The most recent entry in Lispector-mania is The Chandelier, Lispector糖心传媒檚 second novel, published in 1946, three years after Near to the Wild Heart, is a true literary event. It糖心传媒檚 rare enough that an author of this magnitude and difficulty breaks into the widest circles of the literary establishment, and triply rare that the author in question has a never-before-translated novel right there waiting to be devoured by an already desirous audience.

This book is going to get so much coverage over the next few months. Which is why I really 诲辞苍糖心传媒檛 feel bad taking some time to explore my personal reaction to reading this book糖心传媒攁nd think through some questions about reviewing translations糖心传媒攅specially since I personallyhad a really hard time connecting to this novel.

by Clarice Lispector, translated from the Portuguese by Benjamin Moser and Magdalena Edwards (New Directions)

I糖心传媒檓 not sure exactly why I couldn糖心传媒檛 ever really get into The Chandelier, but there it is. I spent a few weeks working my way through this, occasionally enraptured by the philosophical nature of the prose, frequently skimming to try and find the next plot point, often feeling more obliged to pick this up than excited to get back into it糖心传媒攁ll of which is probably user error. I generally read too fast. There are so many books stacked up, so many self-imposed reading goals. And time is a premium. Usually that糖心传媒檚 not a huge deal糖心传媒擨 live in a town whose two sources of pride are a garbage plate and a grocery story, so there aren糖心传媒檛 a lot of distractions糖心传媒攂ut I just couldn糖心传媒檛 find the right reading pace for this book.

Beyond that糖心传媒攁nd again, this is on me, for being a bit of a dummy糖心传媒擨 just couldn糖心传媒檛 find the right hooks to get into this. I got the general point of it, but to me it read like a much less elegant version of one of Sarraute糖心传媒檚 brilliant novels. Over the multiple weeks of reading this, I texted a half-dozen literary friends to see if they had read it and maybe had that magic insight that would make it all fall into place and get me hooked. But, alas.¹

This got me thinking about reviews, and what their role can/should be. Nothing that comes after this statement is all that revolutionary, or even necessarily connected to this book. But trying to envision the perfect review for The Chandelier led to a lot of circular arguments about reviews in general. I糖心传媒檓 not going to go over all of them right now糖心传媒攖his is probably the first of several posts over the next few months about reviewing translations糖心传媒攂ut let糖心传媒檚 see where this all goes. So I糖心传媒檓 just going to make some general statements and then argue with myself for a bit.

A Review Should Hype a Book

I think this is a commonly held belief糖心传媒攅specially when it comes to reviews of translated books. There are so few opportunities for most of these titles to get any ink-time, so what糖心传媒檚 the point in writing about a subpar book that you 诲辞苍糖心传媒檛 really like? These opportunities should be maximized by drawing attention to wonderful books that are masterfully translated. If reviews are supposed to bring readers to particular books, shouldn糖心传媒檛 we use this opportunity to direct the curious to the masterpieces out there?

Furthermore, what is gained糖心传媒攆or the translation profession as a whole糖心传媒攂y shitting on a translated title? Just 诲辞苍糖心传媒檛 write/tweet/say anything! There are so many good books out there deserving of attention, not to mention all the great translators doing amazing work糖心传媒攕o just write about those.

But is that really what criticism is? How can the translation profession really improve if these books aren糖心传媒檛 ever criticized? Translators, not to mention readers of international fiction, can gain a lot from seeing what works, what doesn糖心传媒檛 work, witnessing the mind of a sharp reader in action. We expect critics to actually break down books originally written in English and examine what works and what doesn糖心传媒檛, thus saying something about art & the world & writing, and we should expect the same treatment for a book that happens to be originally written in another language. There are truths about art and life that can be pulled from this, especially if we give it a close, critical reading.

There糖心传媒檚 a fundamental difference though: most translations have been critically analyzed in their original language and have gone through an extensive vetting process to get here. It糖心传媒檚 a bit suspect to suddenly be taking down a translated book that was critically acclaimed in its home country. What are you criticizing? The form and writing of the book itself? Based on what? American standards? Biases that are built out of reading mostly American novels with their American styles? If the ending of a Chinese novel isn糖心传媒檛 Hollywood enough, then it should ripped apart? Or are you actually criticizing the translation and just not on sure enough footing to say so?

