That is a very complicated question. Not enough time has passed to make such evaluations. As the Russian poet Sergey Yesenin said at the start of the last century, “Great things must be seen at a distance.” I think that we are still waiting for it, and all of humanity is, too. Serious changes are subtly happening in the world, and these changes will, no doubt, be reflected accordingly in art and literature. So, in that case, let’s make such an evaluation in around fifty years. And as for the barometer, that’s simply my personal artistic taste. But it usually does not let me down.
If we are considering the Institute for Literary Translation’s criteria when choosing works whose translations will be supported by our grant, then we have a tried-and-tested system in place for selecting submissions. You can read more about this on our website.
As for publicly recognized achievements in the field of literature, it is worth turning your attention to Russia’s national literary prizes. (After all, it is difficult for anyone, except the most fortunate, to make a living from literature, so having a fair amount of good prizes acts as consolation . . .)
Our two major national literary awards are the Big Book Prize and the Yasnaya Polyana Award. There is also the Premiya Poezia (Poetry Award). In 2017, the “LYCEUM” Alexander Pushkin Literary Award for young writers was established. But let’s also look to what is happening at various literary festivals. Now, for example, we have decided to pay serious attention to emerging drama in Russia and to that end have partnered with the Lubimovka Festival. They have hosted a lot of young playwrights whose works you can sample on the festival’s website.
Describe the structure of your organization and its goal(s). How many staff members does it employ and what are their main activities?
The Institute for Literary Translation has existed now for over ten years. It was not long ago that we celebrated our tenth anniversary, in fact. It is a very small organization, and there is no structure to speak of. It is merely a team of ten like-minded people, united by common goals and objectives. But it is a different matter entirely when it comes to achieving goals related to the promotion of Russian literature, be it creating opportunities for Russian writers to be read in more countries, or in more languages. In both cases, we cooperate with a huge variety of people and organizations. Firstly, we have an amazing asset in the form of our translators from Russian, some of whom have become true friends along the way. We meet in Moscow biennially at the International Congress of Literary Translators. Last year, the Congress was held online due to the pandemic, but this did not have any impact on the commitment of its participants. Roughly four hundred people took part, and the total number of translators with whom we continuously keep in contact is around one thousand. They are amazing people who are enamored of Russian literature, who read every new release and work of significance that emerges from the Russian literary scene, and who recommend notable works to their publishers. There are also various organizations with whom we maintain a close working relationship. These are the Library for Foreign Literature (where we are based in Moscow), the Vladimir Dahl Russian State Literary Museum, the A. M. Gorky Institute of World Literature of the Russian Academy of Sciences in Moscow, the Institute of Russian Literature (Pushkinskij Dom) of the Russian Academy of Sciences in St. Petersburg, the Russian Book Union, the Boris Yeltsin Presidential Center, the directorate of the Moscow International Book Fair, major Russian publishing houses and literary journals, major literary awards, and many others too that I might have forgotten . . . We also have our partners abroad with whom we carry out joint publishing activities. These include the China Written Works Copyright Society, the Slavonic faculty at the Sorbonne Université, Columbia University Press in the United States, and other publishing houses that are always keen to publish literature from Russia. There are also a lot of public organizations and grant-giving organizations, such as the Europäisches Übersetzer-Kollegium in Straelen (Germany), the Summer Translation School in Lakitelek (Hungary), the Fabrique des traducteurs in Arles (France), and translation mentorship programs at the National Centre for Writing in Norwich, the literary translation summer school Bristol Translates (United Kingdom), the American Literary Translators Association, and others. So, I guess if you look at it more broadly, we are not such a small organization after all.
How much funding does your organization disburse in a year and where does the funding come from?
As a rule, the amount of our translation grants, which is given to publishing houses, varies from €1,000–10,000. This depends on the scope of the translation, the challenges of the task at hand, and the translator’s profile—a seasoned translator is entitled to more substantial remuneration. On average, we subsidize up to 150 translations a year, in as many as thirty-five languages and forty-three countries. We also give out grants to institutions abroad for projects that are linked to the promotion of Russian literature and its translations.
Given that we are not a state organization, we do not have a fiscal budget. However, in Russia, there are a series of state programs that support literature and translation and so we, of course, like other institutions similar to ours (both in Russia and abroad), compete for funding by submitting tenders, participating in online auctions, etc. We might receive funds from non-state organizations, and sometimes we manage to attract sponsors, too, but unfortunately not on as large a scale as we would like. From time to time it is necessary to earn money by taking assignments from foreign organizations or our Russian partners—obviously only if the matter concerns literature and translation, and if it is mutually beneficial and aligned with our mission.
