Translation

BABEL, OR THE NECESSITY OF VIOLENCE: AN ARCANE HISTORY OF THE OXFORD TRANSLATOR’S REVOLUTION by R.F. Kuang

/ Daniel Haeusser / Leave a comment

“…Babel is a remarkable literary achievement that gives voice and embodiment to those paradoxical feelings born from the intersection of human cultures: the contradictions of love and loathing, power and vulnerability, respect and bigotry, joy and sorrow, admiration and hatred, creation and destruction that all coexist in colonialism (and academia). It’s a riveting story that draws readers in with a compelling pace, and fascinating nerdy factoids that will excite any lover of languages and books. This is a novel that readers will want to talk about with others, to delve into its themes and how they relate to our own personal experiences in this world, across cultures.”

Read my entire review of Babel, or The Necessity of Violence: An Arcane History of the Oxford Translators’ Revolution HERE at Fantasy Book Critic.

Harper Voyager – 23rd August 2022 – Hardcover – 560 pp.

Short Fiction Roundup: July/August 2022

/ Daniel Haeusser / Leave a comment

Last year I ambitiously tried to include reviews of all the short fiction I had read. It quickly became too much. I hesitated doing a roundup of selections, because I often have trouble deciding whether to include a title or not. And sometimes stories grow on me, or I may think worth mentioning even if they weren’t a personal favorite. But, given that covering everything is simply out, I’m going to try this up, starting halfway through 2022 with coverage of some of my favorite short fiction reads from July/August. We’ll see how this continues.

Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine Vol. 67, Nos. 7 & 8 (Edited by Linda Landrigan)

It’s been awhile since I subscribed to the mystery short fiction magazines, but with both literary magazines I regularly read folding, I felt in the mood to fill the space with mystery. In this issue I felt drawn most to two stories that were more subtle and required some processing of information provided.

“Florence Uglietta Solari: A Full Life in 19 Fragments” by J. M. Taylor – An elderly immigrant widow passes away, and through a series of texts the reader discovers events that transpired within the building she owned: the passions, and crimes, of a life.

“Five Bullet Friday” by Mary Angela Honerman – The hard-working boss of a travel agency is killed early one morning with five shots. In a series of vignettes the reader gets a snapshot of the morning from the perspective of the victim, each of her co-workers, and the detective who arrives on the scene of the murder. The detective might not figure it out, but the reader may.

“The Confession” by Linda Mannheim – A group of South African ex-pats process the news that one of the women they worked with to fight against against Apartheid had actually been feeding information on their activities to the South African government. I wish the truth behind these events had been kept for the end of this story, rather than revealed from the start. However, the story was an excellent foray into the gray areas of politics and choice.

Analog Science Fiction and Fact Vol. XCII, Nos. 7 & 8 (Edited by Trevor Quachri)

“In Translation (Lost/Found)” by Kelsey Hutton – I love a good story about language and the complexities of communicating with one another, and this speculative use of the theme into a compelling plot works wonderfully. The indigenous Métis perspective was also both educational and organically built into the story. The Astounding Analog Companion has a great interview with Hutton that’s also worth reading.

“The Dark Ages” by Jerry Oltion – An amateur astronomer and telescope enthusiast looks to use time travel technology to escape a future Earth and visit an earlier period before light pollution. This is a ‘grass-is-always-greener” kinda story, a straight-forward fun adventure that also turns reflective, that I simply enjoyed.

“My Nascent Garden” by Melanie Harding-Shaw – There isn’t much to this story in terms of themes that haven’t already been covered by dystopian-flavored AI tales of cold logic. However, this is told in such a magnificently chilling way that I loved it all despite a lot of familiarity.

Apex Magazine, Issue 132 (Edited by Jason Sizemore and Lesley Conner)

“Have Mercy, My Love, While We Wait for the Thaw” by Iori Kusano – I am ready to read more set in the world of this short story. I can’t recall reading Kusano before, but I’ll be looking out for them now. I adored the careful world-building and delicate reveals in this story of two individuals, former enemies, linked in guilt and atonement stemming from past crimes of rebellion, and continued silence for politics. It’s a tale that resonates on scales of individuals and of colonies/empires.

