Lists
by Powell's Staff, January 31, 2024 9:45 AM
New year, new books in translation! We’re so excited to be featuring our favorite new translated releases from the past two months. On this list, you’ll find a Hungarian exploration of Kafka’s relationship with his father; the story of a scandalous love affair from a late Italian author; a German novel about a lonely archivist; a Norwegian doctor’s friendship with a plastic skeleton; a Slovakian story about being young and alone in a metropolis; "a bewitching tale of memory, monsterhood, and mysteries” set in the Italian countryside; "a prescient look at the consequences of extreme wealth disparity” from a Danish author; “micro-essays and flights of fancy” from a modern French master; German autofiction about a daughter trying to understand her father; a Korean short story collection that weaves horror into the mundane; and a French novel about grief in its many forms.
by Szilárd Borbély (tr.Ottilie Mulzet)
Translated from the Hungarian
Kafka's Son by Szilárd Borbély (translated by Ottilie Mulzet) is a posthumously published literary exploration of the fraught relationship between Hermann Kafka and his son, the famous Czech author Franz Kafka. While Hermann takes pride in his business acumen, he struggles to relate to his more sensitive, artistically inclined son, Franz. Hermann, reflecting on his relationship with Franz, says, “The son is the life of the father. The father is the death of the son.” For fans of Franz Kafka, this book offers new insights into Kafka's experience not only as a writer, but also as a son. — Alyssa C.
by Marosia Castaldi (tr. Jamie Richards)
Translated from the Italian
The Hunger of Women is a lush, indulgent book that weaves desire with passion. We follow Rosa, a widow and restaurant-owner who decides to explore her sexuality in middle age. The lyrical, punctuation-less writing style turns Rosa’s journey of self-discovery into something that’s intoxicating and consuming; you feel like you’re right there with her, as she cooks, journals, loves, and lives. A delicious, delirious book that’s well worth reading. — Kelsey F.
by Peter Stamm (tr. Michael Hofmann)
Translated from the German
After an archivist's job is taken over by computers, the newspaper he used to work for allows him to take the old archival filing system home with him. He keeps it up as a sacred duty, adding current events stories as a hobby and keeping mostly to himself as he always has, until it begins to dawn on him that his life could have gone another way, that there was a woman whom he once loved but let go. Stamm is adept at showing us the essential loneliness of the character and yet also that he lives in a beautiful world of his own imagining that both keeps him from despair and isolates him further. It's a touching and poignant book, and one can't help but root for this man who is just past middle age, but not, one hopes, past finding meaningful connection. — Jennifer R.
by Nina Lykke (tr. B. L. Crook)
Translated from the Norwegian
A novel about a Norwegian doctor who’s friends with a plastic skeleton? And this plastic skeleton coaches her through a series of bad decisions? This book was so fun, so Norwegian, and gave me so much inspiration for infusing my life with some much-necessary chaos. — Lucinda G.
by Zuska Kepplova (tr. Magdalena Mullek)
Translated from the Slovakian
Like nothing else I've read, The Moon in Foil captures the feeling of being young and adrift and essentially alone in a metropolis: taking advantage of others and being taken advantage of; getting one's needs met and living on the edge; taking chances with one's person and one's heart in stretching out for another life some distance from what one has known. The protagonists from Hungary, Poland, and the Czech Republic land in Paris, London, and Helsinki and immediately attempt to learn a new language, live with strangers in close quarters, scrounge food from leftovers at their work, and deal with other challenging situations. What are the costs of pursuing one's Eastern dreams in the West and what is actually obtained by the blood, sweat, and tears? — Jennifer R.
by Michele Mari (tr. Brian Robert Moore)
Translated from the Italian
Verdigris by Michele Mari (translated by Brian Robert Moore) is a bewitching tale of memory, monsterhood, and mysteries in the Italian countryside of the sixties. A young boy staying with his grandparents becomes obsessed with uncovering the secrets of the elderly groundskeeper, whose memories are quickly fading. Over the course of the novel, they discover skeletons in Nazi uniforms behind a secret door in the attic, dried blood in wine bottles, and sinister, possibly supernatural slugs. This book is perfect for fans of gothic horror and misunderstood monsters. — Alyssa C.
