Translation

WITCHES by Brenda Lozano (Translated by Heather Cleary)

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Witches
By Brenda Lozano
(Translated by Heather Cleary)
Catapult Books — 16th August 2022
ISBN: 9781646220687 — Hardcover — 240 pp.

Witches (Brujas) forms through the contrapuntal voices of two women: their distinct experiences separated by time and societal position, yet united in conversation around themes of shared experience, and the haunting ghost of a memory – the murdered Paloma.

A curandera from the rural mountain village of San Felipe, Feliciana has struggled to be accepted as a traditional healer within a community accustomed to males alone serving in the ceremonies of the role. But, Feliciana herself has been trained by her cousin, the retired curandera preceding her: Paloma, formerly a curandero named Gaspar. Gaspar/Paloma was Muxe, a third gender recognized by the indigenous Zapotec people of Oaxaca, Mexico. And now Paloma is dead, a victim of prejudice against Muxe.

A journalist from the urban modernity of Mexico City, Zoe has faced her own opposition as a female in her profession, and she also has a close familial relation afflicted with intolerance: her queer sister Leandra, a non-conforming young woman with vocal far-left politics. When Zoe hears of the murder of Paloma, she journeys to San Felipe to interview Feliciana for a story.

There, she learns of what Paloma passed on to Feliciana: of the velada ceremonies with their hallucinogenic mushroom Children; the reception of the Language and the knowledge of the Book. But even more deeply, she gains insight into her own life and its parallels to a history of colonialism and oppressions, universalities that transcend education, class, or environment.

In her notes, translator Heather Cleary perfectly summarizes a thematic core of Brenda Lozano’s novel: “Witches is an exploration of the many ways that women and gender non-comforming individuals are marginalised in our hetero-normative patriarchy.” With its divergent narrators, it’s also a study of indigenous versus Western perspectives, and of the importance and variegation of language in all its diverse forms. In contrast to Zoe, Feliciana speaks only in the local traditional language of her ancestors, rejecting the Spanish ‘tongue’ of government, colonialization. Unable to read or write, Feliciana continues an oral tradition of storytelling and understanding, and the Language of her mystical healing.

Lozano accentuates the cultural and educational differences between Feliciana and Zoe through distinct styles in the chapters that alternate between their points-of-view. Whereas chapters from Zoe’s point-of-view are more conventional in grammar and related structure, Feliciana’s chapters follow a stream-of-conscience style that wends and flows lyrically in long, flowering phrases strung together with elliptical asides and conversational wit.

The precious nature of language to identity and meaning also resonates through the act of translating Lozano’s novel from Spanish. Alongside the novel, Cleary provides a thorough and fascinating discussion of her choices in translating the novel, and putting it in the cultural and historical contexts that might be unknown to readers. She also describes reasoning behind word choices in keeping, or altering, original terms from the Spanish or indigenous traditions. The fact that translation of this novel by Clearly doubles the inherent artistic themes of Lozano’s work makes the work an even more complex and layered piece of literature.

While plot may be secondary to the self-revelations of the novel’s protagonists and the sociopolitical commentaries that lie beneath the text, the discovery of two families’ pasts and secrets through the perspective of Zoe and Feliciana does give some linearity to the otherwise elliptical novel, particularly in Zoe’s relation with (understanding of) her sister Leandra.

A sub-theme of the novel within the indigenous versus Western traditions sphere that I particularly enjoyed would be the contrasting, yet unified, faith traditions of Feliciana and Zoe: the Zapotec and Roman Catholic mysticism, respectively. Colonialism has of course created countless hybrid religious systems that marry the indigenous and Christian, but what’s most interesting to compare within Witches is the ways in which separate mystical beliefs guide the lives, and hopes of the two women amid uncertainty and oppression alike.

From the novel’s description, and the categories that some Goodreads readers placed the novel within, I expected Witches to qualify as ‘speculative fiction in translation’, with magical realism. Though the novel is magical, mystical, even macabre in spots in otherworldliness, it’s decidedly not fantastic. Nonetheless, this shouldn’t be a detriment to any genre fans to checking it out.