One Should Never Criticize Individual Word Choices in a Translation

So much of so-called 糖心传媒渢ranslation criticism糖心传媒� is just nitpicking translations with little to no understanding of the original. Actually, it糖心传媒檚 even worse than that. There are two types of people who criticize translations: those who know the original language and get all bent up about the translator using 糖心传媒渕om糖心传媒� instead of 糖心传媒渕ama糖心传媒� or 糖心传媒渄ove糖心传媒� instead of 糖心传媒減igeon,糖心传媒� and there are those critics who 诲辞苍糖心传媒檛 know the original language, but still attribute any and every quirk of the prose to the translator as some sort of 糖心传媒渕istake.糖心传媒� It糖心传媒檚 another example in which translation criticism is basically taking an international text, comparing it to American-centric literary values, and declaring it inferior. And the 糖心传媒渃ritic糖心传媒� never takes into consideration all the thought about possible choices that the translator went through with nearly every word糖心传媒攖he translator, who糖心传媒檚 not even given an opportunity to explain糖心传媒�-

Hold the fuck up! We糖心传媒檒l get to the last part of that soon. But first off: sometimes individual word choices are valid examples of how a text works or doesn糖心传媒檛. And NOT just for translations. Remember the criticism of Uncle Charles 糖心传媒渞eposing糖心传媒� to the outhouse in Joyce? The example that Hugh Kenner turned around into an example of Joyce糖心传媒檚 genius and the way he 糖心传媒済ave over糖心传媒� that word to Uncle Charles, saying something about his particular perspective on how he sees himself? Individual words are important in constructing characters and a legit critic will apply the same sort of standards to books written in English or in any other language. If a character is using words in dialogue that he would NEVER EVER USE then there糖心传媒檚 a problem糖心传媒攏o matter who wrote it. Again, a good critic shows how these sorts of choices are building blocks to great literature.

A Review Should Always Talk about the Translation

Fine, except that a translator doesn糖心传媒檛 have the same leeway as a writer working in English. We糖心传媒檙e bound by the original text and if we 诲辞苍糖心传媒檛 reproduce it, we糖心传媒檒l be savaged糖心传媒攂y you, by an academic, by a fellow translator糖心传媒攆or not being 糖心传媒渇aithful糖心传媒� enough. It糖心传媒檚 unfair to hold us to the same standards, since we糖心传媒檙e under a different set of constraints.

I figured you were a translator, given your general defensiveness.

Watch it.

I糖心传媒檓 not sure exactly what a critic is supposed to do. On the one hand, we糖心传媒檙e supposed to review as many translations as possible to help readers break out of their provincialism, but we糖心传媒檙e not supposed to apply the same criteria to these books as those originally written in English. If we criticize the words on the page, the translation, I suppose, then we糖心传媒檙e being unfair to translators like Gregory Rabassa糖心传媒檚 糖心传媒淧rofessor Horrendo糖心传媒�; if we 诲辞苍糖心传媒檛 write about the translation, then we糖心传媒檒l get a letter from PEN about how we need to 糖心传媒渘ame the translator糖心传媒�; and if we say the translation 糖心传媒渟eems pretty competent,糖心传媒� then we糖心传媒檙e just dumb assholes who aren糖心传媒檛 giving credit and 诲辞苍糖心传媒檛 know how to review translations. What is it that you want, exactly?

To be treated as an equal to the author. You wouldn糖心传媒檛 be reading this book at all if it weren糖心传媒檛 for us. (Triply so if it糖心传媒檚 from a language that糖心传媒檚 not Spanish or French.) The amount of time put into the creation of this book is astonishing, not to mention the sheer amount of critical and creative thought. It糖心传媒檚 not like a translator is the same as a goddamn app糖心传媒攚e糖心传媒檙e artists and deserve to be included in the conversation about the art works that we create. That糖心传媒檚 not too much to ask. Sure, it takes you a bit of extra work to engage with the book on two levels糖心传媒攁s a book and as a translation糖心传媒攂ut that糖心传媒檚 just the sort of critical thinking that you糖心传媒檙e good at, right?

What糖心传媒檚 a Review Good For?

But wait. If the point of reviewing a translation is to get general readers to read a great book, do we really want to get into all this technical shit?

Not shit.

Technical SKILL then. Deep dives into translation theory and how to reproduce a language糖心传媒檚 syntax in English are 100% guarantees of boring the piss out of a general reader. A solid quarter of Americans didn糖心传媒檛 read a book last year. Check that. A quarter of Americans are PROUD they didn糖心传媒檛 read a book last year. And half of the rest of them read one book and it was either their high school girlfriend糖心传媒檚 self published 99 cent Amazon ebook of dinosaur porn or whatever piece of mediocrity was part of their 糖心传媒淥ne City, One Book!糖心传媒� environment. People 诲辞苍糖心传媒檛 give fucks about the intricacies of translation糖心传媒攗nless you糖心传媒檙e a translator, and the bookselling world shouldn糖心传媒檛 be all about YOU. There are, what?, 20,000 readers of literary fiction out there? And, let糖心传媒檚 be honest, the translations we糖心传媒檙e talking about are works of literature, not spy novels or romances or whatever. Of those 20,000 readers, probably 500 or so read actual book reviews. If you want these reviews to be promotional tools for international literature, we need to up that number. And to up that number, we have to focus on what readers want: plot descriptions, information about what makes a book unique, why it糖心传媒檚 worth reading and what about it might not work for everyone. The SAME reasons why they come to a book (or 诲辞苍糖心传媒檛) when it糖心传媒檚 written in English. Why should they treat translations as something exotic and more complicated? Doesn糖心传媒檛 that defeat your very point?

There must be a middle ground.