Asimov’s Science Fiction Magazine Vol. 46, Nos. 7 & 8 (Edited by Sheila Williams)

“Pollen and Salt” by Octavia Cade – An ecologist works at the edge of a salt marsh and mudflat, sifting through sediment and memories with microscopes literal and figurative. Cade does stunning work here connecting the biology and ecology of a littoral zone with painful transition writ large from climate change and personal loss, and the onset of loneliness in knowing what once was. Marvelous and melancholy.

“The Tin Pilot” by K.A. Ternya, translated by Alex Shvartsman – Golems were created by society to end a devastating war in space. Rather than welcomed home, they were outcast as something less than human, having served their purpose and now only wakening painful memories that should have died. But a Machine has been invented to identify the golem among society, and the hunt has gone on regularly to eradicate them. Friar Yakov has called the last hunt, for the final remaining golem. Noah looks at his life and starts to wonder if he himself might be that golem. A very interesting, enigmatic tale of politics, identity, memory, and subjugation that bears multiple reads.

“The Big Deep” by Annika Barranti Klein – All but one member of a crew on their way to Mars wakes prematurely from stasis, and things just don’t seem to be right. I love the tension in this short story, what it builds from the unconscious wariness of its main character.

Asymptote Journal (Edited by Lee Yew Leong)

“The Ayah of the Throne” by Habib Tengour (Translated by Bryan Flavin) – In very extensive translator notes, Flavin summarizes this lovely and powerful short story more succinctly and admirably than I would have. It’s an auto-fictional tale that “takes place in Tengour’s childhood near the beginning of the Algerian War of Independence in order to explore French colonial power over education and religion, as well as the power of storytelling.” A lovely complex dose of sadness and humor.

Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Issues #360 – 363 (Edited by Scott H. Andrews)

“A Once and Future Reckoning” by Rajan Khanna (Issue #361) – A version of the King Arthur myth that mixes classical elements with a cosmic horror core and a battle of wits between two mortal instruments of human control. Well composed and engaging.

“The Shapeshifter’s Lover” by Autumn Canter (Issue #362) – A disquieting short fantasy on the themes of a girl coming into adulthood and male attempts to use and abandon a woman. It’s a type of story I’ve seen plenty before, but Canter really composes a magical version of it here.

“The Death Artist” by Adam Breckenridge (Issue #363) – An imaginative and captivating fantasy on mortality and perception that merges fable with familiar tales of Death coming to call. The writing flows with lightness and wit to contrast nicely with the dark themes.

Clarkesworld Magazine, Issues 190 & 191 (Edited by Neil Clarke)

“Carapace” by David Goodman (Issue #190) – Intelligent armor suit SM-14 gains programmed sentience after the death of its human pilot and fellow soldiers during a brutal battle. However, after taking an injured enemy combatant as prisoner for questioning, SM-14 begins to learn more than its programming. AI stories are a type that aren’t an instant sell for me, yet this issue had two of them that hit the spot. The insights and sincerity of SM-14 and the story’s ending made this one stand out.

“The Sadness Box” by Suzanne Palmer (Issue #190) – Amid a future war with nanobot weapons and a dangerous biotechnology-infested environment, a young boy lives with his mother and step-father, but still visits with his biological father, an eccentric and self-occupied inventor. One day, the inventor gives the boy a box he has designed with an AI designed to be frightened of the world. When opened like a jack-in-the-box, the AI reaches an arm/hand out to close the lid and shut itself back away. While the inventor finds this a brilliantly hilarious commentary, the boy finds it a bit silly, if not cruel, and decides to just keep the box rather than giving it back. What follows is a perfect novella of friendship, family, and the risks/rewards possible amid bravery in facing a dangerous world.

“Tender, Tether, Shell” by M. J. Pettit (Issue #191) – After a human dies in an accident in space, an alien adopts her augmented space suit to survive the loss of its biological exoskeleton. It’s a very poignant tale of loss and memory from both the alien’s perspective and the human colleagues of the person whose ‘skin’ the alien now inhabits.

“The Pirate’s Consigliere” by Bo Balder (Issue #191) – An engaging and rapidly paced story about ruthless pirates that think to take advantage of the seemingly naive inhabitants of a generation ship. One of the pirates has a change of heart, and finds the intended victims aren’t so clueless as the others may think. I love the animalistic grim of the pirates in this.

“The Scene of the Crime” by Leonard Richardson (Issue #191) – A classic mystery story with a science fiction setting, and time shenanigans. I enjoyed the mashup and a bit of detective fiction thrown into the mix of this issue.