Relatively short, Witches is paradoxically blatant about its feminist themes yet understated in its presentation of them within the lives of Feliciana and Zoe, interweaving both of their perspectives as women with greater complexities of gender diversity and colonial politics. It’s a novel of timeless ideas that gives off vibes of brimming with both modern sensibilities and ancient wisdom. The words pour over readers effortlessly, yet call for second readings beneath the surface of that flow. Read it, and reflect.

THE WIND RISES by Timothée de Fombelle (Translated by Holly James)

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The Wind Rises
(Alama Book 1)
By Timotheé de Fombelle
(Translated by Holly James)
(Illustrations by François Place)
Europa Editions — 16th August 2022
ISBN: 9781609457877 — Hardcover — 410 pp.

Tucked safely on the plains of a secluded and verdant valley, 13-year-old Alma lives with her family in peace, removed from continental conflicts and European colonial powers who sail the 1786 seas and plague the African coasts with resource confiscation: elements and minerals from the soil; human lives in the slave trade.

Alma and her younger brother Lam delight in the life and landscape of their home, its familiar comfort, and the seasonal cycles that provide for them. One day, they notice a strange looking ‘zebra’ of pure white, that Alma names Cloud. Observation of the new arrival awakens a curiosity in the siblings of what other wonders might lie in the world beyond their isolated valley home. Though their father has often warned them against straying away, Alma begins to consider nevertheless going off to explore further.

However, Lam pre-empts her plans when he decides to mount the inexplicably tame Cloud, and the white ‘zebra’ takes off with him beyond the valley. With her younger brother is gone – and understanding that the current pathway from the valley to the world beyond will close back up for year with the approaching change of seasons – Alma decides to set off after her brother.

In the meantime, their father also independently sets off after Lam, fueled by a desperation borne from his secret past: first-hand knowledge of the horrors that exist outside of their valley, horrors he played a direct hand in before meeting the woman who became his wife, and they settled into their secluded home to raise a family.

As these events proceed, a young orphan named Joseph Mars plots on the other side of the world to steal aboard a slave ship, the Sweet Amelie, on a clandestine mission to find something its ruthless captain has hidden aboard, and information on a trove of pirate treasure buried somewhere in the Caribbean. But, Joseph quickly learns this might not be so easy, and that others on board might have hidden agendas of their own.

Along with these two young protagonists, de Fombelle takes a large cast of characters from very different cultures and experiences, and places them onto intersecting paths of destinies in a swiftly changing world. The result is a rollicking adventure novel that captivates through the weighty emotion of its characters, themes, and historical setting as much as its entertaining and complex plot.

Written as a middle-grade/young-adult novel, The Wind Rises reminded me of some of the best books discovered during my childhood, thrilling adventures that spanned the globe and exotic locales. The illustrations here by François Place helped in such childhood connections. Of course, that term ‘exotic’ comes loaded with some baggage, and those childhood tales I adored were certainly colored by their colonial origins, even with some scrubbing over done since their original publications. What impressed me so much about de Fombelle’s novel is how well it captured my nostalgia by keeping the best of adventure story plots and diverse settings, but casting it in less problematic terms that still maintains educative historical accuracies.

The Wind Rises succeeds with its two contrasting main protagonists, female and male, African and European. Alma comes from a more innocent and protected life whereas Joseph comes from an existence of cruel, street-wise survival. Yet, they share important traits that sit at the thematic core of the story: human compassion and personal resilience.

Of the two, Alma is an open book to readers. Her curiosity, loyalty, and bravery becomes clear from the novel’s opening. It’s fascinating to watch her journey into a dangerous new world in search of her brother, and how that parallels her father’s search for Lam. Both are unstoppable forces of will, the father from drawing upon his knowledge and abilities from his past, and Alma drawing on her heart. Though ignorant of the world, she confidently asserts herself towards her goal, utilizing her practical experience of living in the valley (and the languages her parents have taught her) to find her way in strange new cultures and circumstances.

Joseph’s story, in contrast, remains a bit of a mystery to readers, as he keeps his exact goals and details of the past closely guarded while infiltrating the Sweet Amelie. At first, Joseph seems mostly concerned with himself, and gold, but slowly the reader begins to see there is more to Joseph and his convictions than might at first be apparent.

