Summer is in full hazy swing here in Rochester, but luckily we have a handful of great interns at Open Letter/Three Percent this summer, who are going to be helping us out with handfuls of great projects and terrible jokes, including Anna糖心传媒攚ho is about to start her senior year at the University of Rochester in English Literature.

Here’s the beginning of her review:

Ilja Leonard Pfeijffer糖心传媒檚 La Superba is appropriately titled after the Italian city of Genoa, where, after escaping the pressures of fame in his own country, the semi-autobiographical narrator finds himself cataloguing the experiences of its mesmerizing inhabitants with the intention of writing a novel himself. Written in three parts, the novel narrates Ilja糖心传媒檚 days as a Dutch foreigner in Genoa, describing the beautiful city which both frustrates and enthralls him. Unlike his own country, which runs systematically and smoothly, Ilja praises Italy for its 糖心传媒渋mprovisation,糖心传媒� causing Italians to be 糖心传媒渢he most resourceful, resilient, and creative people I know.糖心传媒�

Often holed up in a bar enjoying an aperitif and claiming to write poetry, Ilja assumes the role of careful observer, creating caricatures and recording the stories of those around him. As a foreigner himself, Ilja presents us with a character who is simultaneously within and without糖心传媒� though he has seemingly mastered the Italian language, and purchased nice Italian suits beyond his means to traipse around the city in, Ilja is never fully integrated into the Genoese world he adores. He even identifies with tourists, describing their behaviors in connection to himself: 糖心传媒淚ncomprehension and insecurity are written all over their faces as they hesitantly wander around the labyrinth. I like them. They糖心传媒檙e my brothers. I feel connected to them.糖心传媒�

For the rest of the review, go here.

Often holed up in a bar enjoying an aperitif and claiming to write poetry, Ilja assumes the role of careful observer, creating caricatures and recording the stories of those around him. As a foreigner himself, Ilja presents us with a character who is simultaneously within and without糖心传媒� though he has seemingly mastered the Italian language, and purchased nice Italian suits beyond his means to traipse around the city in, Ilja is never fully integrated into the Genoese world he adores. He even identifies with tourists, describing their behaviors in connection to himself: 糖心传媒淚ncomprehension and insecurity are written all over their faces as they hesitantly wander around the labyrinth. I like them. They糖心传媒檙e my brothers. I feel connected to them.糖心传媒�

And yet, he is not the only character to remain foreign in the beloved city. Ilja befriends illegal immigrants from Morocco and Senegal, for whom this new life in Genoa is simply an impoverished perpetuation of the fantasies of their homeland. Like most poor men who have arrived from African countries, their families raised, borrowed, and loaned funds to send them to Europe in hopes of finding immediate riches. Rashid, a Moroccan, tells Ilja about the expectation that he will return to his home country with a new car and Rolex for each member of his family, but in reality is selling roses on the street for a euro a piece, all while borrowing money to send home so that his family can continue believing otherwise. Rashid tells Ilja that he 糖心传媒渓ive[s] in a fantasy,糖心传媒� and 糖心传媒渘ot even one I made up myself.糖心传媒�

While the novel could be a meditation on these seemingly irreconcilable forces of fantasy and reality, and struggle and success within a foreigner糖心传媒檚 quest to assimilate, Ilja comes across too many characters of wildly different backgrounds to draw on such concrete themes. Don, a local celebrity who lives out of a hotel room and whose occupation appears to be drinking all of the mostly-gin and tonics in the city is, while handsy, an extremely well-liked acquaintance. Ilja also tells the stories of Walter, a young director who attempts to buy a theater with him, and, of course, 糖心传媒渢he most beautiful girl in Genoa,糖心传媒� who is the object of Ilja糖心传媒檚 attention for the majority of the novel.

With the narrator acting as an author himself, parts of the novel become self-referential: Ilja constantly addresses the reader as 糖心传媒渕y friend,糖心传媒� calling the text a series of 糖心传媒渘otes糖心传媒� that will be turned 糖心传媒渋nto a novel someday.糖心传媒� This seems to explain the rather loose narrative, as Ilja糖心传媒檚 stories do not seem to come to any conclusive end, but simply act as a mirror for the city and its inhabitants as he observes them. Riddled with storylines of prostitution, affairs with amputated legs, and investments gone wrong, Ilja Leonard Pfeijffer has written a book that gives us an honest perspective into the inner workings of a small but beautiful city. La Superba offers an exotic form of chaos and tragedy, and an extremely truthful image of old Italian life in a postmodern city.