Daily Science Fiction (Edited by Michele-Lee Barasso and Jonathan Laden)

“Rummage Sale Finds” by Nina Kiriki Hoffman (15th July) – A lovely little tale of witches and sadness that illustrates how amazingly writer’s prompts can be, creating gold.

“Vs. The Giant” by Matthew F. Amati (23rd August) – Amusing and cleverly written fable with social insights that could be taken in diverse ways by different readers. Daily SF at its best.

The Dark Magazine, Issues 86 & 87 (Edited by Clara Madrigano and Sean Wallace)

“Fisheyes” by Ai Jiang (Issue #86) – A gruesome bit of prosaic horror that resonated with the quivering gut reaction I have to the texture of eyes. The story captures the rebellious, shock-inducing nature of teenage years, here with a boy feeling betrayed by his mother’s new lover.

“A Game at Clearwater Lake” by Gillian Daniels (Issue #86) – A unique twist on slasher film horror that focuses on a victim of a killer and what dares to persist even after a life is taken. The story captures the ambience of a classic horror staple while also making it much more deeply complex and humanizing.

“Shape-shifter” by Frances Ogamba (Issue #87) – Beautifully creepy and disquieting tale of a man whose body is changing in fearful and gruesome ways that serves as allegory of alienation from community and society, a life falling apart. Or perhaps other interpretations? Regardless, stunningly written and captivatingly dark.

“Father’s Flow” by Phoenix Alexander (Issue #87) – A father tries to keep an unconventional boat running to keep himself and his sons afloat after the departure of their mother. Another dark and allegorical tale in this issue. Less creepy and heavier on plot with the appearance of trouble, this story shines with rich imagery-laden language and poetic constructions.

Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine Vol. 160 , Nos. 1 & 2 (Edited by Janet Hutchings)

“Myrna Loy Versus the Third Reich” by William Burton McCormick – I’m not a huge fan of alternate reality histories in SF, but what I enjoyed about this story is that it gave off the vibe in a pure historical crime/mystery story, without the detraction of alternate mix-ups and inversions. I also adore Myrna Loy’s films, and didn’t know about her activism and the bans on her work by the Nazis.

“The Secret Sharer” by W. Edward Blain – My regrettable familiarity with Zoom and trying to teach with it during the pandemic certainly helped me connect to this story, but the building of a mystery plot behind Zoom technology/use would have succeeded for me even without the experiences. Nice tying of themes in this short story to the short story being discussed in the class as well.

“Quiet Pol” by Raoul Biltgen – A man sits on a park bench recording statistics of crows and children throughout an aging industrial German city. There is a creepiness to the story that works very well amid all the facts and figures observed: a nice subtle dark vision of crime.

Fantasy Magazine, Issues 81 & 82 (Edited by Arely Sorg and Christie Yant)

“The Memory of Chemistry” by Sabrina Vourvoulias (Issue #81) – It’s rare that I find the wonders and magic of chemistry brought out in fiction, and this is an exceptional case at that. A powerful and poetic tale of a chemist and her female friends/colleagues from youth to old age, with politics and insects and ghosts across time mixed in. It’s a poignant use of science fiction and magical realism that really makes me want to find a copy of Vourvoulias’ novel Ink that this tale connects with.

“A True and Certain Proof of the Messianic Age” by P H Lee (Issue #82) – I adored the recursive structure of this meta story, an AI fable of sorts around personhood and component identity.

FIYAH Literary Magazine of Black Speculative Fiction, Issue 23: Food & Cuisine (Edited by DaVaun Sanders)

“The Pastry Shop Round the Bend” by Makeda K. Braithwaite – A debut publication in a phenomenal issue from FIYAH. A village witch becomes concerned when a younger, rival witch sets up shop across the street. What concerns the more experienced witch is not so much loss of business or prestige, but the harmful effects the brazen and power-hungry newcomer might have on the everyday people. It’s a well done story about how the things people want for themselves may not include the wisdom of knowing what they need.

“Just Desserts” by A.M. Barrie – A historical fantasy written as the recollections of Hercules, George Washington’s slave cook. It’s a well done and engaging look at the incongruities between slavery and American ideals that the Founding Fathers well knew and its an educational read from a vital perspective (albeit fictionally portrayed.) The blend between magic and the culinary arts here is also well done. A must-read in an issue that shouldn’t be missed in general.