Timotheé de Fombelle sets the stories of these two teens within a period that allows incorporation of historical events and themes that are important for people to learn and remember. The horrible nature of the Middle Passage and the slave trade of course ranks foremost here. The issue is related through the eyes of perpetrators, sympathizers, victims, and opponents alike. Sometimes a character might fall into two of these categories even. Importantly, de Fombelle handles such a difficult topic with aplomb, neither glamorizing or exploiting the issue. The ‘villain’ and antagonist of the novel appears to be the entire political/economic system of colonialism and Africa, rather than any single human. Yet, the reprehensible captain of the Sweet Amelie does fit into the villain category too, particularly for Joseph’s plotline.

Slavery is not the only societal issue taken up by de Fombelle through the plot of The Wind Rises. The entire global political/economic system that slavery fits into is a broader stroke of the historical focus of the novel, and a secondary character who stands to inherit her family’s business fortunes (though not really, because she’s a female) serves to put feminist perspective into the novel as well.

One of the largest ironies within the novel is that the plot involves pirate treasure (and hopefully not to spoil much, eventually pirates.) However, what becomes glaringly obvious to the reader through the perspective of Alma and her family, and other Africans, is how the legitimate vessels of business are really no different, plundering the oceans and a land.

As the pages of The Wind Rises pass, it’s easy to become impresses with how much de Fombelle does in a middle grade adventure novel. Moments of tranquility pass to fun and laughter, to joy, but then to agony and pain, to resilience and stubborn pride, despair to hope. It’s a rollercoaster of emotion that goes alongside the rollercoaster plot and changes of scenery from Africa to Europe to the seas and to Caribbean plantations. Through this all the writing is impeccably measured to convey informal excitement and reverential beauty each, and Holly James does a powerful job here in retaining that in the English translation from the French.

Moments of beauty in the novel mark perhaps the most memorable for me: Alma’s appreciation and wonder of her home landscape, the songs of captive slaves who communicate in support through misery, the little choices of defiance by those with some power, who look to restore some humanity to those treated inhumanely, the show of power still present in the oppressed.

Amid all that is that adventure story to keep readers hooked: the mystery of Joseph and wondering what will happen to Alma, and each member of her family. Readers can expect some answers here, but not all. The Wind Rises is the first novel in the Alma series, and I cannot wait for Europa to release the remainder in English translation. I kind of mean that literally: I can read them in French. Though, I’ll eagerly check out future releases in English regardless.

NARCISSE ON A TIGHTROPE by Olivier Targowla (translated by Paul Curtis Daw)

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Narcisse on a Tightrope
By Olivier Targowla
(Translated by Paul Curtis Daw)
Dalkey Archive Press — April 2021
ISBN: 9781628973242 — Paperback — 120 pp.

Resident patient in a psychiatric hospital for the past seventeen years, chronically ill Narcisse Dièze suffers from an undefinable malady: a condition composed from a medley of symptoms, characteristic of a broad phylogeny of illnesses. Now forty years old, he lives content in his peculiar state. He has passively borne the care of a staff of female nurses in perpetual flux, cooperatively taking his prescribed medications (comprising a rainbow of colors), heeding their instructions, and cheerfully accepting their desire to mate.

Through those seventeen years, Narcisse has fathered between thirty-five and one hundred seventy-one children. (An estimate, we are told: No one knows the exact number.) The befuddled Narcisse has no more explanation for his potent sexual attraction than for his ailment. When he enquires, the women invariable explain that it’s not love or infatuation. It’s merely transaction. They want a child, without the commitment to a man in their lives and Narcisse is a specimen who will can provide this. The women seem unworried about any genetic risk related to his mysterious disorder. Soon after one has slept with him, that nurse has left and a new one has arrived.

Abruptly, Narcisse’s doctors call inform him that they have finally reached a diagnosis for his illness: cerebral rheumatism. Moreover, this identification now clearly allows the pursuit of a cure. They explain that Narcisse will soon be able to leave the hospital to reenter the world.

The news renders Narcisse into a state of shock. So long confined to his own universe with its quirky – but predictable – characteristics, the timid and puzzled Narcisse is uncertain if he’s read to make the move, or if he is even really cured. After all, he feels no different. Yet, staying where he is also seems impossible. Beyond the pressure of the physicians for him to move on, the aging Narcisse seems to be is long-held magnetism and charm towards the nurses, and other patients arriving have begun to be competitors for his previously comfortable and predictable life there.