Chris is a writer, copy editor, and proofreader from Methuen, MA; he also runs the . Here’s an excerpt from his review:

Before escaping to Wales, Emilie was a translation studies instructor who has been working on a thesis on American poet Emily Dickinson. She was fired after it was revealed that she糖心传媒檇 had an affair with a student. She confessed the affair to her husband (most of the characters糖心传媒� names are not revealed until the climax) but then fled, leaving her cell phone on the ferry. Once she arrived in Wales, she decided to rent the farm for the last two months of the year. The only things she brought with her were a mattress, some books, a portrait of Dickinson, and some painkillers.

The farm has a field with ten white geese. Despite the field being surrounded by barbed wire, the geese begin to disappear. Emilie suspects that a fox might be eating them and feels guilty about it; also, she糖心传媒檚 only 糖心传媒渞enting糖心传媒� them, so when there are only six left, she builds them a shelter that they end up spurning. 糖心传媒淭hey ran off the wrong way in a column or scattered, as if understanding that it was hard to choose between six separate birds. . . . Panting, she scooped up a few pebbles and threw them at the geese. 糖心传媒楿ngrateful, dirty, filthy, stinking, pig-headed creatures!糖心传媒� she shouted. 糖心传媒業糖心传媒檓 trying to bloody save you!糖心传媒櫶切拇綕

Ironically, Emilie, who smokes and takes her painkillers with alcohol, seems to be the one who needs saving. Early in the novel, she糖心传媒檚 attacked by a badger after resting on its stone circle near the house. Nobody believes that the bite on her foot came from a creature commonly perceived as peaceful. 糖心传媒淭hat糖心传媒檚 impossible,糖心传媒� more than one person tells her. However, this 糖心传媒渂adger story,糖心传媒� as it comes to be known, is not just a running gag used during the story糖心传媒檚 lighter moments.

For the rest of the review, go here.

Perhaps she did now, in this foreign country, because it was November here too or because she sensed how vulnerable people are when they have no idea what to do next, how to move forward or back. That a shallow hotel pond can feel like a standstill, like marking time with the bank糖心传媒攏o start or end, a circle糖心传媒攁s the past, present and unlimited future. And because of that, she also thought she understood him just standing there and not trying to get his head underwater. A standstill. . . . She inhabited the house the way he糖心传媒檇 stood in the pond.

This episode haunts Emilie throughout Ten White Geese, the second novel by Gerbrand Bakker to be translated into English, as she tries to figure out how to move forward. However, in her attempts at a new life, she not only experiences cultural and language barriers, but she eventually faces the threat of going back to everything (and everyone) she abandoned.

Before escaping to Wales, Emilie was a translation studies instructor who has been working on a thesis on American poet Emily Dickinson. She was fired after it was revealed that she糖心传媒檇 had an affair with a student. She confessed the affair to her husband (most of the characters糖心传媒� names are not revealed until the climax) but then fled, leaving her cell phone on the ferry. Once she arrived in Wales, she decided to rent the farm for the last two months of the year. The only things she brought with her were a mattress, some books, a portrait of Dickinson, and some painkillers.

The farm has a field with ten white geese. Despite the field being surrounded by barbed wire, the geese begin to disappear. Emilie suspects that a fox might be eating them and feels guilty about it; also, she糖心传媒檚 only 糖心传媒渞enting糖心传媒� them, so when there are only six left, she builds them a shelter that they end up spurning. 糖心传媒淭hey ran off the wrong way in a column or scattered, as if understanding that it was hard to choose between six separate birds. . . . Panting, she scooped up a few pebbles and threw them at the geese. 糖心传媒楿ngrateful, dirty, filthy, stinking, pig-headed creatures!糖心传媒� she shouted. 糖心传媒業糖心传媒檓 trying to bloody save you!糖心传媒櫶切拇綕

Ironically, Emilie, who smokes and takes her painkillers with alcohol, seems to be the one who needs saving. Early in the novel, she糖心传媒檚 attacked by a badger after resting on its stone circle near the house. Nobody believes that the bite on her foot came from a creature commonly perceived as peaceful. 糖心传媒淭hat糖心传媒檚 impossible,糖心传媒� more than one person tells her. However, this 糖心传媒渂adger story,糖心传媒� as it comes to be known, is not just a running gag used during the story糖心传媒檚 lighter moments.

