I finished nine books this month, with the usual four in German; only four by women/POC, but I’m planning a people of colour month for May to balance things a bit. All but two were in translation, mainly because of my International Booker theme for the month.
Graue Bienen — Andrej Kurkow tr. Sabine Grebing and Johanna Marx
In einer dunkelblauen Stunde — Peter Stamm
The Discomfort of Evening — Marieke Lucas Rijneveld tr. Michele Hutchison
Nova Hellas: Stories from Future Greece — ed. Francesca T Barbini and Francesco Verso tr. Dimitra Nikolaidou et al.
Ein simpler Eingriff — Yael Inokai
In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower — Marcel Proust tr. James Grieve
The World Goes On — László Krasznahorkai tr. John Batki et al.
Breasts and Eggs — Mieko Kawakami tr. Sam Bett and David Boyd
Leonard und Paul — Rónán Hession tr. Andrea O’Brien
Starting with the first of those, Graue Bienen is by Andrej Kurkow (from Ukraine, longlisted this year); it’s set against the background of the Russian invasion and occupation not of 2022, but of 2014 — an important reminder of recent history. Against this background the main character and his story are very gentle, as he first copes with life in the “grey zone” between the opposing armies, then takes his bees on a tour of southern Ukraine in search of safety. The book does go on perhaps a bit longer than necessary, but overall it was very enjoyable.
Peter Stamm (Switzerland) was shortlisted in 2013, and since I discovered him recently he’s become one of my favourite German-language authors. In einer dunkelblauen Stunde explores some of his typical themes — unreliable memories of the past, the lives of artists — this time through the interaction between an ageing author and his prospective biographical film-maker. In a very meta twist, there is apparently a film following Stamm through the process of writing the book, though I haven’t tracked it down yet.
Marieke Lucas Rijneveld (Netherlands) won the prize in 2020 for The Discomfort of Evening. In Jeanette Wintersonian style, it tells the story of a girl growing up in a fairly extreme religious community, this time on a farm in the southern Netherlands. The family transfer their various repressed desires to a range of sexual and violent forms of behaviour towards each other and the animals on the farm, and I found the book as pleasant as that sounds. There are some great bits of writing: the narrator has fluorescent stars above her bed, but, “Dad has already taken away a few, which he does whenever I come home with a bad grade and it’s his turn to tuck me up at night”; these are outnumbered however by the improbably elaborate similes which she favours (“grown-ups are often confusing because their heads work like a Tetris game and they have to arrange all their worries in the right place”).
The World Goes On is by László Krasznahorkai (Hungary, winner 2015); it’s a short story collection of sorts, although with a very broad definition of “story”. The style (seemingly endless sentences) is certainly hard work, and can be infuriating (when used for rambling metaphysics), or extremely powerful when used to actually express the stories and their ideas. I enjoyed it enough to want to explore further, at least.
Breasts and Eggs (Mieko Kawakami, Japan, shortlisted 2022) has an intriguing history: Kawakami wrote a novella with the same title, then reworked it later and added a second part, retitling the whole “Summer Stories” (also a play on the main character’s name, I think). I found it fascinating — it explores the lot of (particularly working class) women in Japan, with a obsessive emphasis on their bodies (most of which are skinny and constantly sweating). Some oddities in the English are presumably normal in Japanese (“When my beer came, Makiko screamed happy birthday to Midoriko”), which is fine and adds interest; others just seem strange (“Despite giving the impression of a person who avoided sweets, she ordered tiramisu with her coffee and really savoured it”). The second part in particular is rather rambling, but both build up to spectacular climactic scenes which are impressively done.
Turning to other translations, Leonard und Paul is also interestingly titled, being “Leonard and Hungry Paul” in English. Omitting the title’s key word in translation is a bold move, and I’m not sure why it was done that way. (I’m also not sure why it’s in the English title, but that’s clearly the point). The descriptions of daily live in Paul’s family do sometimes verge on the Pooterish, but overall it’s a lovely book celebrating a pair of introverted friends, and looking at how they get on in the world.
Nova Hellas: Stories from Future Greece was less successful: there are problems with the translation (“Nah. I myself arranged to draft the reports now”), and some of the stories have the common SF failing of focusing on the ideas rather than the characters or the story (or the writing). The final story (“The Colour that Defines Me”) is probably the strongest, as it does do things with each of those.
Ein simpler Eingriff is a short but excellent book, focusing on a nurse whose professional and personal lives reach parallel crises. She interacts with various other strong-minded women (sister, patient, lover), and it’s these relationships which make the work so powerful.
And with a bit of delay, I finished the second volume of Proust, In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower; highlights on mastodon: https://mastodon.green/@slnieckar/110291997758206313 .