Posts featuring Miklós Vámos

English Words are Strewn All Over the Floor of My Brain: An Interview with Ági Bori

Living away from my motherland deepens my gratitude for my culture, which automatically deepens my appreciation for Hungarian literature. . .

A giant of contemporary Hungarian literature, Miklós Vámos melds vast existential questions with bread-and-butter concerns in his spellbinding short story, “Electric Train.” Published in Asymptote’s Winter 2024 issue, “Electric Train” approaches the traditional family drama at a slant, discarding the tropes of dramatic realism in favor of a jester-like narratorial voice that boldly announces, “In literature it is practically mandatory to see inside people’s heads,” before plunging headlong into the tattered lives of a family of four. Questions and answers rebound like so many jokes told at a party, but even as the humor attempts to efface the tragedy, what defines this story is a warm, humane glow that emanates from everywhere. Bringing years of expertise in working with Vámos, Ági Bori’s artful translation rises to the experimentalism of the story and crystalizes it into an English that is fresh, magnetic, and strange. In this interview, Ági and I discuss the art of translating a living author, the political history that subtly underpins “Electric Train,” her own circuitous path to becoming a literary translator, and much more. 

Willem Marx (WM): By my count, you’ve translated over a dozen of Miklós Vámos’ stories and essays, as well as conducted interviews with him and written essays on his oeuvre. Can you describe the experience of becoming so embedded—as a translator—in the work of a single writer? Are there ways this prolonged focus on one body of work has informed your approach to translation in general?

Ági Bori (ÁB): I have had a lifelong fascination with not only Hungarian, but also translated literature in general, so it seems only natural that over the last decade, I have metamorphosed into a literary translator—perhaps one of a small number of niche translators who, like you said, is embedded in the work of a single writer. The actual moment when something awakened in me was when, shortly after having fallen in love with Miklós’s books and writing style (particularly his unending gallows humor), I wanted to share this experience with my literary friends and discovered that only one of his books, The Book of Fathers, had been translated into English. I sensed that I was at an unprecedented crossroads in my life—and it turns out that I was. I reached out to Miklós and asked him if I could translate an excerpt, and he agreed. I still vividly remember choosing that excerpt, taking a deep breath, and saying to myself—perhaps somewhat naively—that it was time to listen to my inner voice, no matter how intimidating the craft of translating seemed. From that day on, I just kept going and never stopped. As my translation skills blossomed, so did our professional relationship, and it soon became clear that Miklós had an endless supply of materials I could work on, not to mention that as time went by, I became very comfortable with his writing style—by now it feels like a second skin. We work together like a well-oiled machine, one that runs on very little sleep and frequent communication via our transcontinental subway.

This prolonged focus on one body of work has certainly been a rewarding experience. It taught me how important it is to seek out the work you want to translate, and how immensely helpful it is mentally—and even emotionally—when you love the original text that you are about to render into your target language. I feel fortunate to have embarked on a writer’s work with which I was able to connect from the start. Lucky for me, Miklós’s writing style varies greatly within his oeuvre, including stream of consciousness and classic prose. At times I feel like a kid in a candy store. READ MORE…

Winter 2024: Highlights from the Team

Get excited to dip into our Winter 2024 issue with these highlights from our team!

Ilya Kaminsky’s “Reading Dante in Ukraine” makes an impassioned case for the crucial role of art amid the horrors of war. What we need, as Dante’s journey shows us, is to defend ourselves with it: a tune to walk to, even in the underworld, as long as one still walks. In Miklós Vámos’s “Electric Train,”  translated by Ági Bori‚ the question-answer format gives the piece levity and rhythm, and the counterpoint of the humor interplaying with the troubled relationships brings it powerful depth. I found wisdom in the wry humor of Jaime Barrios Carrillo’s poems in David Unger’s translation. I love the image of angels spending the evening in their hotel rooms, ironing their enormous white wings.

—Ellen Elias-Bursac, Contributing Editor

The masterful language in Ági Bori’s translation, as though hand-holding the reader through a children’s story, and the simple act of gifting a present in the story belie the depth and complexity of emotional turmoil that wash over Miklós Vámos’s characters in “Electric Train,” a turmoil that seemingly hits out of nowhere like a wave yet in fact stems from a deep brewing well of built up memories and tensions. The contrast highlights all the more the challenges, and perhaps even limits, of recognizing and understanding another’s intentions, experiences, and feelings.

Rage, sorrow, resilience, helplessness, hope, a hunger for life and love and connection, grief, a numbing screaming despair: it is difficult to put into words the sensations that ran through me as I read Samer Abu Hawwash’s “My People” in Huda J. Fakhreddine’s translation. It cannot possibly compare to the feelings and thoughts of Samer Abu Hawwash and the Palestinian people, to the reality of having each day and moment narrow down to dried bread and tear tracks.

I was intrigued by Laura Garmeson’s discussion, in her review of Brazilian author Itamar Vieira Junior’s Crooked Plow, of the tongue as “both creator and destroyer. It has the power to make and unmake worlds.” It is a through line in Crooked Plow that reminds us of the power and possibilities of language and story to shape our lives. Garmeson’s review, in a way, is also a fire that kindles awareness of Itamar Vieira Junior’s work and the legacies, realities, and possible futures for Afro-Brazilian communities. The tongue as symbol also feels like a through line between these pieces in their rumination on what is gained and lost and pushed aside in the choices we make of what, how, and when we say (or write) things, or not.

—Julie Shi, Senior Executive Assistant

READ MORE…

Translation Tuesday: Immortal by Miklós Vámos

if possible, I’d rather not talk about the awkward details, I did horrible things, and pretended to do even worse ones

How do you say goodbye to those you love? In Immortal, one man concocts a desperate plan: to mistreat his wife and daughters in the hope that it will lessen their pain when he inevitably dies from terminal illness. An emotional rollercoaster, full of twists, jokes, ironic digressions and absurd scenarios, this dark, comedic stream-of-consciousness by the prolific Miklós Vámos swells with feeling, dexterously captured in Ági Bori’s translation from the Hungarian. Read on to slip into a mindset irreversibly eroded by anguish.

XXXXXlet’s have a man to man conversation
XXXXXdon’t tell me you’re doing everything that is humanly possible
XXXXXit’s been nine months since I first came to see you, they sent me here with my lab results since you’re a nationally renowned expert, aren’t you, doctor, and you looked deep into my eyes with that nationally renowned expertise of yours, let out a long sigh, and told me: this is where your knowledge ends, given that my case is not operable, but you wanted me to believe that you’re doing everything that is humanly possible, and you might also recall that I received the news quietly, and only asked, how much time do I have left? you tried to dodge the question, you beat around the bush, saying you’re not a psychic, the same illness could manifest itself in numerous ways, there is no universal rule, but when I cornered you, you finally spit out that I had about six months to live, and I thanked you
XXXXXon my way home I reflected on what still remained for me, what my realistic expectations should be, and I refrained from swearing, because the larger the problem, the more calmly my brain operates, it turns into a sober and reliable computer, back then I was working on my doctoral dissertation, The French Enlightenment and its Hungarian Relations, which still needed two to three weeks of work before it would be complete, was it even worth finishing, I pondered, but then I decided to devote the necessary time to it, let it be finished, order has been important to me all my life, why would I back out on my own principles now? as soon as I type up the final copy, I’ll bid a proper farewell to everyone and everything, people and things I loved…then let…let it come READ MORE…