And so, Narcisse bravely chooses to go out in the world, going to meet up and stay with family and attempt a life of newfound independence and possibility, even if naïve of what that might entail. Like navigating a tightrope high above a crowd, Narcisse steps out, wavering, trying to keep balance and forward momentum.

An exemplar of contemporary French minimalist fiction, Narcisse on a Tightrope illustrates just how wonderful and important publishers of literature and translation are, as well as the translators who do the work of bringing new discoveries to English speakers. An obscure title from an author who is not particularly well known in France, Narcisse sur un fil originally published in 1989, the debut novel (novella) by a journalist who had previously published nonfiction titles. Targowla has since published four other novels (from the information I could glean.) This title represents his first work translated into any language, but one hopes that future translations by Paul Curtis Daw or others might be forthcoming, if indeed Targowla’s later work is anything on par with this.

Minimalism invites interpretation. In the absence of grandiose overt plot, flowery prose, or long philosophical text/dialogue, the starkness of a text begs for readers to look at themes more deeply, to synthesize meanings through analysis and consideration. Narcisse on a Tightrope does this, while also playfully entertaining the reader with the quirkiness and elements of absurdity in a narrative that is otherwise a snapshot of mundane existence.

It’s also an exploration of character, and to a small extent that character’s evolution of perception (of self and of the world.) The introduction to the novella by Warren Motte (a professor of French and comparative literature) points out the meaning inherent in the eponymous protagonist’s name. Most readers will probably already pick up on Narcisse, (the French version of Narcissus, of Greek mythology.) Indeed, Narcisse is quite narcissistic. He is defined by self-involved worry both in the hospital and outside. This isn’t to say that he’s utterly unreceptive to, or inconsiderate of, the emotions or needs of others. But he is very much preoccupied with how others view him, and what defines his state of mind – diseased or healthy. His nom de famille, Dièze, invokes the French term dièse, meaning tonally sharp (#): a note slightly off-key, slightly more in intensity. Again, matching the ardency and yearning in the character to move on from the hospital, despite his fears and the discomfort that might initially entail.

Both Motte and the official blurb for the novella characterize Narcisse as “an endearing misfit in the tradition of Walter Mitty and Forrest Gump.” (Which, tells me I should probably read Thurber’s short story.) That description is true. However, Narcisse is more than just a misfit in the roguish sense of a knave, he’s a knave in the sense of a Jack – an average Joe. His story is more than that of an odd, peculiar adventure. It’s one of a universal adventure, prosaic life, the uncertainty of existence. The always slightly confused Narcisse does not view his world (in the hospital, or later beyond) with indifference. He is, after all, very concerned about himself and what defines his state of being. But, he is casual and compliant, accepting the inexplicable things that have befallen him in the past, enjoying the oddities of present, and receptive (even if hesitant and fretful) to the future. Temporal connection happens for all this upon a reunion of Narcisse with one of the former nurses he slept with, whom he discovers indeed had a son fathered by him.

Though relatively short and minimalistic, Narcisse on a Tightrope is a rewarding reading experience of depth and compassion. For all the idiosyncrasies of its protagonist, the novella holds a universality that a broad range of readers can appreciate and dissect.

LIFE CEREMONY: STORIES by Sayaka Murata (Translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori)

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Life Ceremony: Stories
By Sayaka Murata
(Translated by Ginny Tapley Takemori)
Grove Press — 5 July 2022
ISBN: 9780802159588 — Hardcover — 256 pp.

I’m new to Sayaka Murata’s writing, though many English language readers may already be familiar with her work through the prior translations of her novels Convenience Store Woman or Earthlings by Ginny Tapley Takemori. Takemori continues the commendable and celebrated work of translating Murata’s fiction here with a first collection of short stories rendered into English: Life Ceremony.

As with Earthlings, the stories of Life Ceremony fall into that literary category of magical realism. Though they may all be set on a relatively contemporary Earth, they also almost all have some outré element placing them within perhaps some other universe, world, or near-future. Though employing elements appreciated in conventional literary fiction, Murata’s work here also mines the speculative fantasy genre in ways that would make the stories equally recognizable in genre magazines like Uncanny or Asimov’s (to name a pair.)

