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TThis year’s International Booker prize for short titles is a diverse group, everywhere – from Brazil to Taiwan – and style, from the usual blockbuster to an attempt at jeu d’esprit. As in recent years, independent publishers are rewarded for their efforts by promoting translated fiction, which provides four out of six titles. And the campaign for the proper recognition of translators is finally paying off: for the first time in the 10-year history of the prize, all six books mention the translator on the back cover. Here’s our guide to everyone’s expectations, ahead of the winner being announced on 19 May.
The German-Iranian writer Shida Bazyar reminds us in her book Nights He is quiet in Tehran (Scribe), translated by Ruth Martin, that the Iranian people have been the victims of history most of the time. The story follows four members of an Iranian family over the course of 30 years. In 1979, young Behzad welcomes the Islamic revolution that ousts the Shah, but his hopes for a communist utopia (“the new Cuba”) are thwarted. Instead, he is surrounded by people who have been waiting their whole lives for their chance to be bullies. He and his wife, Nahid, flee to Germany: they take the case in 1989, followed by their daughter, Laleh, in 1999.
Laleh visits Iran, surprised by the cultural differences in Germany. What they look down on, they look at – “I can’t wear gold, nobody wears gold, except here” – also, Iranians love Ricky Martin disproportionately. In 2009, Laleh Mo’s brother heard about the protests in the Middle East, and his excitement – “As soon as Ahmadinejad leaves, it will start again in Egypt, ( … ) and finally all the dictators will come out” – is very sad in Iran today. Time book is not always available – check last year’s Small Boat – but the depth and compassion of this book will make it a success every year.
Witch (Vintage), translated by Jordan Stump, is an excerpt from the backstory of French novelist Marie NDiaye – first published in 1996. “When my daughters turned 12 I introduced them to mysterious powers,” it opens, undeniably. Narrator Lucie has psychic powers and can see people’s futures – and when she does, she cries bloody tears. She doesn’t like being a witch (“Didn’t I have the will, the strength, the rage?”) but she still teaches her daughters, just like her mother taught her.
Contrasted with this is a complex comedy of domestic discontent: Lucie’s husband a trader of the family’s time and money; then he tries to reunite his estranged parents (bad news: his father has fake tan and dyed his hair). He begins to lose everyone, and his strength is useless to help him; thus this book raises important questions about how we use our skills. This accessible but wonderful book is good for newcomers to NDiaye, but the overabundance of events as the story progresses, as well as the ambiguous ending, are disappointing: I did not expect it to win the prize.
In Ana Paula Maia’s classic Brazilian novel Cows and Men, cows are killed. Now, in On Earth Like Earth (Charco), translated by Padma Viswanathan, is a time for men. The punishment of the worst criminals began with 42 prisoners: now there are only three prisoners, as the warden Melquíades – “consumed by the system that protects” – continues to release them, hunt and shoot them. The adults are coming to shut down the colony – that is, if the survivors can survive long.
Surprisingly, the book has the classic elements of a sitcom: people who don’t get along, live together and face chaos. The conflict between absurdity and violent violence gives the book more power, and turns it into a thriller, all in 100 pages. Chaos reigns, power fluctuates, and no one outside cares what happens to the men. As it turns out, this excellent book is loosely connected to Cows and Men; you don’t have to read both to understand, but you probably want to. This one is controversial but very worthy.
Perhaps the best-known book on this year’s shortlist is Bulgaria’s Rene Karabash. He Who Remains (Peirene), translated by Izidora Angel. This story was told by a 33-year-old woman named Bekija, from rural Albania, who lives in old traditions. The story jumps, mostly in poetic prose without stopping. Details are repeated: the frustration of his violent father (“your father wanted a son, but you came out”); how years ago Bekija jilted his friend, and revenge was given by his family; conflict with his brother Sále of the black sheep; and Bekija’s ritual of being a “daughter-in-law of a married man.”
There’s plenty of eye-popping – and stomach-turning – action here, as well as a love story hidden in the background, but the book’s structure keeps readers at a distance, and many things only make sense in hindsight. This may have benefited the Booker stakes book, where judges re-read titles they had already written and found value in things that first-time readers might miss. However, this complex and sensitive issue seems like a long shot for the prize.
Also experimental but playful and approachable is the Taiwanese author, Yáng Shuāg-zi. Taiwan Travelogue (And Other Stories), translated by Lin King. “Wait, what’s going on here?” it opens, properly. What’s happening is a book that doesn’t look like a rediscovered travel memoir, complete with a number of prefaces and fictional footnotes along with the translator’s own. It is set in 1938, when a Japanese-Taiwanese writer named Aoyama goes on a food tour in Taiwan. (So this book doubles as a recipe guide.)
Aoyama has “monster” desires, which may be hiding something: he loves his female lead Chi-chan, but has trouble expressing it. “Every time I start craving something, everythingMy stomach is burning with insatiable greed (…) You are the only one who has pleased this beast.” But gender and class tensions – Chi-chan is the daughter of a maid – make things difficult. At heart this is a simple love story that teaches how to be happy, even if it takes a long time to get to where it’s going, and the complex characters seem more screen-dressing than necessary for its plot. It will appeal to many readers, but it may not be rich enough to be successful.
Photo by Daniel Kehlmann Director (Riverrun), translated by Ross Benjamin, is the best-known book in the short series: an interesting and enlightening piece of fiction that shows the events of the war of the German filmmaker GW Pabst., “one of the directors. Trapped in Germany when the border is closed, Pabst must decide whether to work for the Nazis if it is the only way to continue making films.
The book is full of great characters, real and made up – the care giver to the protester; Minister of State threatened; Leni Riefenstahl has a “smile like a skull”. Pabst believes that “I am not a politician”, but he must learn that everything is political now. No one can ignore what is happening: not the filmmakers; not the prisoner of war PG Wodehouse, who describes one subject; not even humble critics. “Detractors? We have no detractors! It’s not so much its character and direct plot that makes The Director stand out on this list, but its scale, its style, its expertise and its importance. The International Booker judges have a history of going for smaller titles, but this would be a very popular winner, and a very deserving one.