One of the things I糖心传媒檝e encountered are book review editors shying away from reviewing translations because they 诲辞苍糖心传媒檛 have a reviewer on hand who糖心传媒檚 read the original. Or can! But even if they can, do you understand our deadlines? And that they糖心传媒檙e REAL deadlines? And Christ, none of us get paid. Yeah, I know YOU糖心传媒橰E underpaid, but $500 for a 500 word review? Can you imagine asking someone to read a novel in the translation AND the original for $500? AND write a review AND have it in by next Saturday? We糖心传媒檙e all doing the best we can.

That糖心传媒檚 exactly the point! Why are you criticizing us when we糖心传媒檙e also doing 糖心传媒渢he best we can糖心传媒�? We糖心传媒檙e slaving away糖心传媒攁lso for no money糖心传媒攔iddled with self-doubt and the fear that critics like you will blow apart all of our work over a single word? A word we chose because it was the best of five bad options? We糖心传媒檙e just as talented of wordsmiths as you are, but criticizing our work is somehow just, but criticizing a critic is a bad look and sour grapes and whatever.

How Small Is This World

Here糖心传媒檚 my big problem: I糖心传媒檓 paid next to nothing to talk about books. Books! Books barely matter anymore to anyone. It糖心传媒檚 a thankless project that doesn糖心传媒檛 earn money, can maybe find you love (if you love books, like, legitimately), and gets no respect. I糖心传媒檝e said it before and will again that book people are only in it to make it to the end. Just get by. Win and advance. Whatever your inspirational of choice might be. So I do my job. I read books that are by dumb young Brooklyn kids about trust fund living and college aspirations. These books are fucking terrible. I read experimental jet set trash from the intellectuals who feel threatened by the idea that most everyone would rather be playing Netflix and chill. (Fuck YOUR mixed metaphors.) I read translations that are basically just boring books and some that are poorly written糖心传媒攊n both languages糖心传媒攁nd some that are great. Most of the time I just feel manipulated by rich people, but that糖心传媒檚 America circa 2018. Yet the things I write about translations糖心传媒攚hich I think are fun and from the perspective of an informed reader who is just READING the books糖心传媒攁re the ones that lead into a tiny wormhole filled with translators saying translator things about how translations translate and translations should be translation translate. It糖心传媒檚 the most unreal world. So touchy! American authors are less concerned about reviews because they know no one gives a FUCK about reviews. But translators only want reviews to exist in a world that糖心传媒檚 there just to please them.

You糖心传媒檙e such a self-involved old white man prick. Wanting to be part of the conversation, instead of judged from on high by someone with questionable taste and knowledge is completely batshit insane. You make all these comments about the tenuous state of books and translation, but, hey, you糖心传媒檙e a fat white dude writing reviews in the Age of Yelp. You know who doesn糖心传媒檛 matter? You. Reader responses will always exist, but your livelihood comes from newspapers. Newspapers. Seriously. We糖心传媒檙e creating something and you糖心传媒檙e sitting there blogging. Eat shit. The future of bookselling or readership or whatever you think you understand doesn糖心传媒檛 need you at all.

You know who sucks? Publishers.

OMG. They are the worst.

It糖心传媒檚 all just a racket for their benefit. A game in which we pretend our lives have meaning so that they can make more money.

I think my editor got paid twice my salary to fix three comma splices. Whereas I translated a goddamn book. Commas! We糖心传媒檙e talking about commas.

Because assholes.

Have you ever looked into how much money the big publishers make? The book industry has to be profitable for some people, right? But how does that work? And who is screwing us?

_Look. I糖心传媒檓 not a journalist, but . . . _

¹ I ended up relying on It糖心传媒檚 a really smart piece that will appeal to those new to Lispector and seasoned Lispector readers. Here are the three quotes I found most useful and intriguing:

The power of Lispector糖心传媒檚 heavily textured sentences and Virginia糖心传媒檚 unbridled introspections and contemplations of who she wants to be cannot offset the fact that this three-hundred-page book would have benefited from being as economically edited as her more acclaimed works. Virginia糖心传媒檚 monotonous ruminations often blur together; her thoughts and struggles can be profound and beautiful, but so many pages of the same rolling waves of dreamy sentences can sap even the hardiest reader糖心传媒檚 will to dig into the work. This novel is perfect for those who already revere Lispector and want a further understanding of where her thoughts and aesthetic went after Near to the Wild Heart.

Benjamin Moser and Magdalena Edwards糖心传媒� shrewd, supple translation of The Chandelier showcases the brilliance of Lispector糖心传媒檚 singular style and astutely unfurls the longer, more complex sentences that the author had come to use as a fundamental unit of composition.

