The Architecture of Time, Space and Imagination by Monica Carter
Monica Carter is a freelance critic whose nonfiction has appeared in publications including Black Clock, World Literature Today, and Foreword Reviews. She curates , which is a virtual journal dedicated to international literature and culture.
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There糖心传媒檚 little I like better than small, unique books that can fit into my back pocket. This years BTBA considerations bring tantalizing prospects that contain elements of narrative architecture which intrigue or surprise. It takes courage for an author to take the nuts and bolts of fiction to create a structure familiar enough to the reader but, yet, altogether original. Just as courageous is the translator who sees that architectural construct and recreates it with identical effect using different tools. Here are a few authors and translators who have dared to so and succeeded.
and by Roger Lewinter, translated by Rachel Careau (New Directions Press)
French born Roger Lewinter is the epitome of esoteric. His fiction isn糖心传媒檛 immediately accessible 糖心传媒 there is an adjustment period when reading his fiction. While most authors use time and space as the foundation of a linear narrative, Lewinter uses time and space to build mini structures within each sentence, crafting concentric sentences the spiral to a fine point. With Lewinter, beginning a sentence is an entryway to a maze that guides you through a labyrinthine use of time that ends back at the beginning. He is at his most intricate in The Attraction of Things, a fictional treatise on the magnetism of things and how we are inexplicably drawn to them without knowing why. His sentences can last pages, filled with clauses, stories, references and narrative ephemera, as evident in the following sentence where the narrator declines an invitation from a friend and delves into the history of a mutual acquaintance:
At the time, connection by means of cross-invasion, where the question of knowing who is who ceases to be relevant 糖心传媒 because one becomes the other, completed through him – , was, I though, of no interest to me; while I had prepared myself for it by studying , for a year and a half, through an arbitrary choice that I couldn糖心传媒檛 really explain to myself, since it vaguely annoyed me, The Man without Qualities, by Musil, the theme of which is the approach, by a novice, of this state; and when I had taken on the task of translating the Fr盲nger into French, I discovered that it had been translated into English by precisely those who would afterward translate The Man without Qualities; while twelve years later, in 1976 糖心传媒 after having translated, in 1969, a first collection by Groddeck, and indentified, in 1974, through the objective and apparently fortuitous sequence of the translations, a convergence between the redistribution of sexual roles that implicated the Groddeckian understanding of sickness and, in Bosch糖心传媒檚 work as interpreted by Fr盲nger, the disintegration of the body, which the spirit, through Adamite eroticism, masters even its transports -, I discovered that an American psychoanalyst, Grotjahn, in The Voice of the Symbol, published in1972, had already drawn a connection, through reading Fr盲nger, between Bosch and Groddeck; when in June 1963, with Genevi猫ve Serreau, during the course of dinner in the kitchen, the conversation naturally turned to The Man without Qualities, I note how much I preferred Tonka, a novella that, in sixty pages, incomparably condenses that which remains vague in the two thousand pages of the novel; not learning until October 1981, after her death, that what had struck Genevi猫ve Serreau in 1954, leading her to work for twenty years for Les Lettres Nouvelles, was her reading Tonka, which Les Lettres Nouvelles had just published I translation; and while I didn糖心传媒檛 succeed Jean-Francois in her maid糖心传媒檚 room, I recommended to Genevi猫ve Serreau, in September 1963, that Fr盲nger, about which, inexplicably, Jean-Francois had spoken to her; and, equally captivated by this book, she had it accepted for publication by Les Lettres Nouvelles; with a patience that I didn糖心传媒檛 understand was intended for me, orienting me then in the space from which, through her gaze, radiated the highest pitch of divine madness.