Including the one just announced in October 2021, as many as five Nobel Prizes in Literature have been awarded to writers working in English in the past decade alone. Translation into English has also been a crucial factor for many of the winners to receive consideration in the first place. In light of this linguistic hegemony, I imagine that there is an increased focus on translation into English, the costs of which can’t be met by market demand alone. Given your own institution’s limited resources, what criteria do you use to choose which authors to fund, and, given the sources of your funding, are there certain considerations factored into your selection?
The Nobel Prize in Literature deserves a serious discussion of its own. As a rule, being the laureate of the Nobel Prize is a sign of the highest literary quality, a confirmation of one’s eternal status in the literary Olympus of the whole world. But not always. If you look at the list of Nobel laureates from when it was first established, there are some names that you will simply not remember now unless you happened to have read the few paragraphs a literary historian has devoted to them. And then there are other objectively great writers, like Nabokov, for example, who have never received this prize. So, the Nobel Prize reflects the opinion of the Nobel Committee which has its own biases and prejudices. The literary world respects this opinion but does not necessarily endorse it. But it is simply a fact that English truly is widespread in the world. Translation into English often paves the way for translations into other languages. Even if it is because the publisher, who ultimately has the last word, will not read a book in Russian, but can do so in English. So we, of course, are interested in the English translations of books by Russian authors. It is not by accident that we support many English translations, including the Russian Library initiative that publishes translations by readers from the United Kingdom, the United States, and other anglophone countries. Already twenty-five volumes have been published as part of this series. Now, we are undertaking a smaller-scale but very interesting project with the British publishing house Pushkin Press. They release translations of works by brilliant Russian authors from the beginning of the twentieth century with whom the wider public, both abroad and even in Russia, are not as familiar. But other languages are just as important to us.
As for the “criteria” and “specific considerations” of translations, I have already mentioned the formal criteria in my answer to your first question. But here there is a bit of a catch. Let me explain: our grant program relies solely on the applications submitted by foreign publishers seeking our support for publishing works by Russian authors. Yes, we have a list of recommended authors—one worth paying attention to, because it also contains information about which new publications are being released, which works have won literary awards, which ones have not. But this is us raising awareness. The “criteria” only come into play once all the applications—which can range from 250 to 350 in any year—are collected and submitted to a Board of Experts who makes their decision following a discussion and a simple vote.
As for “special considerations,” if you are referring to pressure from those who determine our budget, I certainly do not feel it, and the Board of Experts, as a completely independent team, even less so. I repeat that in essence, it is the foreign publishing house that chooses the work; they are our main partners and associates. After all, they are the ones investing their money in the book’s publication; their interest in any given work of Russian literature is a business one. If the text is bad, then the publishers, as a rule, are uninterested in whether the author wrote it from a conservative or liberal standpoint, whether they were a patriot or pro-West. The text is useless—what else is there to say? And if the text is good, then again, generally speaking, what difference do the author’s social and political opinions make? After ten years the writer’s views will be different and all that will be left are their royalties!
But, from time to time, accommodations are made, as happens everywhere and to everyone. In the year celebrating Turgenev, we tried to support Turgenev translations more, so too in the year celebrating Solzhenitsyn with Solzhenitsyn . . . and now it is the same with Dostoevsky. But with the budget being what it is, it does mean that certain very worthy contemporary works go without our support. Or a great author dies, and so, obviously, we do our best to be responsive to all applications to publish his or her work. Or, let’s say, in one year we receive too many applications to translate Dmitry Bykov, for example, or Guzel Yakhina, or Marina Stepnova, or Alexei Salnikov. We get five, ten, fifteen applications for translations into different languages, and the Board of Experts is for it. But ultimately, we can only support one or two . . . three at most. This is when financial considerations, etc., need to be taken into account.
A literary ecosystem not only includes writers and translators but also editors, reviewers, publishers, literary agents, and booksellers, all of who play a role in fostering a vibrant literary scene. Bearing this in mind, how would you describe the state of the literary ecosystem in your country (e.g., is it healthy, in your opinion)? Does any part of your funding go toward supporting the wider literary infrastructure (as opposed to just writers and translators)? If there was a local equivalent of a magazine with a global focus like Asymptote, would it receive any ongoing support from your organization, for example?
