đ It's Women in Translation Month đ
image via BookFabulous
I love reading in translation. I love reading books by women. I love that August is Women in Translation Month. I also know that, for a lot of us, this is a super-hard time to focus. Last week I read The Herd by Andrea Bartz, a thriller that satirizes The Wing and Glossier. It was fun! It was also the only book Iâve been able to finish since April when I read Samantha Schweblinâs Fever Dream. (Thatâs something Iâd recommend for your personal Women in Translation Month reading!)
There are so many things that need our attention right now. Weâre also going through something that requires us to make space for ourselves and others having trouble focusing, knowing where to put the attention we do have, and taking care so that weâre braced for whatâs next. It seems very much like something is always coming next.
Last Tuesday, two explosions at the Port of Beirut devastated Lebanonâs capital city. As I write this, reports say there have been 220 fatalities, ~$15B in property damage, and 300,000 people that are now unhoused. Lebanon declared a financial crisis last Augustâexasperated later by Trumpâs sanctions on Syria and Hezbollahâand the people of Lebanon have been protesting sectarianism, austerity, economic disparity, proposed taxes on things like tobacco and voice-calls on WhatsApp since last autumn; on Monday, reviled Prime Minister Hassan Diab and his cabinet resigned. Diab is the second Lebanese PM to resign this year.
Oh yeah, and hospitals in Beirut had already been packed because of that whole, you know, Covid-19 thing.
Thinking about Beirut and how literature, especially literature in translation, can bridge cultural gaps, I wanted to use this space to talk about a novel I read last August called Always Coca-Cola by Alexandra Chreiteh, translated by Michelle Hart. The title is a reference to what the protagonist Abeerâs mother constantly craved when she was pregnant and the Coke billboard visible in the full-length mirror Abeer spends a lot of time scrutinizing herself in.
Whatâs remarkable to Abeer about the billboard is that her friend Yana, a Romanian expat, is the adâs model. This is the nexus of the novel: cis womenâs biology, cis womenâs bodies, cis womenâs beauty. Abeer is constantly thinking about femininityâwho has it, who doesnât, how to improve her ownâand reproductive mechanics. Maxi pads and pregnancy tests are incendiary and essential to the story. Itâs funny and crude and probably a little offensive in ways that I do not totally understand. Abeerâs thoughts on the differences between Western and Eastern women are embedded throughout and so is so much menstruation, something that us uterus-people can relate to regardless of global culture.
Chreiteh and Hartman didnât see eye-to-eye on the translation. I donât remember the details of their miscommunicationâI mostly borrow books from the library, so canât reference it nowâbut I do know that it changed my perception on the creative scope and personal intricacies of translating.
I have an occasional fantasy where, five or six more steps down the life-path, Iâve built a competency in Slavic/Eastern European/Eurasian languages and can eventually start translating weird-girl novels from Russia, Ukraine, Poland, Hungary, etc. for some weird-girl small press I started my weird-girl self. Maybe itâs ten or twelve or one hundred more steps away. Itâs probably never. Like, Iâve lost one and half romance languages from my brain, so I doubt an expertise with Cyrillic characters is coming down the pipeline.
I just like knowing that books are a place where we can bear witness to what other people live and that I am so grateful for it.
Additional Women in Translation Month recommendations!
Breasts and Eggs by Mieko Kawakami, translated by David Boyd and Sam Bett
Breasts and Eggs was first published in 2008 as a novella tracing a few days when Natsu, an aspiring writer in Tokyo, is visited by her older sister Makiko and niece Midoriko. Makiko is a bar hostess looking to get a cheap boob job and her daughter literally hasnât spoken to her in a year, only communicating with her mom and aunt through written notes. Itâs tender and anxious and will make you miss public baths. The book is now close to 500-pages, as the novella is paired with a novel that find Natsu, now a published author, considering how to get the right kind of sperm donor.
Before by Carmen Boullosa, translated by Peter Bush
This shortie was published by Deep Vellum, a bookstore and press in Dallas, Texas. They put out a ton of stuff in translation, so check them out if youâre looking to read some international literature and want to support a great small business. (P.S.: This story is also about periods. Not sorry about it!)
Vernon Subutex 1 by Virginie Despentes, translated by Frank Wynne
God, I love this book, a Parisian polyphonic novel about a former record store shill who is evicted from his apartment and in possession of a video tape containing a vulnerable interview with the late rock star Alex Bleach. People want this interview and theyâre after our titular hero to get it. If you liked the politics and atmosphere of The Neapolitan Novels then youâll get into this.
Below is a short excerpt that gutted me like a fucking fish:
âShe is a freelance rock journalist. The media is dying on its feet and the music business with it. When she published her first article, she was high on life for months. Sheâs over all that. A woman in the music industry. Whatever she does, whatever she writes, she is treated like a weirdo and a moron.â
That is one of the most true things I have ever read about myself and I hate it. (I love it.)
What I hope to read this Women in Translation Month!
(Real talk, somehow itâs my turn for Alice Knott, Luster, and Want from the library all at the same time + Iâm reading What it Means When a Man Falls From the Sky, which is this monthâs pick for Kara Brownâs newish book club Read a Book! With Kara, so Iâve only got two books on my list. And yes, Luster is absolutely deserving of its hype.)
Vernon Subutex 2 by Virginie Despentes, translated by Frank Wynne
Like I said, The Neapolitan Novels but for poking fun at aging rockers and critiquing the alt-right with inimitable finesse.
My Husband by Rumena Buzarovska, translated by Paul Filev
This is a book of short stories by a Macedonian writer that is described as having a âwry and razor-sharp gaze on men and on the lives of the women who suffer them.â In the words of RZA, bong bong.
Iâm a little bummed that every single book Iâve recommended for Women in Translation Month is translated by one or more men. Of course the literary translation world is teeming with misogyny and barriers. Magdalena Edwards, a writer/performer/translator of literature in Spanish and Portuguese, wrote about her disheartening, to say the least, experience working with Benjamin Moser while translating Clarice Lispectorâs The Chandelier last summer and you should check it outâespecially for her commentary on Moser writing a biography of Susan Sontag. Moser sounds like a real bunda suja, tbh.
If you are looking for a place to donate money for relief in Beirut, the excellent Plastik Magazine and anonymous artist Saint Hoax are fundraising for artists and small businesses in the Gemmayze and Mar Mikhael neighborhoods. Plastik writes on Instagram, âThese neighborhoods are a hub for Beirutâs heritage houses, restaurants, and startups led by young entrepreneurs. Most small businesses operate from these neighborhoods.â You learn more about and donate to their fundraiser here.
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