utopian fiction writing, hands down. 

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In This Together: Writers From Around the World Respond to the COVID-19 Outbreak

May 16, 2020  |  in In This Together, Translations  |  by Sarah Moore

I remember that when everything starts to crumble, there are always people you can rely on, people who heal...who make everyday life more bearable.

For this week’s edition of In This Together, we present a text from the French writer, journalist, and musician Tania de Montaigne. Sarah Moore, translator and Assistant Blog Editor at Asymptote, introduces the piece:

This week, France ended its national lockdown that had been in place for almost two months. Yet, of course, life has not returned to normal and people have been adapting to the déconfinement, along with the many changes it has brought. During the lockdown, French daily newspaper Libération (popularly known as Libé) continued to publish its weekly column “Écritures” in its weekend edition, written alternately by four French writers including Tania de Montaigne. This particular article, “Pour mémoire” (“For the record”) looks back on everyday life before the COVID-19 pandemic, recalling past normality. Saying something ‘for the record’ is to let a voice ring out, to publicly declare that these words have value and should be remembered. The text’s power lies in its simplicity and honesty—evoking nostalgia for a pleasurable but naïve innocence that has been lost. 

De Montaigne alludes to the many small cultural references that can stir and unite a collective memory—song lyrics, TV shows, books, exhibitions—as well as our old habits and the importance of touch, which we perhaps took for granted. She also draws a link with the AIDS crisis and our various responses to something that is frightening, new, and unknown—that will inevitably be used politically. Most importantly, referencing other times of hardship, including the terrorist attacks in Paris and Nelson Mandela’s apartheid resistance, de Montaigne upholds the continual value of powerful words, voice, and support during times of crisis. 

For the record

by Tania de Montaigne

I remember the day when the word ‘AIDS’ entered our lives.
I remember Barbara’s song, “Maladie d’amour / Où l’on meurt d’aimer / Seul et sans amour, / Sid’abandonné”. (“Love sickness / Where you die from loving / Alone and loveless, / Aidsabandoned”.)
I remember fear.
I remember people who had first-hand info through “my mother’s aunt’s cousin who works at the hospital” or “my brother-in-law’s cousin’s best friend who works for the government”.
I remember the National Front saying: “People with AIDS are like lepers, they should be locked up in an Aidsatorium.” And how they also said: “It’s a lie, condoms don’t protect you from the disease.”
I remember how some people claimed that there were miracle cures.
I remember Hervé Guibert’s book, To the Friend Who Did Not Save My Life.
I remember a philosophy exam and this quote from Aristotle: “The ignorant man affirms, the learned man doubts, the wise man reflects.”
I remember when Corona was a Mexican beer that you drank with a slice of lemon.
I remember the quiz you always found at the end of summer magazine editions: “What about you, what would you take with you to a desert island?” I went crazy trying to decide.
I remember how we used to go to the theatre, to concerts, how everyone was packed tight, focused, emotional, vibrating in unison and how that’s what was beautiful. READ MORE…

Translation Tuesday: “Homecoming” by Badai

October 1, 2019  |  in Translations  |  by Saul Thompson

Eventually, at the edge of his vision, where the fog begins to thin, a figure of a person emerged.

This week’s Translation Tuesday features the work of Badai—an indigenous Taiwanese writer. “Homecoming” probes at themes of reunion, service, and loss through the eyes of a young man torn between the traditional ways of his family and the projects of the nation-state. Juxtapositions between the mountains where the protagonist lives and the flatlands with the military bases, government projects, and different linguistic groups are drawn into tension. This tension is extended for the protagonist as roads, schools, and parks show the growing homogeneity of the national culture. Pride in one’s service—to family and to the state—are complicated things for young men and women. Moments like those expressed here show the complex interrogation that the short story form provides. Here, the interrogation revolves around one’s implication in the changing social fabric of Taiwan. 

A young man was on a bus, heading home. His name was Dumasi. Dumasi had already transferred buses once; this was the second leg of his journey, and he was forcing himself to nap because he still had the final leg ahead of him. The bus would drop him off at the last stop, and then he would hike for two hours up mountain trails. Not that he felt the slightest bit tired. Every inch of him was bursting with the excitement of returning home. Nonetheless, he shut his eyes to rest.

A voice said: “Hey, mister bus driver, this is my stop!”

Dumasi opened his eyes: there was a middle-aged man walking unsteadily up the aisle, laden with bags and bellowing good-naturedly in the direction of the driver’s seat. For Dumasi, the sight and sound of this man was deeply familiar, comforting even—from his broad shoulders to the way he spoke Mandarin with a thick, mountain-man accent.

Dumasi reached down to his luggage and ran his hand along a bulge in the bag. Good—the two bottles of sorghum liquor he’d bought for his homecoming were intact—all was in order. Father will be so happy, he thought to himself. READ MORE…

Translation Tuesday: “Place” by Dmitry Danilov

February 13, 2018  |  in Translations  |  by Dmitry Danilov and Philippa Mullins

Sit at home, in the shadows, in the empty, shadowy flat. The empty, dark flat, things hung on the rail stir softly.

This week’s Translation Tuesday comes from the amazing Russian author Dmitry Danilov. For more microfiction, head over to the brand new Winter 2018 issue of Asymptote!

Sit at home, in the shadows, in the empty, shadowy flat. The empty, dark flat, things hung on the rail stir softly. Only in one corner of the empty, dark, shadowy flat does life smoulder with a red-yellowy glimmer. In the corner of the empty, dark flat nestles a human being, a calculating machine works. A lamp illuminates this space in the corner of the empty, shadowy flat; all the rest of the flat is empty and dark.

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