Coming out, as it does, during Lispector糖心传媒檚 many travels with her husband, The Chandelier deals with a larger alienation and disconnect not only from society, but from other people, and even from oneself. Virginia糖心传媒檚 monologues and internal struggles often feel more akin to the philosophical wrangling of a person struggling for the right language to wring herself out. Near the end of the book糖心传媒檚 first part, Virginia laments how 糖心传媒淪uddenly the words from which she lived in childhood seemed to have run out and she couldn糖心传媒檛 find any others糖心传媒� as well as how words define her deepening relationship with her lover Vicente: 糖心传媒淪he started to change into Vicente糖心传媒檚 words and sometimes she would feel that it was more than words that were transformed.糖心传媒� This linguistic transformation gives rise to perhaps the most convincing and joyous moment in the novel, where Virginia is able to speak 糖心传媒渢he first word of her new experience.糖心传媒� This crisis of identity and where Virginia sees herself within the world is at least glimpsed at in that beautiful moment between her and Vicente.

We’ll start with this—the press release that was sent to reviewers and booksellers with the galleys.

The book is available at better bookstores everywhere, or through our If you order before the end of 2016, use the code BOOKSEASON at checkout to receive 40% off your total order.

“When a friend suggested that Chronicle of the Murdered House might be the greatest modern Brazilian novel, I was startled. There are so many more obvious candidates, after all. But as I thought about it, I realized that the statement wasn糖心传媒檛 as strange as it sounds. The book itself is strange糖心传媒攑art Faulknerian meditation on the perversities, including sexual, of degenerate country folk; part Dostoevskian examination of good and evil and God糖心传媒攂ut in its strangeness lies its rare power, and in the sincerity and seriousness with which the essential questions are posed lies its greatness.“糖心传媒擝enjamin Moser

There are a number of approaches to L煤cio Cardoso糖心传媒檚 life and work that mark the first English-language publication of his Chronicle of the Murdered House as a major literary event.

For one, there糖心传媒檚 Cardoso糖心传媒檚 influence on the beloved Clarice Lispector, whose own work is currently enjoying an incredible renaissance. Clarice was enamored with Cardoso, and, as Benjamin Moser explains in his introduction, transformed one of Cardoso糖心传媒檚 suggestions into the title of one of her most famous books糖心传媒�Near to the Wild Heart.

Although their writing styles are quite different, you can see the impact Cardoso had on Lispector while reading Chronicle of the Murdered House. The introspective nature of its prose marked a significant turning point in the history of Brazilian writing, carving out a path that Lispector and many others would eventually follow. In contrast to what came before, writing for these authors was less an activity concerned with social or national issues, but, again in Moser糖心传媒檚 words, 糖心传媒渁 spiritual exercise, not an intellectual one.糖心传媒�

For a lot of readers and critics, this approach is particularly interesting given Cardoso糖心传媒檚 position as a gay Brazilian author who was also a member of the Catholic Church. Although Chronicle itself doesn糖心传媒檛 address many themes of contemporary gay literature, Cardoso糖心传媒檚 sexual orientation does influence a lot of his writings, especially in terms of the role homosexuals could play in Brazil during that period.

The comments about Cardoso糖心传媒檚 spirituality糖心传媒攁s a Catholic and in terms of the goal of his writing糖心传媒攁re particularly interesting in context of the morally suspect situations found throughout the book. In isolation, or as part of the jacket copy at least, these bits sound almost overly sensational. There糖心传媒檚 incest. Madness. Adultery. An obese, cross-dressing character locked up in his room. There糖心传媒檚 a cultured woman from the city whose very presence calls into question generations of familial habits.

The novel is never sordid just for the sake of being sordid though, and beyond the machinations of the plot糖心传媒攚hich twist and turn like great mid-century, or even Victorian, works糖心传媒攖here is the form through which Cardoso tells his story. With shifts of tone and point of view, he utilizes confessions, diary entries, letters, statements, reports, to bring to life this once great family that is now represented by a crumbling estate that they can糖心传媒檛 afford to maintain. (A very Faulknerian image.)

This a book that is a 糖心传媒渃lassic糖心传媒� on a number of counts, including its scope, its literary style that approaches but doesn糖心传媒檛 always embrace the high modernists, and in its import to Brazilian literature as a whole. A book of this import糖心传媒攖hat糖心传媒檚 spectacular and complex糖心传媒攔equires a brilliant translator to really make it work in English. Thankfully, Margaret Jull Costa糖心传媒攖ranslator of such literary giants as Javier Mar铆as, Fernando Pessoa, Jos茅 Maria E莽a de Queir贸s, Jos茅 Saramago, and many more糖心传媒攚as willing and able to undertake this task. With the help of Robin Patterson (translator of Jos茅 Luandino Vieira), they have fully captured the intricacies and beauty of Cardoso糖心传媒檚 writing, producing a rendition that糖心传媒檚 as linguistically powerful as the original.

For such a lengthy book, Chronicle is a rather quick read. It embraces its page-turner impulses, and uses a non-linear structure to stimulate and engross the reader. From the very opening chapter, the reader can get a sense of the overall pattern of dissolution driving the lives of the characters, but keeps reading in order to witness all the juicy details and see just how crazy things can get. (Answer: As crazy as the wake scene in the final chapters.) It糖心传媒檚 a book that fills in a gap in our collective knowledge about Brazilian literature from the twentieth century, and hopefully will spark a resurgence of interest in one of Brazil糖心传媒檚 greatest literary stars.