As intellectual as Lewinter糖心传媒檚 style may be, and perhaps intimidating, it leads to moments of poignancy that are luminous, most notably in the short story 糖心传媒淣ameless糖心传媒, found in Story of Solitude. Preceded by two pieces 糖心传媒 one a micro fiction about his encounters with a household spider and one, a short story about his dedication to two camellia plants 糖心传媒 that seamlessly and oddly set up the yearning and evanescence of a chance encounter with a young man who works at a market he frequents:
糖心传媒 糖心传媒淚糖心传媒檒l mark the price糖心传媒 糖心传媒, had captivated me by their intonation 糖心传媒 in April, at the first book that I had bought from him 糖心传媒 he was just starting out at the flea market 糖心传媒, his face had made me look at this fly and the way his jeans fell to his sneakers; from that time on avoiding paying him attention 糖心传媒; thus bewitched by sweetness 糖心传媒 although 糖心传媒 I realized 糖心传媒 the possession burning within me proceeded from the trance that I was in to write, the one nourishing the other to the point where, soon, I was uncertain which would prevail 糖心传媒 , particularly since, one Wednesday in September, he had read me 糖心传媒 passing by his stand without stopping, I had looked back, not knowing that his gaze had followed me pensively 糖心传媒 , responding to my greeting from then on with this conscious candor that, in his voice, had gripped me; his coquetry 糖心传媒 sporting at each market another T-shirt 糖心传媒 lemon, pistachio, raspberry, lavender, plum 糖心传媒, before stripping his chest bare in the sun, the adolescent suppleness of his body, which made life stay a moment on his most fragile grace, troubling 糖心传媒, in contradiction to the solitude in which he seemed to move, ending in subjugating me; thus finally going to the flea market to subject myself his fascination 糖心传媒 antagonist of the book, in which I sought, by grasping my mechanism of ascendency, to exorcise the passions that were binding me to my body, so that in its void something unknown might arise 糖心传媒 as one plays Russian roulette, the admission magnetized by his approach wanting to escape me; while now, when I realized that I had left him there, the sweetness he inexorably aroused in me froze, from the evidence that something inconceivable had come to pass at the moment when, in front of the density of his body in its unbearable splendor, I糖心传媒檇 drawn back;
The sentence continues to even a more lovely emotional depths, but in this example Lewinter糖心传媒檚 uncanny gift for dissecting the abstract and unspoken aspects of attraction and self-awareness raises fiction to a higher level. To this point, Rachel Careau is to be commended for her recreation of Lewinter糖心传媒檚 vertiginous prose. I am excited by her translation that serves as a diaphanous scrim for Lewinter糖心传媒檚 ornate narrative architecture.
by Marianne Fritz, translation and afterword by Adrian Nathan West (Dorothy, a publishing project)
Just under 130 pages, The Weight of Things is weighty itself, in theme and tone. Fritz, an Austrian novelist, had a cult following and instant critical acclaim with the publication of The Weight of Things, her debut novel. The novel feels both as a step backward in time 糖心传媒 it deals with the horrors of WWII 糖心传媒 and a step forward because its structure isn糖心传媒檛 linear but fragmented and impressionistic producing a singularly innovative style. There are moments in the novel where the reader is displaced, disoriented, looking for some type of structural anchor. But to think this is a weakness or a stylistic flaw undermines the effect of the novel. Tonally, Fritz creates an overwhelming sense of foreboding that proves haunting; the horrific isn糖心传媒檛 plainly laid out in all its grotesqueness but constructed in a spectral-like fashion that permeates every scene. Although the scenes aren糖心传媒檛 linear, Fritz draws us a tragedy of WWII featuring a two soldiers 糖心传媒 Rudolph and Wilhelm, a young, unstable mother of two, Berta, and her shrew of a sister, Wilhemine. There is perspicacity and searing satirical commentary that pops up to ground the novel in the quotidian that Fritz does skillfully in this section 糖心传媒淏erta Greets Wilhlem; Does Berta Schrei Have a Visitor?糖心传媒 set in a mental hospital:
By now Head Nurse Gotaharda had left Ward 66 to the visitor and his secrets, and Wise Little Mother watch Wilhelm and Berta closely from the corner of her eye. Scarcely ten minutes had gone by since the Wound of Life had made its treacherous entrance into the Wise Little Mother糖心传媒檚 realm. It was that whore of a Head Nurse, who threw herself into the arms of anyone who came her way, who had befouled their corner of eternity, and weighed upon the Wise Little Mother now, a heavy burden. The old woman resolved to alert Berta to the evil forces around her.