by Sven Holm (tr. Sylvia Clayton)
Translated from the Danish
Originally published in 1967 amidst the height of the Cold War, Termush by Sven Holm (translated by Sylvia Clayton) is a prescient look at the consequences of extreme wealth disparity in a nuclear apocalypse, a topic still relevant today. Termush is an exclusive resort, promising luxury and comfort even when the outside world is irradiated, and local survivors come to call. As time wears on, it becomes clear that money cannot protect Termush's residents from radiation sickness, boredom, or guilty consciences. With an introduction by award-winning science fiction writer Jeff VanderMeer, this book is a great choice for fans of the dystopian genre. — Alyssa C.
by Eric Chevillard (tr. Daniel Levin Becker)
Translated from the French
For the perfect weird bedtime reading to launch some very interesting dreams, choose these micro-essays and flights of fancy by a modern French master of the form. The perspective is always skewed in some unexpected way, making these prose pieces sometimes funny and sometimes quite surreal. Chevillard will have you questioning concepts you've always taken for granted, like what doors, cats, and stones really are. There's one about a relentless harpsichordist that had me laughing out loud multiple times. And the one about the long-suffering Mrs. Faldoni? Pure gold. — Jennifer R.
by Monika Helfer (tr. Gillian Davidson)
Translated from the German
Monika tells the story of her family, focusing on her father in particular, in this lovely and affecting autofiction that asks what we really know about the people closest to us. Josef, her father, was a poor Austrian student drafted into Hitler's army near the end of the war; he lost half his leg on the Eastern front, after which he met his future wife, a field nurse. The best part of the narrator's childhood was spent with her parents and siblings while they ran a home for disabled veterans in the mountains. There, Josef taught her to love and care for the books in the home's library, and this and other idyllic memories would carry her through more difficult times after the death of her mother, when the kids were farmed out to relatives for a while. But the family re-forms, and the author/narrator is adept at creating a throughline while also going back and forth in time, musing to herself and in dialogue with siblings over just who their father really was in the end. I enjoyed getting to know Josef and his two oldest daughters, but there were a number of other intriguing characters, as well, especially the subtle, stylish Uncle Sepp, who marries a prostitute, divorces her, then remarries her, and Pirmin, the blind giant masseur who wins Aunt Irma's heart. I'll be seeking out more work by this author. — Jennifer R.
by Bora Chung (tr. Anton Hur)
Translated from the Korean
I adored the weirdness of Chung's short stories in Cursed Bunny, so I was so excited for her newest collection, Your Utopia. Chung does an excellent job weaving horror into the mundane and tipping a story quickly into unfamiliar territory. In Your Utopia, Chung shifts into a bleaker, more critical tone of what our future with technology holds. If you enjoyed Ling Ma's short story collection Bliss Montage, or the tv show Black Mirror, this is a collection worth adding to your reading list. — Charlotte S.
by Muriel Barbery (tr. Alison Anderson)
Translated from the French
This subtle, melancholic story is stitched together with engaging characters, gorgeous writing, and the quiet, somber beauty of Japan. I was drawn in by the plot — a Japanese art dealer’s brief affair results in an estranged daughter whom he watches grow into adulthood from afar — and found myself lost in the often-ethereal atmosphere and rich characters this story offers. Spanning five decades, One Hour of Fervor is also a story of grief in its many forms, and the unknowable lenses through which we each navigate the world; a world often divided by this grief into a “before” and “after.” Through Haru and his eclectic array of close friends and regular acquaintances, we live many lives, briefly peering through their private lenses of perception. Barbery’s succinct, startlingly beautiful phrasing nudges us to look towards the intimate truth found in the space between perception and language. “The woman flows between his fingers, a prisoner, but liquid, and, above all, she is elsewhere.” — Katie V.
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