“A real revolution in Brazilian Literature.“糖心传媒擝enjamin Moser

Long considered one of the most important works of twentieth-century Brazilian literature, Chronicle of the Murdered House is finally available in English.

Set in the southeastern state of Minas Gerais, the novel relates the dissolution of a once proud patri颅archal family that blames its ruin on the youngest son Valdo糖心传媒檚 marriage to Nina糖心传媒攁 vibrant, unpredictable, and incendiary young woman whose very existence seems to depend on the destruction of the household. This family糖心传媒檚 downfall, peppered by stories of decadence, adultery, incest, and madness, is related through a variety of narrative devices, including letters, diaries, memoirs, statements, confessions, and accounts penned by the various characters.

Salacious, literary, and introspective, Cardoso糖心传媒檚 masterpiece marked a turning away from the social realism fashionable in 1930s Brazilian literature and had a huge impact on the writing of Cardoso糖心传媒檚 life-long friend and greatest admirer糖心传媒擟larice Lispector.

As a reminder, you can stay up to date with all BTBA goings on by and by And by checking in regularly here at Three Percent.

Recently, Benjamin Moser, author of “Why This World: A Biography of Clarice Lispector” wrote an discussing the state and struggle of international literature in English translation. Among the statistics and observations of what it takes to bring great writers of non-English languages to not only America, but the world at large, Moser notes that “Literature is made by a community: present and past, dead and alive,” but cautions against the homogeneity that our English-ruled world could impose upon that very same literature.

The Japanese novelist and critic, Minae Mizumura’s book, is half memoir of a writer finding her literary voice through U.S. education and the ultimate decision to practice her art in her native (and dying) Japanese. The other half is a much more academic screed against the very same homogeneity that Moser openly struggles with. To Mizumura, this homogeneity is a present threat that endangers the truths in literature that cannot be translated no matter how hard we work at it. In the shadow of that threat lies her steadfast loyalty to writing not only in her native tongue, but also with a conscious awareness and reverence for the literary traditions of Japan.

To Mizumura, dying languages are worth preserving through literature. To Moser, literature of all languages is worth translating. In fact, works of lost literature are waiting to be discovered.

Both Moser and Mizumura mention the invasive reality of English on the world of literature. In their own separate ways, both argue for the concurrent needs to both preserve and promote regional literatures. It is a delicate balance, to be certain. One actively pursues new translations from the Portuguese. The other consciously writes in her native tongue despite being educated in America. One brings a nearly forgotten voice into English on a wider scale than ever before. The other reinterprets an English classic to reflect the post-war conditions of Japanese tradition in the face of the American led industrial globalized society. It is, however, a society that has led to opportunities of discovering more international writing as well as the decline of the very traditions that Mizumura laments in the wake of popular writers such as Haruki Murakami.

Where, then, does this place the three percent figure that is front and center to the English reading world in relation to works in translation? How does someone like me, who is only fluent in the most dominant of languages (with some understanding of casual kitchen Spanish and a picture-book reading competence in German) become so interested in translated fiction? How do I convince others to pick up a lesser known novel that took more than a year of laborious and patient translation work and give it a chance? Why does it matter?

I spend a lot of time thinking about these questions as not only a bookseller, but as a person in an ever-increasingly connected world.

First, I think it matters exactly because we are living within such prevalent connection. Connections that can seem intimate, but so often result in quick flashes and selfies across our screens . . . gone in less time than it takes for Nicholas Cage to steal a sports car. Literature, for me, has always been about curiosity in other perspectives about the world, whether that is a personal narrative of universal human themes or a plot-driven story that pushes us to think in different ways. In a world where seemingly everyone has access to each other all the time, literature gives us a moment of pause and growth. A pause that doesn’t always present itself to us in a media saturated globalized world.

Convincing other people to take these pauses in others’ experiences of the world—especially from other cultures—often boils down to curiosity, which is a quality I find most readers possess. Though it may make Mizumura’s hair stand on end, I don’t see it as much of a stretch to point out to casual readers that learning how one Japanese individual cleans her apartment (Marie Kondo’s The Life-Changing Magic Of Tidying Up) isn’t that far removed from learning how one Afrikaner woman organizes and makes sense of her life and family history (Karel Schoeman’s ). A stretch for some, of course, but you’d be surprised at how many customers in my store don’t realize that one of the most popular books currently featured on daytime talk shows is translated from another language . . . and how much pointing that fact out to them has opened them to the realization that translated works of all kinds can be relevant, interesting, and perhaps even important to them.

My conscious interest in international literature started unexpectedly when the editor of this site, Chad W. Post, reached into the trunk of his car and handed me a strange and little known novel by the British experimental writer, Ann Quin. The book was Tripticks and I was told it was “British and intense and about America.” I doubt Chad remembers the exchange, but I read the book and thought it was like nothing I had read before. There was a beat sensibility to it and a Woolf-like tone, but with a completely different feel and a critical romanticism about America that I found utterly compelling. And for some unknown reason, It stuck in my head that it was British. It wasn’t British like Dickens or Austen or Hardy. It was something new to me. From that point, I remember paying more attention to where authors were from and began consciously seeking out contemporary novels from other countries and cultures.