Specifically Murata uses subtle dark fantasy in this collection of stories to explore the inherent subjectivity and permeability of cultural taboos across places and time: customs that seem fixed at any moment yet shift in the grand scheme of humanity according to societal contexts and individual revelations. The characters populating the stories in Life Ceremony are navigating those conventional literary realms of self discovery, realization, within worlds that seem confusing, without any irresolute compass of tradition to steadfastly rely upon.

Murata expressly voices this theme through the words of her protagonist in the title story of this collection. Here, they may apply to ‘instinct’ and ‘morality’, but ‘custom’ or any other related term remain equally applicable through the swath of stories in Life Ceremony.

I feel like pointing out that until a moment ago they had been talking about a different human instinct. Instinct doesn’t exist. Morals don’t exist. They were just fake sensibilities that came from a world that was constantly transforming.

Now, not every story in Life Ceremony deeply delves into the same echoed theme or dash of weirdness. A few more conventional, and at times bright or sweet, tales are mixed in along those darkly deviant ones. For those interested in some detail on the specific contents, here’s a basic rundown of the twelve stories that make up the collection:

“A First-Rate Material” – A superb start to the collection to set the tone and themes that unite all to follow. A couple debate their comfort with incorporating parts of humans into objects for recycled use. What once was only normal to do with other animals, has now become fashionable and accepted for the human source as well: organs, hair, nails, etc. being used to make everything from bags to furniture to clothes, etc. Taking Victorian mourning jewelry trends and morbid appreciations to logical extensions, this story also uniquely makes readers consider what we consider as perfectly untroubling in our use of fellow animals.

“A Magnificent Spread” – Reading this reminded me of a criticism in the newspaper I came across awhile back regarding viewer objection to a recurring segment on a late-night comedy talk show where the host would have guests eat some sort of ‘disgusting’ food and watch to watch their revulsion and reactions. The issue of course is subjectivity. One culture’s ‘disgusting’ is another’s ‘delicacy’, and branding something of non-European tradition that is respected elsewhere as ‘disgusting’ is fraught with issues. This story delves into that idea over a dinner where a dating couple is about to ‘meet the parents’. It works well with more humor and light-heartedness than some of the other stories contain.

“A Summer Night’s Kiss” – A shorter work approaching alienation/belonging through an elderly character who is a virgin and was herself conceived without sex, through in vitro fertilization.

“Two’s Family” – A tender tale where the outsider aspect of it has already become more accepted in the world: non-traditional families. Two female friends who have decided to platonically live together after each failing to find a romantic partner by the age of thirty look back on their life and family at later age, facing mortality.

“The Time of the Large Star” – Another shorter, and largely atmospheric piece, with the most other-worldy setting within the collection: a land of night where no one sleeps. It’s a story of adapting to a staggeringly unfamiliar world, composed in a haunting, almost dream-like way.

“Poochie” – I actually recently watched a classic Kids in the Hall sketch that shares the basic premise of this amusingly absurd short story: some children adopt a wayward businessman as a pet. Canada or Japan, TV or book, the humor translates just as effectively.

“Life Ceremony” – If the morbidity of human body parts being repurposed doesn’t put one off in grotesque shock from the first story in the collection, this title story may. The society of this story exists comfortably with a tradition of ritualistic cannibalism as a quasi-symbolic practice for libido enhancement and mating rituals. It’s a change brought on by alarming falls in global birth rates. Though the protagonist of the story has great qualms with what was taboo being now so quickly accepted, her journey and interactions lead her to begin reconsidering her visceral response and what meanings the rite might actually hold.

“Body Magic” – I’d consider this the weakest of stories in the collection. Like the previous story this is set in a world where traditions of sexual interaction are different, here told from the perspective of high school girls.

“Lover on the Breeze” – The curtains on the window of a young girl serve here as a very unconventional narrator, in a love-triangle sort of story with the arrival of a boyfriend who begins to visit her room as she grows older.

“Puzzle” – An extremely bizarre story with a woman who seems to actually? be a building, but who is in search of biological fluids of others. I think this is one I’d need to reread to try and grasp further.

“Eating the City” – I loved the ecological concepts in this story, which addresses botanical traditions societies may have over what is considered food or not – if it is grown wild, or not; a weed, or not; grown on a farm versus grown in an urban landscape.