Flash Fiction Online, Issues #106 & 107 (Edited by Emma Munro)

“Dr Daidalo’s Kouklotheatron” by Nathan Makarios (Issue 106) – In a little alleyway theater, children are entertained by the dances of a man’s amazing wooden clockwork son. But, the magic becomes threatened by the religious hatred of a mob, forcing decisions by the wooden boy.

“No one sleeps on an empty stomach” by Lucy Zhang (Issue 107) – Eating bitterness and enduring hardship amid memories of the dead and uncertain futures during Hungry Ghost Month. Beautiful and insightful.

Lightspeed Magazine, Issues 146 & 147 (Edited by John Joseph Adams)

“Critical Mass” by Peter Watts (Issue #146) – As typical for a Watts story of any length, there’s a lot of depth here to unpack and detail to enjoy over multiple reads. The plot deals an artist whose works are being vandalized while his daughter abides in a coma awaiting cure from a disease. I was hoping for more biology in the story given it’s Watts, but the worldbuilding and characterization that is here is so rich and well-realized that I didn’t mind too much.

“Ursus Frankensteinus” by Rich Larson (Issue #146) – A very short and interesting story of an ill-advised plan to save polar bears from extinction by using genetically-engineered microbes to slow down their metabolism. A nice speculative biology.

The Magazine of Fantasy and Science Fiction Volume 143, Nos. 1 & 2 (Edited by Sheree Renée Thomas)

[Did not receive before September]

The New Yorker (Edited by Deborah Treisman)

“A King Alone” by Rachel Kushner (July 11 & 18, 2022) – A song-writer transient drives to reconnect with his daughter, picking up hitchhikers along the way up and down the south central US. Kushner is a writer where I never have any particular draw to the subject or plot of her writing, but the characters and writing captivate. This fascinating look at a man’s connection to strangers and their allure nails tones of regret and longing.

“Perking Duck” by Ling Ma (July 11 & 18, 2022) – With a structurally meta (and recursive) narrative, Ma offers a profoundly deep take on the stereotypical first generation Asian female story of dealing with cultural displacements and generational gaps. The structure and analysis leading up to the final ‘tale’ make the whole a rich and revelatory read.

Nightmare Magazine, Issues 118 & 119 (Edited by Wendy N. Wagner)

“What the Dead Birds Taught Me” by Laura Blackwell (Issue #118) – A serial killer unwisely chooses to set his sights on a young woman skilled in necromancy. Though there are no surprises in how this story goes, the writing is great and the orphaned protagonist and her sister are a compelling twist on the familiarity.

“Skitterdead” by Mel Kassel (Issue #119) – I love a ghost stories of many varieties, and I definitely appreciated this piece of flash fiction for its take on the movement of ghostly spirits, as well as its musical text.

Omenana Speculative Fiction Magazine, Issue 22 – Positive Visions of Democracy (Edited by Mazi Nwonwu & Iquo DianaAbasi)

“Agu Uno” by Chibueze Ngeneagu – Arguments for the extension of ‘human’ rights to non-human animals have long existed, and it’s a lovely theme in this straight-forward and well constructed short story of afro futurism. A ‘masquerade’ controlled by the story’s narrator infiltrates the palace of an emir, but not for what the reader or palace guards might suspect. I love how this story doesn’t over-explain and provides just the right amount of context and clues to work.

“The Coward of Umustead” by Nnamdi Anyadu – In an urban future, a group of teens come to appreciate an odd-ball outcast who they consider distant and cowardly. The story shines with a strong voice and an argot with a syntax that bewitches in how well it fits the tale.

Strange Horizons/Samovar Magazine (Edited by various)

“Bonesoup” by Eugenia Triantafyllou (11 July) – Another story of food and magic that I enjoyed from these two months, this one with a deliciously dark twist to it. An old woman cooks enticingly sweet treats for the children in town, but insists on cooking her granddaughter only meat, specifically “the body part you want to grow stronger”. Not quite folk horror, it’s well written, subtly dark fantasy that invites interpretations on the themes of relationships with family and friends.

“A Cloudcutter’s Diary” by Chen Chuncheng (Translated by Jack Hargreaves) (25 July) – The character of this story’s title is employed by a future authoritative society to shape clouds into approved, basic shapes of non-whimsy to dissuade imagination. But this doesn’t stop him from yearning for more in his life. Stories about stories and reading always go down well for me.