Despite the rampant spread and saturation of the English language in culture and literature, an English novel about America led me to the wider world of international literature and, in part, to a genuine curiosity in understanding experiences around the world. From a bookselling perspective, I don’t see why a book about cleaning your clutter can’t do the same. Of course, with the popularity of authors like Knausgaard or Murakami among readers these days, leading someone to the next translated novel isn’t often that much of a stretch, but with only three percent of all books published in America being translated, I’m happy to have an entry point for readers available anywhere I can find one.

As for approaching four percent, it may not be something achievable in the near future for books in translation based on scale alone, but I’m seeing small micro publishers sprout up regularly who are dedicating their efforts toward bringing international literature to the English reader. In a way, the larger issues that Moser and Mizumura struggle with and passionately work for aren’t dissimilar from what I aim to do as a bookseller. Every day I work to preserve the importance of taking the time to read books while simultaneously aiming to open people up to discovering the myriad nuances of art and experience.

Over the next year, I’ll be reading through as many of the hundreds of eligible titles for the 2016 BTBA as I can. I couldn’t be more excited to be a part of the process. But as much as I’ll be offering my opinions and reactions to the books themselves, I’m also interested in sharing what I’ve seen happening in translation at the bookselling level. From the energetic and passionate publishers I’ve been in communication with to the unique ways that different bookstores work to point out the existence and importance of international lit, there are amazing things happening to bring more readers (and more books) into the three percent realm many of us are eager to grow.

by Clarice Lispector, translated from the Portuguese by Johnny Lorenz and published by New Directions

This piece is by Will Vanderhyden (aka Willsconsin), student in the University of Rochester’s and translator of Carlos Labb茅’s Navidad and Matanza, which will be released in 2014.

Before I talk directly about why I think Clarice Lispector糖心传媒檚 A Breath of Life deserves to win this year糖心传媒檚 Best Translated Book Award, I want to offer a little background about how this novel糖心传媒檚 English publication came about, mostly because it strengthens my overall argument, but also because it deals with issues relevant to literature in translation more broadly. (I realize that readers of Three Percent might already be familiar with much of the following information regarding Lispector and her English translations, so if you are one of those readers, please forgive the lengthy digression).

Although she is considered by many to be the greatest Brazilian writer of the twentieth century, Clarice Lispector has never enjoyed a large English language readership. She is wildly popular in Brazil, revered and adored to the point of idolatry. Her strange, captivating prose, epic life story, and striking beauty have made her a legendary national icon. Her books are sold in vending machines, her face adorns postage stamps, and her name appears regularly in all sorts of literary and popular media. But for whatever reason糖心传媒攂e it the challenging nature of her work, the fact that she糖心传媒檚 a woman, flat English translations, or a general lack of interest in Brazilian literature糖心传媒攕he has never enjoyed the popularity among English readers of other Latin American Boom writers like Jorge Amado, Julio Cort谩zar, and Gabriel Garcia Marquez.

Over the last several years, New Directions and Benjamin Moser糖心传媒攁uthor of Why This World: A Biography of Clarice Lispector, a finalist for the National Book Circle Critics Award in 2009糖心传媒攈ave been working to change that. In 2011, New Directions published Moser糖心传媒檚 retranslation of The Hour of the Star (the last novel Lispector published during her lifetime), and in June of 2012 they published a series of four new translations of Lispector novels, all edited by Moser. This series includes retranslations of three of her most well known books糖心传媒�Near to the Wild Heart (translated by Alison Entrkin), Aqua Viva (translated by Stefan Tobler), and The Passion According to G. H. (translated by Idra Novey)糖心传媒攁s well as the first English edition of A Breath of Life (translated by Johnny Lorenz), a novel which was published after Lispector糖心传媒檚 death, and assembled, organized and edited by her close friend Olga Borelli.

In the introduction to A Breath of Life, Moser refers to New Directions series of Lispector translations as 糖心传媒渢he most important project of translation into English of a Latin American author since the complete works of Jorge Luis Borges were published a decade ago.糖心传媒� According to Moser, the original English translations of Lispector糖心传媒檚 work were woefully inadequate, flattening out, 糖心传媒渃orrecting,糖心传媒� and explaining the strange grammar, idiosyncratic syntax, and surprising word choices that define Lispector糖心传媒檚 style. Lispector糖心传媒檚 own response to an early French translation of Near to the Wild Heart, which upset her because of the liberties it took in translating her style, provides definitive support for Moser糖心传媒檚 sentiment, in a letter to her editor at the time she wrote:

I admit, if you like, the sentences do not reflect the usual manner of speaking, but I assure you that it is the same in Portuguese. The punctuation I employed in the book is not accidental and does not result from ignorance of the rules of grammar. You will agree that elementary principals of punctuation are taught in every school. I am fully aware of the reasons that led me to choose this punctuation and insist that it be respected.