In a strange way, the badger, the geese, and even that mysterious creature eating the geese are trying to tell her that she doesn糖心传媒檛 belong in Wales. They糖心传媒檙e not the only ones: some of the locals, including a snarky doctor and an intolerant hairdresser, treat her more like a tourist than a new resident. Even the friendly wife of a baker makes her feel that she cannot survive here on her own.

Furthermore, a couple of characters also try to assert their authority over Emilie: the repulsive 糖心传媒渃aricature of a Welshman糖心传媒� named Rhys Jones and the mysterious university dropout Bradwen. Jones doesn糖心传媒檛 own the land that she糖心传媒檚 renting, but acts as a messenger from the real-estate agent who does. Also, because of an arrangement made in the past, he lets his sheep graze on the farm without asking her permission and comes and goes whenever he pleases; at one point, he even makes an unwanted advance toward her.

Her relationship with Bradwen is more complicated. While establishing a long distance route that would include a path through her farm, he falls and hurts himself. She offers to let him and his dog Sam stay the night. They leave the next morning but return that afternoon. Since Bradwen doesn糖心传媒檛 want to return to his father, she lets him stay; in exchange, he performs various chores and errands for her. She also agrees to help him establish the route.

Initially, it appears that Bradwen is trying to help her move forward, literally and figuratively. As the novel progresses, they become more intimate, even though she sometimes struggles to communicate with him. In one interesting scene, Emilie, who is fluent in English, finds herself having trouble understanding a simple word like 糖心传媒渒ite,糖心传媒� which Bradwen uses to describe a bird. 糖心传媒淪he couldn糖心传媒檛 work it out. She knew that it meant something else, this word that the boy had said twice now, but she could only picture a red diamond on a string with a tail of knotted rags. Somewhere in her head, something needed to happen. His English needed to become her English, so that she could simply understand him.糖心传媒�

However, even when language is not a problem, they do not always understand each other. For example, on more than one occasion, when Emilie commands Bradwen to leave the house, he refuses. He acts as if she needs him for the errands and chores, but the reader senses that he has another motive. Sometimes, he assumes things about her; at another point, when she糖心传媒檚 asking him questions, he shuts her down completely.

While Emilie and Bradwen are trying to work out their relationship, her husband, like Emilie糖心传媒檚 uncle, doesn糖心传媒檛 know whether to 糖心传媒渕ove forward糖心传媒� or 糖心传媒渕ove back糖心传媒�; eventually, he chooses the latter. After he is released from jail for attempting to burn down the university, he seeks help from his in-laws; however, every time he does, a communication breakdown occurs. In one scene, while the Dutch version of American Idol is distracting them, Emilie糖心传媒檚 parents trail in and out of conversation with her husband. The in-laws do not help much, but the husband ends up finding an unlikely ally: the police officer who arrested him. When the husband accidentally learns that his wife may have some kind of serious illness, the officer helps track her down.

While Ten White Geese is not a thriller, it does have the pacing of one. Bakker gives the reader some great plot twists, which balance well with the minimalist descriptions of life in the country and the disjointed dialogue, competently translated by David Colmer. However, even though readers will be absorbed in the plot, they will also be compelled by the characters and their struggles to break through the barriers that keep them from moving forward.

One of the many interesting things about judging the Best Translated Book Award is the sense it gives you of what (and how much) is actually being translated into English (and published/distributed in the US). Thanks largely to Dalkey Archive Press糖心传媒� , for example, we糖心传媒檙e suddenly exposed to about a dozen Korean titles this year (without the Dalkey publications, it would be more like 糖心传媒� one). The statistics can be revealing 糖心传媒� and disappointing. Sure, we get 糖心传媒� well, if not quite any number so at least a whole lot of French titles 糖心传媒� but Chinese ? Isn糖心传媒檛 Chinese literature hot right now ? Last time the database we rely on was updated (i.e. there might still be some unaccounted for) I counted all of three eligible titles.

Numbers-wise, among the literatures which seems to consistently punch above its population-weight, along with Icelandic and Hebrew, is Dutch (meaning: Dutch and Flemish), and while we have (at last count) quote-unquote only six works of fiction to consider 糖心传媒� well, damn, it is an impressive selection (and the -folks — who have to consider two years’ worth of publications — have their work cut out for them).