“Wok Hei St” by Guan Un (29 August) – A very enjoyable mashup of fantasy, crime fiction, and the culinary. A binder called Compass works to find Aunty Ping’s missing wok before a big televised cooking competition. The non-linear narrative structure works really well here.

“Clockwork Bayani” by EK Gonzales (29 August) – A Filipina adopts a clockwork son from the Manila dollhouse where she works, but is fearful of letting him follow his wish to join the resistance against Spanish rule as her husband had. Though a straightforward fantasy, it’s written beautifully. Touching.

Terraform (Edited by Brian Merchant and Claire Evans)

“The Fog” by Elvia Wilk (1st July) – Biology in speculative fiction at its best. This story of biobots and their keepers touches on concepts of genetics, evolution, and the basic (but hard to pin down) qualities of life.

“Fostering” by Ray Nayler (11th July) – I’ve been looking forward to Nayler’s upcoming debut novel, The Mountain in the Sea, and this lovely and bittersweet story of parenting, coming to terms with hard realities, and letting go, cemented my eagerness. The well done mixture of artificial and biological into the overall tone of this story also really captured my interest.

“The Binding of Issac” by Tochi Onyebuchi (18th July) – Wow, some superb fiction in Terraform this month. Speculative horror with kink here. It’s an unsettling and disturbing look at power and the treatment of others, twisted yet woefully familiar.

Tor.com (Edited by various)

“This Place is Best Shunned” by David Erik Nelson (Edited by Ann VanderMeer) – Perfectly chilling tale that starts out with folk horror vibes that play on the dark lyricism of warnings for radioactive waste sites, but then goes into a lovely cosmic horror twist.

“Porgee’s Boar” by Jonathan Carroll (Edited by Ellen Datlow) – A gangster coerces his favorite artist into recreating an aged and fading beloved photograph from his youth as a painting. Little does he know that there is a magic to the insight that underlies her talent. It’s a great story about art, control, and fear.

Uncanny Magazine, Issue Forty-Seven (Edited by Lynne M. Thomas and Michael Damian Thomas)

“At the Lighthouse Out by the Othersea” by Juliet Kemp – Beautiful and touching. At the dangerous edge of normal space and the otherspace of a wormhole sits a lighthouse, a warning beacon for travelers, but also the last stop for thrill seekers looking to surf the tumultuous energy waves at the transition. There, the lighthouse keeper greets a visitor seeking to honor the memory of a sibling who never had the chance to brave the waves. The two learn about one another, and through the conversation, more about themselves.

“If You Find Yourself Speaking to God, Address God with the Informal You” by John Chu – A superhero story with weightlifting that is one part story of friendship and homosexual romance, and another part commentary on racism and bravery. An engaging and uplifting story.

“To Hunger, As with Perfect Faith” by Radha Kai Zan – “Every morning I clear the virgins from the stairway.” So begins a powerful a powerful and magical story full of dark atmosphere and a bold character who seizes opportunity and agency. I don’t think I’ve read anything by Radha Kai Zan before, but looking into them and their work I can tell I’ll be a fan: “As a writer, their fiction skews towards the speculative with a particular interest in exploring the macabre, erotic, and adventurous. Their first name is pronounced “row+a” from the Gaelic word radharc meaning “a vision.” Fittingly, this story is like a vivid vision.

World Literature Today Vol. 96, No. 4 (Edited by Daniel Simon)

“Penance” by Octavio Escobar Giraldo (Translated by D. P. Snyder) – This short story is the first English translation publication of a well regarded Columbian writer, and with such power in a very short length, it’s a must read about guilt and the conflicting human emotions of celebration and mourning. An extensive translator’s note gives added cultural and political backdrop to the story and Giraldo’s style to appreciate.

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.

THE MOONDAY LETTERS by Emmi Itäranta

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“…a lyrical epistolatory novel of longing and hope. One part science fiction, one part fantasy, and one part mystery, it becomes linked by the strand of romance, the connection between Lumi and Sol even in separation… With a wistful voice, Lumi’s words flow with a poetic precision and empathetic peaceful calm. Yet, murmuring beneath that calm lies a continuous thread of unease, a growing panic that Lumi allows out in short moments, but mostly tries to tamp down through memories of happiness and togetherness…”

Read my entire review of The Moonday Letters HERE at Speculative Fiction in Translation.

Titan Books – July 2022 – Paperback – 368 pp.

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.