“Hatchling” – With the final story Murata subverts the idea of a world or culture in constant flux into the concept of a person in context flux, a character who has no real personality, but is rather an amalgam of ersatz personas built and arranged in a way to simply fit into society as the situations of life may demand. It’s a nicely philosophical way to end the collection and tie up the overarching theme of the stories herein, full-circle.

The characters within Life Ceremony are riding the waves of transformative societies and self maturation, trying to find compromises – something assured – within the bouleversements of human existence. Murata’s stories demonstrate that moments of stability become possible by learning an openness to curiosity and adaptation, and through celebrations of life and death that define our mortality.

This is a collection that should be picked up by speculative fantasy fans and conventional literary readers alike. The offbeat, sometimes grotesque or shocking nature of some of the stories may cause some members of the latter group to pause. But expanding of horizons and looking at things from a slightly off-kilter perspective is exactly what the appropriately titled Life Ceremony collection is all about.

Thanks to Grove Press and NetGalley alike for the opportunity to discover more fantastic literature in translation.

THE DISAPPEARANCE OF JIM SULLIVAN by Tanguy Viel (Translated by Clayton McGee)

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The Disappearance of Jim Sullivan
By Tanguy Viel
(Translated by Clayton McGee)
Dalkey Archive Press — May 2021
ISBN: 9781628973716 — Paperback — 132 pp.

Strip the “Great American novel” down to its essential, deconstructed core. Have the author explain how they’ll reassemble these fragments: stereotypes formed into some characters, tropes threaded together into a plot. Round things out with the overarching theme of the historic disappearance of psychedelic/folk musician Jim Sullivan into the wilds of New Mexico. And somehow, you still end up with a captivating page-turner.

The formulaic nature of popular novel art forms leads to their success. It also allows others to mix things up a bit – to reinvent or subvert. Yet, if everything is so simple as a quick and easy formula, why can’t just anyone pull it all off? The answer of course is that it’s all what the writer does with all those formulaic bits and pieces, from the language to the style to the balances between familiarity and challenging invention.

The Disappearance of Jim Sullivan has a simple meta premise that author Tanguy Viel sets out from the start (or the fictional authorial narrator written by Viel – it’s always a bit unclear in the metaverse.) A French author decides he is tired of writing French novels. He wants to write something with international attraction, broad success. This, of course means, making it set in the American midwest of the ‘everyman’. The author creates a protagonist, Dwayne Koster, and sets things in the heart of the Iron Belt, Detroit. But being French and never having been to Detroit, the author has to make the setting a very barebones, Wikipedia-factoid sort of Detroit. He stylizes Koster as middle-aged, recently divorced, a budding alcoholic, and a man fascinated with Jim Sullivan’s music and mysterious vanishing into the desert night.

Viel then builds up the layers to this Great American Novel, interworking details from Koster’s past with the path he now finds himself on, and the routes open to him. Laying all of these basic conventions of a novel out before the reader, Viel then concocts them into an engaging narrative amid the parodic, meta exercise. And he pulls it off because of his inherent talent for the writing craft.

I read through the novel while listening to Jim Sullivan’s albums, starting with his most famous UFO. It’s an accompaniment I’d recommend. By the end of the novel, Viel takes his story of Dwayne Koster and merges it with Sullivan’s style and the history of Sullivan’s disappearance, paralleling the existential nature of Koster’s journey with the unanswered questions of Sullivan’s.

A big thanks to Dalkey Archive Press and translator Clayton McGee for getting this slice of Americana by way of France to English-speaking audiences. A true international novel achieved.

MALPERTUIS by Jean Ray (Translated by Iain White, Edited by Scott Nicolay)

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“…The combination of classic Gothic Horror with the Weird subgenre, in a unique form of the haunted house novel, sounded perfectly tuned to my interests. Even with a foundation of mythological familiarity that was largely lost on me, Malpertuis succeeded wildly in entertaining and impressing…”

Read my entire review of Malpertuis HERE at Speculative Fiction in Translation.

Wakefield Press – May 2021 – Paperback – 256 pp.

OUT OF THE CAGE by Fernanda García Lao (Translated by Will Vanderhyden)

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“… Out of the Cage is a grim tragicomedy, a family saga that parallels the absurdities of political upheavals. Related with a short crispness that makes the novel fly by even without much action, it contains a wealth of subtext for continued analysis and appreciation.”