I haven糖心传媒檛 seen one of these yet — The Square of Revenge, 糖心传媒楢n Inspector Van In novel糖心传媒� by Pieter Aspe 糖心传媒� and I suspect that its being part of a mystery series makes it a longshot to get longlisted, but I note that Aspe has apparently sold millions and that this book did get reviewed in The New York Times Book Review (only as part of Marilyn Stasio糖心传媒榮 糖心传媒楥rime糖心传媒�-, but still). [As it turns out, there糖心传媒檚 a double-bill of Inspector Van In novels eligible 糖心传媒� a second one, The Midas Murders, having also appeared in the eligible period (but failing to make it onto the database for now 糖心传媒� an omission Chad will rectify shortly. So that糖心传媒檚 seven 糖心传媒� and counting 糖心传媒� 糖心传媒� Dutch titles in the running.]

Even if they are great mysteries, the Aspes will be hard-pressed to compete with the other Dutch titles elbowing for spots on the longlist. First off, there糖心传媒檚 Hella S. Haasse糖心传媒檚 The Black Lake , in Ina Rilke糖心传媒檚 translation — which fellow-judge Daniel Medin has already delighted in in a previous Three Percent/BTBA post. — who died just two years ago, at a very ripe old age 糖心传媒� wrote this back in 1948. While quite a bit of the work by this grand old lady of Dutch literature has been published in translation, it糖心传媒檚 great to see this important, powerful little novel about colonial Indonesia finally also available in English.

There糖心传媒檚 another, even older work in the running, Jan Jacob Slauerhoff糖心传媒檚 1932 novel, . This unusual time-bridging narrative features Portuguese traveler and poet, Lu铆s de Cam玫es, as well as a modern-day (well, early 20th-century) events, and is a wonderful (and wonderfully surprising) more-than-just-adventure novel.

Then there糖心传媒檚 Gerbrand Bakker糖心传媒檚 — which you might also recognize from the title it was published in the UK under, The Detour , since it, in David Colmer糖心传媒檚 translation, already won the biggest translation-into-English prize on the other side of the Atlantic, the , With Bakker糖心传媒檚 previous novel, , already making the 2010 BTBA shortlist it糖心传媒檚 clear he糖心传媒檚 an author 糖心传媒� and this a book 糖心传媒� that has to be taken pretty seriously.

Finally, there are the two Sam Garrett-translated titles 糖心传媒� notable not just because they share a translator (Anthea Bell has him beat there, hands down, with five translations in the BTBA-running) but because they糖心传媒檙e in many ways quite similar works 糖心传媒� and both were incredibly successful in the Netherlands. One is , by Arnon Grunberg, the other by Herman Koch. Amazingly, both were reviewed in the not-known-as-very-open-to-fiction-in-translation New York Times Book Review 糖心传媒� and 糖心传媒� and The Dinner even got the Janet Maslin treatment in the daily Times (she it).

One seems to have done much, much better sales-wise than the other — The Dinner, which actually can boast of being a New York Times bestseller (indeed, it spent quite a few weeks on the bestseller lists). Yet Tirza is the clearly superior work; as Claire Messud concluded in her NYTBR review of The Dinner, that novel, while 糖心传媒渁bsorbing and highly readable, proves in the end strangely shallow糖心传媒�. Tirza, on the other hand, is both entertaining and, ultimately, profound.

Both novels have a horrific twist. In the case of The Dinner it is one that糖心传媒檚, at least in its outlines, fairly obvious early on 糖心传媒� but just keeps getting more twisted and horrific as the novel progresses (an admittedly very nice and disturbing touch). Tirza seems to follow a simpler arc of personal dissolution before taking its more surprising final turn into the abyss.

The Dinner uses a meal at a fancy restaurant as its foundation, taking readers through the many courses while incongruously (that糖心传媒檚 the intent, anyway) increasingly disturbing revelations are made. With one of the characters running for high political office (prime minister, in fact), The Dinner is a cruel satire of contemporary Dutch movers and shakers (and any notion of civilized behavior in general). By turns shocking as well as occasionally funny, it does have considerable shock-value-appeal 糖心传媒� but there糖心传媒檚 not that much more to it. Koch does reasonably well, but not quite well enough with what is also ultimately a very ugly tale that 糖心传媒� as Messud noted 糖心传媒� doesn糖心传媒檛 really have much depth to it.

Tirza also involves an almost unspeakable act, but Grunberg is the far superior craftsman in leading readers there, the shock, when it comes, all the more affecting. It糖心传媒檚 a remarkably convincing portrait of a man falling apart. Like Koch糖心传媒檚 novel, it糖心传媒檚 uncomfortable to read, in part, but whereas Koch糖心传媒檚 exaggerated satire can also be shrugged off 糖心传媒� good for cocktail-party chatter, but hardly to be taken seriously as an in any way a profound critique of society 糖心传媒� Grunberg糖心传媒檚 novel sits much deeper.