Though he acknowledges that, to some extent, translators invariably tend to smooth out oddities and correct 糖心传媒渆rrors糖心传媒� present in original works, for his own translation of The Hour of the Star and for the other Lispector translations he edited for New Directions, Moser aimed for the greatest fidelity possible to the syntax and grammar of her Portuguese originals. In the afterword to The Hour of the Star, he writes: 糖心传媒淭he translator must therefore resist the temptation to explain or rearrange her prose, which can only flatten it and remove from it the 糖心传媒榝oreign糖心传媒� aura that is its hallmark, and its glory.糖心传媒�

Lispector has clearly carved out her place in the canon of world literature. Her unique artistic vision, innovative narrative style, and philosophical insight situate her comfortably among the best writers of the twentieth century. And in light of the aim糖心传媒攁nd what I believe to be the success糖心传媒攐f the Moser/New Directions project, the comparison to the translation of Borges糖心传媒� complete works, which might come off as overblown at first glance, seems to me entirely appropriate. Because A Breath of Life is the only title in the New Directions series that is not a retranslation, it is the only one eligible for the BTBA. Which is not to say that it necessarily represents the significance of the entire project, but at the same time, its importance as a translated book cannot be fully appreciated outside that context.

So, finally, A Breath of Life. This novel, like much of Lispector糖心传媒檚 work, delves into the relationships between thoughts, sensations, words, facts, and objects; into the ways language constructs and mediates what we call reality. It is structured as a sort of dialogue between a male 糖心传媒淎uthor糖心传媒� and Angela, a character he creates. In short, alternating passages, the two voices reflect on the nature of time, meaning, death, and on the relationship between author and character, between creator and creation. As the 糖心传媒淎uthor糖心传媒� states:

Angela and I are my interior dialogue: I talk to myself. Angela is from my dark interior: she however comes to light. The tenebrous darkness from which I emerge. Pullulating darkness, lava of a humid volcano burning intensely. Darkness full of worms and butterflies, rats and stars.

If the novel had a plot, it might be described as the 糖心传媒淎uthor糖心传媒檚糖心传媒� struggle to understand Angela and his relationship to her, and Angela糖心传媒檚 struggle to understand herself and her relationship to the 糖心传媒渢hings糖心传媒� of the world. But it all takes place inside; there is no action, no grounding in the world, no 糖心传媒渞eal糖心传媒� handhold.

The structure of an interior dialogue between author and character糖心传媒攚hich might be thought of as defining a split in Lispector糖心传媒檚 mind, a divided self糖心传媒攗ndermines the distinction between form and content, laying bare the ways in which not only fiction and fictitious characters, but the 糖心传媒渇acts糖心传媒� of the world in which we live, and our identities, what we call 糖心传媒渟elves,糖心传媒� are fabrications of language. As the 糖心传媒淎uthor糖心传媒� writes: 糖心传媒淩eality does not exist in itself. What there is is seeing the truth through dream. Real life is merely symbolic: it refers to something else.糖心传媒� And: 糖心传媒淚 wouldn糖心传媒檛 exist if there were no words.糖心传媒� And: 糖心传媒淎ngela goes from language to existence. She wouldn糖心传媒檛 exist if there were no words.糖心传媒�

If all this sounds really abstract, well, it is. Many questions are raised and very few unambiguous answers are given. Angela tells us:

I know the secret of the sphinx. She did not devour me because I gave the right answer to her question. But I am an enigma for the sphinx and nevertheless I did not devour her. Decipher me, I said to the sphinx. And she fell mute. The pyramids are eternal. They will always be restored. Is the human soul a thing? Is it eternal? Between the hammer and the blows I hear silence.

There are many such quotable lines and Nietzsche-esque aphorisms, but in itself this probing into the nature of reality, identity, and meaning is not really what gives this book its power. It is the way Lispector糖心传媒檚 style is able to render these ideas not only thought but also felt. The structure and rhythm of her sentences, the surprising juxtapositions, and subtle, provocative rearrangements of ordinary language are able to tap into something primordial that transcends the limits of ordinary expression. And here we readers of Lispector in English are indebted to the extraordinary work of translator Johnny Lorenz and the vision of Benjamin Moser, who, by holding true to Lispector糖心传媒檚 unconventional grammar and syntax, sustain the jagged, hypnotic musicality that makes her prose so intellectually rewarding and so viscerally resonant.

A Breath of Life deserves to win the BTBA because it is the only entirely new part of a translation series that reintroduces a canonical writer to English readers; but also because it is a beautiful, original, and deeply intelligent book by a writer who leaves us, like the sphinx, mute and wondering at her genius and her mystery.

(As far as wrestling goes, no contest: Lispector will seduce all comers with her feline eyes then crush them with the weight of her brain).