Read my entire review of Out of the Cage HERE at Speculative Fiction in Translation.

Deep Vellum Press – March 2021 – Paperback – 168 pp.

RISE OF THE WARRIOR COP: THE MILITARIZATION OF AMERICA’S POLICE FORCE by Radley Balko

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Rise of the Warrior Cop: The Militarization of America’s Police Force
By Radley Balko
PublicAffairs — 2014
ISBN: 9781541774537 — Paperback — 528 pp.

This is a title that went onto my to-read list when it first came out, but it took years and a happenstance coming across the book at Burning Books to get a copy, and then awhile of it sitting in a pile before deciding I really needed to get into it. Despite those 8-or-so years, the relevance of the title has hardly diminished, becoming perhaps more important, focusing on issues that are germane to front page headlines in today’s New York Times.

The title of Balko’s books is somewhat incomplete. Thought he militarization of civilian police serves as a major focus of the book, it’s more broadly a history of, and commentary on the third and fourth Amendments of the Constitution of the United States of America. For those who don’t remember the particulars of this part of the Bill of Rights, these are:

Amendment III: No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.

Amendment IV: The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.

Balko begins by discussing the colonial and revolutionary context of these amendments, with emphasis on the third that seems so irrelevant to us today at the surface level. He discusses how the amendments both relate to the common law Castle doctrine, and explains why these were considered so fundamentally important both then at the time of the writing of the Constitution, and now.

He then traces the concept of civilian policing through history, quickly getting to its use in the United States and focusing in a series of chapters on the decades from the 1960s to the 2000s. The starting point of the 1960s corresponds to the political introduction of the “War on Drugs” to the nation, as well as violent events that led to the development of Special Weapons and Tactics (SWAT) teams.

The tie-in of targeted amplification of drug prosecution (particularly minor offenses that have no victims) and SWAT (increased militarization of policing) corresponds to the gradual, systematic erosion of civil liberties related to the Castle doctrine and the pair of Constitutional amendments. With mind-boggling and frightening implication, Balko relates how systems of policing have violated, or circumvented, protections against individuals in their homes, degraded the supposed protections supplied by warrants. Worse, politics have instituted a system whereby police departments are perversely rewarded for feeing this self-perpetuating machine of terror, and have even been penalized for actual fighting of crime with results.

The most obvious injustice that Balko brings up with anecdote again, and again (showing it is an acute symptom of societal, or institutional, disease) is the no-knock warrant that became created and justified to allow police to enter private residences with no warning, with impunity, violence, and little oversight or consequences for their actions. All that was needed became a the mere suspicion that drugs may be present, and that warning of entry to the home could, maybe, result in drugs being disposed of.

Balko shows how often this has been abused with horrendous consequences due to ignorance and errors. Misidentified homes, wrong addresses, poor or dishonest informants and intelligence, etc. I lost count of how many innocent people’s lives ended because their home was suddenly invaded by dark-clad paramilitary forces. And nothing would change, it would only increase.

Alongside this, Balko also addresses how police SWAT teams became increasingly used for situations where they were not required – for example, peaceful protests. Or police departments in areas of the country with no record of violent crime for over a hundred years got themselves a SWAT team and battle tanks. Simply because the money was made available, and this is America.

What may astound many readers of this is how pervasively the political will for this extended through the decades and broadly across party lines. Conservatives who introduced ideas for being tougher on crime were later stunned that their misguided legislation had grown beyond intent, misused to now not target criminals, but attack civil liberties. They recanted, and regretted their initial ideas. But it is too late. Liberals who fought for the rights of poor people don’t want to be painted as being soft on crime. So they support/introduce bills to increase funding or giving authority to police. And it comes back to bite them.

Sadly, the failure of the Supreme Court through the decades in protecting the Constitution equally becomes clear. And, it makes one realize that the recent erosions of Constitutional protection (and future that this current court is likely to take) is not that atypical.

The NYT article I mentioned earlier is actually about how President Biden is issuing an executive order in response to what occurred to George Floyd (and the many, many other similar travesties of justice. This order demands reductions in police use of the ‘choke-hold’ and reductions in the use of ‘no-knock’ warrants. Ironically, Balko reveals that one of the biggest political names in the past decades who has personally driven legislation leading to increased police abuses like the above was Senator Joe Biden.