At one point in Russia, we did have problems with what you call the literary ecosystem. During the Perestroika period, the majority of publishing houses that had existed for decades crashed, the book-trade system collapsed, literary journals stopped being circulated, and translation and editorial work lost its value. But now everything has been put right and seems to be working out well enough. New publishing houses have already created powerful publishing groups, some of which—like EKSMO publishing, for example—have come to replace the old ones. The book industry is functioning normally. There is no unemployment among translators and editors, and masters in their field are greatly sought-after. What I think is currently lacking today in Russia is a broader discussion of new literary works in mass media, and subtle and refined literary criticism. Of course, if the writer receives a major literary award, then everyone writes and talks about it. But there will only be a few words on the work itself, and no literary analysis whatsoever. A journal such as yours would, no doubt, receive support in Russia, but not from the Institute for Literary Translation. Our target audience—that is, publishing houses and translators—are all located abroad. However, there is a dedicated state program called “Kul’tura Rossii” (Culture of Russia) which supports literary journals, electronic literary portals, translations from foreign languages, and events hosting foreign writers and literary scholars. Truth be told, though, when it comes to the financial support of literary journals, I find it lacking. And this is awful. After all, it is these literary journals in particular that have traditionally kept the bar high in the field of literary excellence and gathered together the best forces in literary critique. They are the ones who do their utmost not to appraise a new text from a market-oriented or socio-political viewpoint but rather as a work of art, relying on a myriad of approaches, whether it be using the theory and history of literature, the structuralist method, Lev Vygotsky’s theory of the “psychology of art,” or other factors. And these same analytical texts would also be artistic, unlike many of today’s guiding voices in the world of new publications.
But your journal in particular could very well make a claim to our grant, provided that you propose an interesting project connected with Russian literature (or its translations for the anglophone world), which could come into fruition on Asymptote’s website.
Funding decisions can sometimes be controversial. Tell us about a funding decision by your institute in the past ten years or so that elicited controversy, describing the fallout and explaining both sides.
I will concede that funding decisions—that is, deciding upon whom to bestow the grant—can be controversial. But I don’t remember such a case. The fact is that neither I, nor my colleagues, make any funding decisions on our own. The Board of Experts, which ultimately passes verdict on the matter, works under the Institute. There could very well be disagreements within the Board, but they are removed over the course of discussion and subsequent voting, after which the decision is deemed final. And as the director of the Institute, I am excited whenever any book is released in a foreign language with our support. Any book other than a boring one, of course!
So, you see, I have revealed the most frequent subject of disagreement—whether to support the translation of a respected writer who is already well known, or of a novice, but one who has shone brightly on the literary scene with their first or second novel, play, or poetry collection. Which one would you choose, given that both authors are good?
I would choose the novice, and, at times, I lament the fact that there is not a place for me among the experts. But what can you do? Everyone has their own place in this world.
The sitcom Seinfeld was notably a flop in Germany. Similarly, authors who encounter success in one culture sometimes do not receive the same reception in another. What are some surprising crossover successes or failures you have encountered in your tenure with this institution and what do you think might have led to these outcomes?
Oh dear. I cannot say anything about the sitcom you have mentioned. I’ve heard about it, but I haven’t watched it . . . But the idea that the same book can be perceived in different ways in different countries is an indisputable fact. In the Soviet Union, for example, Salinger was very popular, far more popular than he ever was in the United States or countries in Western Europe. His book The Catcher in the Rye was, quite simply, an iconic book. And this was in no small part thanks to Rita Rait-Kovaleva’s magnificent translation. Shakespeare’s sonnets were published by the millions. Why? Because of Samuel Marshak’s amazing, although not always philologically accurate, translations. My point is that the success, as much as the failure, of a foreign translation of a book is without fail shared by both the author and the translator. For example, Ivan Goncharov—a nineteenth-century Russian writer—is currently being published and republished a lot in German. Even in Russia, he is not that popular nowadays unless his works are on the school syllabus. But in Germany he is being published, republished, and—most importantly—read. This is thanks to the beautiful work of the translator Vera Bischitzky, who, moreover, does not tire from promoting Goncharov’s creative works; she simply adores him. Or take Eugene Vodolazkin’s novel Laurus, for example, which tells the story of a fictional medieval saint in a hagiographic manner. It might seem like, well who would read this book outside of Russia? Nonetheless, the book is certainly being read—in forty-five countries, no less—and in wholly estimable translations. The Guardian even included it in its top ten books about God, along with Dostoevsky, whose two-hundredth birthday we are celebrating this year, as it happens. It seems like, in this age of globalization, cultural standards have expanded to include narratives that recount national characteristics or even explore a national mentality. The majority of Russian authors write specifically about Russia, about its past, present, and future, as well as about the Russian landscape or the Russian mentality. And that’s what makes their works so interesting.
What are some recent challenges you have faced advocating for your country’s literature and how has your institution adapted to meet these challenges?
