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It almost feels unfair to make anyone compete with Julio Cortázar. His fantastically irreverent novel Fantomas versus the Multinational Vampires was originally published in 1975, and yet it has more life in its bones (or rather, in its sixty-nine pages) than many works of our own time. Subtitled ���Ĵ�ý�An Attainable Utopia,���Ĵ�ý� Fantomas is at once a tongue-in-cheek response to the violence of the late twentieth century and a serious critique of corporate and governmental oppression.

The book opens with ���Ĵ�ý�our narrator���Ĵ�ý� (later revealed to be Cortázar himself) on his way to his home in Paris. On the train, he reads a comic book starring the masked hero Fantomas, whose latest mission is to stop a band of anti-culture terrorists from burning down the world���Ĵ�ý�s great libraries. After our narrator���Ĵ�ý�s arrival in Paris, the borders between life and comic strip rapidly collapse: Fantomas himself comes crashing in through the narrator���Ĵ�ý�s window, and Cortázar must help him realize the magnitude of this global problem ���Ĵ�ý� at least, when he���Ĵ�ý�s not lusting after the superhero���Ĵ�ý�s miniskirt-clad assistants or being yelled at on the phone by a convalescent Susan Sontag.

These conversations with Sontag ���Ĵ�ý� all carried out over ���Ĵ�ý�that technological decapitation known as the telephone���Ĵ�ý� ���Ĵ�ý� are half comedy routine and half sadly prescient analysis. At one point, the narrator presents the difficulty of their task: ���Ĵ�ý�Susan, the people are alienated, badly informed, deceptively informed, mutilated by a reality that very few understand.���Ĵ�ý� She responds:

Yes, Julio, but reality makes itself known in other ways, too ���Ĵ�ý� it makes itself known in work or the lack of work, in the price of potatoes, in the boy shot down on the corner, in the way the filthy rich drive past the miserable slums (that���Ĵ�ý�s a metaphor, because they take care never to get anywhere near the goddamn slums). It makes itself known even in the singing of birds, in children���Ĵ�ý�s laughter, in the moment of making love. These things are known, Julio, a miner or a teacher or a bicyclist knows them, deep down everyone knows them, but we���Ĵ�ý�re lazy or we shuffle along in bewilderment, or we���Ĵ�ý�ve been brainwashed and we think that things aren���Ĵ�ý�t so bad because they���Ĵ�ý�re not flattening our houses or kicking us to death���Ĵ�ý�

That paragraph, like most of Fantomas, has not aged a day since 1975. Cortázar���Ĵ�ý�s highly original adventure story, his commentary on the power of literature to imagine alternative worlds (and, equally, the human failure to realize those worlds), bears a political message as relevant today as it was forty years ago. And the author, for all his revolutionary fervor, seems to have understood that in advance: ���Ĵ�ý�Look, mister,���Ĵ�ý� a newspaper seller tells our narrator early on in the book, ���Ĵ�ý�history is like steak and potatoes, you can order it everywhere and it always tastes the same.���Ĵ�ý� The same goes, apparently, for the present.

David Kurnick���Ĵ�ý�s translation is nimble, confident, and pitch perfect; like Groucho Marx, he always gets the right amount of syllables for the joke. (One dialogue, between the narrator and Sontag: ���Ĵ�ý����Ĵ�ý�But this isn���Ĵ�ý�t going to be easy, baby.���Ĵ�ý� ���Ĵ�ý�No shit,���Ĵ�ý� said Susan.���Ĵ�ý�) Fantomas isn���Ĵ�ý�t just a marvelous read, though; as publisher Semiotext(e) presents it, it���Ĵ�ý�s also a marvelous object. The book is nearly half images, and far from interrupting the flow of the text, they define it. Pages from the narrator���Ĵ�ý�s comic books, bleary mass-reproduced photographs of urban landscapes, and a hilarious sequence of drawings by the lovechild of Goya and Gorey, whose central figures are all identified as the shapeshifting Fantomas, are indispensable to the storyline and account for a good deal of its jaunty charm.

That a ���Ĵ�ý�lost���Ĵ�ý� work can waltz in so unexpectedly and become such a formidable contender is, I think, testament enough to its quality. For its intellectual honesty and sheer panache, Fantomas versus the Multinational Vampires deserves the Best Translated Book Award; moreover, I suspect it���Ĵ�ý�s a title its competitors would be able to lose to with grace.