The birth of SWAT and police excesses were ultimately born from fear of maintaining control of a population that could arm itself with weapons and armor that an ordinary citizen could not take on. Recent events remind us that continued access to such weapons and bodily armor by the general population will only further fuel the fear and the arguments in some eyes that police should do more to protect, and that civil rights should be sacrificed. Balko’s text reminds us just how vigilant we need to be, and perhaps even work more directed and effectively towards reversing the general trends of our democracy.

SLIPPING by Mohamed Kheir (Translated by Robin Moger)

/ Daniel Haeusser / Leave a comment

Slipping
By Mohamed Kheir
(Translated by Robin Moger)
Two Lines Press — June 2021
ISBN: 9781949641165 — Paperback — 260 pp.

Struggling journalist Seif decides to pursue a risky, but intoxicating story: a fresh exploration of Egypt that penetrates into the mystical and arcane realms that exist alongside the mundane, echoes from the past and hopeful susurrations of the future, scenes unnoticed and unfurling outside time. He partners with Bahr, an older man who has recently returned to the nation from exile, and carries within him expertise on the location and properties of these ethereal corners of the ancient land, urban and rural.

Along the journey Seif discovers insights into his past: unexpected connections between their fragmented discoveries and his own tumultuous experiences, between the characters they meet and people who have shaped his own life. Most notable is his former girlfriend Alya, a radiant woman with an otherworldly talent for song who disappeared from his life amid the chaos of the Arab Spring, and its revolutionary potential.

Slipping is an apt English title for Kheir’s novel. He constructs it with a fragmented architecture that mimics the parties and voices within the Egyptian state. The characters fluidly slip through time and space, dry reality and seemingly magical realms, memory and aspirations, in fractured revelatory moments. As Kheir steps around the investigatory tourism of Seif and Bahr, he intermixes chapters of other characters in unresolved flashes, people who turn out to be connected to a spot where the pair eventually visit (or visited). By the end all the loose threads and haziness clarify into coherent interconnected fabric of existence. Again, like a national identity composed of individual souls.

This architecture makes Slipping a bit of a challenging read. It’s a novel that’s short enough to easily be worth rereading, and seeing how things are constructed after already knowing how they all fit together. The challenge of Slipping also exists in its nature of magical realism. While technically qualifying as fantasy for some, it’s not always clear what is real, what is imaginary, what is symbolic, etc. But, in the end, I’m not sure if that matters much. Only in the sense that it gives the novel a very surreal kind of feel that celebrates uncertainty and even a bit of confusion.

Kheir (and Moger) temper the relatively heavy demands of following the plot and characters of Slipping by placing a huge portion of its artistic and entertainment value in the melody of its phrases and the richness of its atmosphere. The mysterious vocal talents of Seif’s girlfrind Alya are in part a personification of the musicality of the language in Slipping, a celebration of a culture and a nation though words. Not only written, but in their sound. Many parts of Slipping are outright poetic, demanding not just to be read, but heard. Performed.

This became particularly obvious to me when I had the opportunity to attend a remote online session organized by the publisher of the English translation here in the US, Two Lines Press [It may have also been sponsored by a book store, if memory serves. It’s been awhile now, at the height of the pandemic, so I can’t recall exactly, apologies.] The event featured a discussion between author Kheir and translator Moger, an enlightening bit of insight into the magic that went into making this text available to English language speakers here.

As part of that event, Kheir read a short section in the original Arabic. I cannot speak or decipher Arabic (though some of my current research students are now teaching me a bit :D) But, my goodness was it a beautiful passage to listen to. I followed along with Moger’s translation within my copy of the book. Like when listening to music with no words or lyrics I can’t decipher (hi early REM and Michael Stipe) the sound of the Arabic conveyed the mood, the emotion, set by the text exactly. Not telepathic, it was empathic. Robin Moger then also read from his translation and spoke a bit about the choices he made when working on being faithful to the text and its musicality.

Even without that event, Slipping is a testament to the power and preciousness of literature in translation. Though a challenging novel in many ways, it is easily emotionally resonant. Anyone who is in particular a fan of magical realism would also want to look into this, a gift to unwrap from the complexities of modern Egypt.