Literature is a subtle thing. It is not ephemeral opinion journalism, a clip, or a digest; everything in literature is sincere and honest: falsehood in a literary work can be spotted at once. Literature always steers clear of politics, even if the work is written about a completely topical theme. Though attempts at inserting politics into literary matters are doomed to fail, it is nevertheless repeatedly attempted. And with every year that goes by, such attempts increase across the world. Of course, it is a hindrance. It is not uncommon for a publisher to be guided by political considerations instead of literary quality, often questioning the advisability of publishing books from Russia; at least that is the case at the moment. As if literature somehow affects the price of petrol! Perhaps it does somehow influence the price of petrol—literature influences everything—but I assure you we will never quite understand how it does so! Occasionally, a few boisterous visitors at a book fair, accompanied by a couple of journalists, will stop by the Russian stand with the sole aim of putting on a performance that will end up in newspapers or on the internet. To tell the truth, such people make up a tiny minority, and we’re thankful to them anyway for the free advertisement. The majority of people are interested first and foremost in literature. And literature does not divide people; it unites them.
Tell us about your proudest accomplishments as an institution in the past ten years. I’d be particularly interested to hear about any campaigns that your institution conceived to advocate for your country’s literature.
Here, before anything else, I must mention the international Читай Россию/Rеad Russia Prize for the best translation from Russian, which we established and is awarded biennially at the International Congress of Literary Translators. It is a very beautiful celebratory ceremony held in one of the best auditoriums in Moscow.
We also have the one-hundred-volume Russian Library initiative in the world’s major languages. In the United States, the English series is published by Columbia University Press with our support, in France several publishing houses are participating in the release of the Russian Library series in French, and in China a few dozen publishing houses are working on the Russian Library in Chinese. Each country has a very serious editorial board, and each volume is thought through and considered from different angles. And so, we return to topics raised in the question about Seinfeld. In each country, a unique list of the 100-volume Russian Library series is drawn up by experts, based on the reasoning and characteristics of different national cultures, the history of Russian literature in that language, etc. Incidentally, we are now finalizing the publication of similar libraries in Arabic, Italian, Spanish, and German. And, more broadly speaking, the Institute for Literary Translation has supported the release of more than 1,100 different books over the past ten years.
And then, of course, there are our amazing congresses, which keep attracting more and more attention. The next one will be held in Moscow in 2022. I hope it can be done traditionally, in-person, and that all friends can come together once more. We would be glad to welcome representatives from Asymptote there too.
In his Nobel Lecture, Kazuo Ishiguro exhorted us to “widen our common literary world to include many more voices from beyond our comfort zones of the elite first-world cultures. We must search more energetically to discover the gems from what remain today unknown literary cultures, whether the writers live in far away countries or within our own communities.” Yet, in one crucial respect, this ideal of an inclusive world literature shares the same problem as the climate crisis or even the COVID-19 vaccine crisis: countries that have the means to do something about a global situation often end up looking out for their own interests. How do you think institutional advocates of a country’s literature might be better allies for world literature, if they might even play a role at all?
I absolutely agree with Kazuo Ishiguro that the wealth of world literature is composed of a plethora of voices from different national literatures. What I disagree with is that within culture there is a “first world” elite. That is a relic of colonial thinking. Remember Mark Twain’s short story “Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven.” Culture and literature are a place of equality; here, just like in the UN, every voice is important. In Russia, for example, a lot is being done to support writers who are creating literature in national languages, and in Russia there are around sixty different ones! Besides, both in world literature and in the anglophone world that is Ishiguro’s own, there is no such thing as a “comfort zone.” There is great Chinese literature, both ancient and contemporary, that has already attracted the Nobel Committee’s attention (for example, the works of Mo Yan, who was awarded the Nobel Prize in 2012). You have Japanese literature—not anglophone, but specifically Japanese literature—and what a plethora of great names of twentieth-century literature it contains: Nobel laureates Yasunari Kawabata and Kenzaburō Ōe as well as other greats like Kōbō Abe and Haruki Murakami. There is Arabic and Indian literature, literature from African countries, and the Nigerian playwright Wole Soyinka. Then you have Latin America—I mean, where should I even begin, for it has such a brilliant constellation of names that have in many ways shaped the development of the twentieth-century novel as we know it. And nowadays, world literature is growing in particular thanks to the voices that are not from these “comfort zone” countries, because sometimes they read as amazingly fresh and bright. Russian literature is also outside of the “comfort zone,” although everyone knows Tolstoy, Chekhov, and Dostoevsky. They are eternal names, they are read and studied even nowadays, and in the twentieth century, if we return to the Nobel Prize in Literature, Russia had five laureates whose works are internationally renowned. This provides a good foundation for a lasting interest in contemporary Russian literature, and we do our best to fulfill this interest as much as we can. Because it is specifically literature—and not newspaper articles, not interesting blogs, not television talk shows—that helps people understand and fall in love with a country.