The results were pretty entertaining, in part because Ben (who is also a contributing editor to Harper’s and on the board of the National Book Critics Circle) is so damn entertaining, and in part because Lispector is one of the most interesting literary figures of this past century.

Back when I did sales calls at Dalkey, I used to love calling Brazos and talking to Karl Kilian. Very nice guy, very kind, very interested in our books. So I was dismayed when he decided to take a job at the Menil Collection and was going to have to sell the store . . . Well, as is twenty-five local individuals stepped up, pooled resources, formed Brazos Bookstore Acquisition, a limited liability corporation, and saved Brazos.

Jane Moser—the store manager, and more on her in a second—has a great quote about this: “Houston is known for its oil and conservative politics. It’s really nice to have a literary community take a stand and say it will not let the store disappear.”

To be completely honest, I’ve never been to Brazos—or even to Houston, although I seem to know a lot of cool literary people down there—and the real reason I want to feature Brazos this particular month is because of Jane’s son Benjamin. Ben Moser is the new literary editor at Harper’s, a very funny guy, and the author of the new biography of Clarice Lispector. He’s actually in the States right now to promote the book and will be “reading at Brazos” on September 14th.

All month, all of the books mentioned in our posts will link to Brazos’s online ordering catalog. Please take advantage and help support Brazos—one of the top indie stores in the country.

In addition to all the New Directions ones I listed on the original post, is also available from the University of Texas Press, and this fall, the UK based Haus Publishing will be reissuing with a new introduction by Moser.

(Haus is one of the coolest presses I’ve come across recently. Found out about them at the London Book Fair thanks to their connection with American University of Cairo Press. And the fact that they do amazing work. More on them in a separate post . . .)

(And granted, I’m not very old, but once, one of my interns was reading Family Ties and I made a joke about Michael J. Fox and the TV show. As it turns out, my befuddled intern wasn’t born until after the show had gone off the air.)

Maybe because the project began with such 茅lan, I found myself undaunted by the many obstacles that were thrown at me. Neither the cuisine of rural Ukraine, where Clarice, the daughter of Jewish refugees was born; nor the rush-hour traffic in Recife, where she grew up; nor the zealous guardians of the archives of Bern, where she lived as the wife of a Brazilian diplomat, could dissuade me from my task.

I pored over thousands of pages of master糖心传媒檚 theses from obscure universities; I learned Yiddish in order to read family memoirs. Time and again, I tugged out an abusively overused credit card: to buy books, including, ultimately, more copies of her rare first novel, Near to the Wild Heart, than are in all the libraries in the United States put together; to chase down some elusive materials in a suburban house in Manchester; to pay a visit to a man in Paris who may or may not have been her lover (he wasn糖心传媒檛); to put myself on yet another fourteen-hour economy flight in order to spend long days speaking to often-reluctant witnesses.

I got called an anti-Semite and an Ugly American; I also got to spend afternoons with loving Jewish grandmothers who made me tea and sent their maids to my hotel with homemade soup when I came down with the flu. I got to eat pizza with a woman in Kiev who had just returned from Chernobyl and who casually laid her Geiger counter on the table as she was digging through her purse in search of her cigarettes.

One of the fall books that I’m really looking forward to is Benjamin Moser’s biography of Clarice Lispector entitled which, according to the back jacket, is “based on previously unknown manuscripts, numerous interviews, and years of research on three continents.”

Moser replaced the late John Leonard as the author of Harper’s “New Books” column, and is also a contributor to New York Review of Books. (And his mom runs Brazos Bookstore—a future featured indie bookstore.)

Lispector was born in the Ukraine, but grew up in Brazil and wrote all of her works in Portuguese. Most of her books are available from New Directions, including The Hour of the Star, Selected Cronicas, and Soulstorm. (University of Texas did Apple in the Dark a number of years ago, but it’s currently out-of-print.)

She was a fascinating writer, and her life sounds equally intriguing. I’m hoping to write a full review of this bio in the not-too-distant future, but here’s a bit from the beginning about the mysterious, beautiful Clarice Lispector:

In this void of information a whole mythology sprang up. Reading accounts of her at different points in her life, one can hardly believe they concern the same person. The points of disagreement were not trivial. “Clarice Lispector” was once thought to be a pseudonym, and her original name was not known until after her death. Where exactly she was born and how old she was were also unclear. Her nationality was questioned and the identity of her native language was obscure. One authority will testify that she was right-wing and another will hint that she was a Communist. One will insist that she was a pious Catholic, though she was actually a Jew. Rumor will sometimes have it that she was a lesbian, though at one point rumor also had it that she was, in fact, a man.

What makes this tangle of contradictions so odd is that Clarice Lispector is not a hazy figure known from shreds of antique papyrus. She has been dead hardly thirty years. Many people survive who knew her well. She was prominent virtually from adolescence, her life was extensively documented in the press, and she left behind an extensive correspondence. Still, few great modern artists are quite as fundamentally unfamiliar. How can a person who lived in a large Western city in the middle of the twentieth century, who gave interviews, lived in high-rise apartments, and traveled by air, remain so enigmatic?