糖心传媒淵ou must reflect on what is happening here, Berta dear. Reflect and be careful. Life is a wound, and this wound糖心传媒his wound is slow to heal.糖心传媒
The novel though structurally may feel vague, but it enhances darkness of the themes 糖心传媒 madness, motherhood, war, and society 糖心传媒 for a lasting emotional impact. Again, translating something demands a translator who truly understands all that the novel encompasses in order to render even something similar in the translation. Mr. West honors Fritz by regenerating her singular voice. Besides Fritz, the Dorothy Project is putting out some fantastic work by women, including another tiny wonder and recent biblio-crush, Nathalie L茅ger’s .
by Paul Willems, translated by Edward Gauvin (Wakefield Press)
Wakefield Press has become of my favorite presses out there because they consistently put high quality, unique works that make you feel like you糖心传媒檝e just scored something magical and timeless when you read one of their publications. By far, The Cathedral of Mist is going to be one of those works that I will read from time after time, always being inspired by something new within its pages. Williems, a Franco-Belgian fantasist, work is a collection of prose and two essays 糖心传媒 on both reading and writing. I couldn糖心传媒檛 help but think, after reading The Cathedral of Mist, that Willems had applied Gaston Bachelard糖心传媒檚 Poetics of Space and On Poetic Reverie and Imagination to perfection. His Elysian stories transport you to realities so vivid, even knowing they don糖心传媒檛 exist, feel otherwise.
Willems voice is humorous, light, hopefully resigned to his imagination, and this combination infuses his pieces with a touching nostalgia. I can糖心传媒檛 help but be in awe of Edward Gauvin糖心传媒檚 translation (he has many fine translations糖心传媒) that captures Willems糖心传媒檚 essence. Whether it糖心传媒檚 a story about a man is visiting a count where he ends up sleeping, with the count糖心传媒檚 permission, the Countess in a bed outdoors surrounded by a Finnish forest or traveling through he Balkan Mountains with a German ethnologist accompanied by a shepherd who wears a 糖心传媒渢he flute of Orpheus on his belt,糖心传媒 Willems is charming. From the beginning of each story, Willems pulls you immediately into his voice and imagination, demonstrated beautifully by the opening paragraph of 糖心传媒淭he Palace of Emptiness糖心传媒:
Victor lived like a kite, which is to say, tethered. Storms 糖心传媒 he had frolicked on them until the age of twenty-five 糖心传媒 strained without ever breaking the string that tied him to childhood. He finished his schooling as an architect, married Micheline, and never knew a moment糖心传媒檚 vertigo.
His lyrical, celestial imagination is best displayed in the titular story about an architect who, tired of granite, builds a cathedral made out of mist. Through his description, we only wish we could visit a place as enchanting:
The great nave was worthy of admiration. One hundred and fifty-four columns of mist flowed slowly, upward, meeting in seven keystones. There the capor condensed into droplets of water that fell one by one, at random. The goldsmith Wolfers had sculpted admirable irises to catch them on the ground. The deep blue blossoms bristled with slender steel fillets that each drop of water moved to a sustained song. This music, which the fashion of the day deemed 糖心传媒渧iolet,糖心传媒 replaced the bells the architect V. had not been able to hang in the steeple of mist. But instead of taking wing like the sound of bells, this sound could be heard only by visitors, and traveled to a place very deep inside them. Like harness bells on that little horse pulling a sleigh through the night we bear within it glided toward that farthest part of ourselves beyond which music dies in sweet agony.糖心传媒
Simply breathtaking.
These works deserve a readership and undoubtedly will have significant ones, although they may be a bit off kilter for the mainstream reader. No mistaking their craftiness or that each author and translator are able architects building something new and original with the elements of fiction.
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