I can see the easy appeal of The Dinner 糖心传媒� part of which is surely also that it can be shrugged off fairly easily, as over-the-top satire often can. Tirza, much more personal than public (no one running for the highest office in the land here …), may not be a novel whose protagonist readers want to identify with either, but it糖心传媒檚 a completely convincing portrait of (a) contemporary man and contemporary society.

This BTBA selection process, of narrowing down the three or four hundred eligible books, first to a longlist, is challenging. I糖心传媒檝e just gone over the Dutch titles here, and I think there糖心传媒檚 a strong case to be made for four of them to at least reach the final-25 stage. Whatever the outcome 糖心传媒� I am only of nine judges, after all, and I can糖心传媒檛 be sure how my fellow judges feel about these (and the many other worthy) titles 糖心传媒� I糖心传媒檇 be surprised if Tirza didn糖心传媒檛 make the cut, and if The Dinner did.

Hannah is one of two Hannahs interning at Open Letter this summer. We’re still working on a good nickname for her糖心传媒攆or now, depending on the situation, we (read: I) have been referring to the Hannahs as “Hannah” and “Other Hannah.” (If yet another of our interns, Reagan, was also a Hannah, things would get messy. Other Other Hannah?)

Anyway, this relatively small volume of stories by Nescio sounds pretty cool, particularly the chronology of style behind it, and falls into the category of compact volumes from NYRB that I personally can’t wait to dive into糖心传媒攁 fairly long list that (in no particular order) includes .

Here’s the beginning of Hannah’s review:

Nescio, Koekebakker, J.H.F. Gr枚nloh. Writing only in his spare time, he was known to most of the world as a respectable and prominent businessman, the director of the Holland-Bombay Trading Company: exactly the kind of man whom his early protagonists would scorn, and at whom his later protagonists would smile grimly, knowing that 糖心传媒渞espectability糖心传媒� is society糖心传媒檚 code-word for 糖心传媒渉alf-stifled misery.糖心传媒� Producing only a few short stories, he went largely unnoticed during his lifetime, only posthumously gaining a place in the canon of Dutch literature. Now, his poignant and subtly humorous Amsterdam Stories have finally been brought to an English-speaking audience by Damion Searls, an award-winning translator who works with German, Norwegian, French, and Dutch texts.

The nine stories and novellas of this collection, arranged in chronological order of their writing, come together to form a composite portrait of a single life 糖心传媒� quite transparently a version of Nescio糖心传媒檚 own. In his early stories, such as 糖心传媒淭he Freeloader糖心传媒� and 糖心传媒淵oung Titans,糖心传媒� the narrator is Koekebakker, who is idealistic, poor, and (mostly) happy, confident as he is 糖心传媒済oing to do _something_糖心传媒� with his life. A vague, beautiful something that animates him and his group of four like-minded friends. The narrator looks back on this youth with jaded wistfulness: 糖心传媒淲e were kids 糖心传媒� but good kids . . . We糖心传媒檙e much smarter now, so smart it糖心传媒檚 pathetic.糖心传媒� But in spite of this cynicism, it is surprisingly easy to get caught up in the half-baked ideas and humorous antics of Koekebakker & Co. . . .

For the rest of the review, go here.

The nine stories and novellas of this collection, arranged in chronological order of their writing, come together to form a composite portrait of a single life 糖心传媒� quite transparently a version of Nescio糖心传媒檚 own. In his early stories, such as 糖心传媒淭he Freeloader糖心传媒� and 糖心传媒淵oung Titans,糖心传媒� the narrator is Koekebakker, who is idealistic, poor, and (mostly) happy, confident as he is 糖心传媒済oing to do something_糖心传媒� with his life. A vague, beautiful something that animates him and his group of four like-minded friends. The narrator looks back on this youth with jaded wistfulness: 糖心传媒淲e were kids 糖心传媒� but good kids . . . We糖心传媒檙e much smarter now, so smart it糖心传媒檚 pathetic.糖心传媒� But in spite of this cynicism, it is surprisingly easy to get caught up in the half-baked ideas and humorous antics of Koekebakker & Co. They are a bit ridiculous, especially seen from the narrator糖心传媒檚 half-bitter, half-indulgent viewpoint, but they are sincere, delightful, and recognizably _real. The exception of course is Japi, the exasperating but fascinating 糖心传媒渇reeloader糖心传媒� of the collection糖心传媒檚 first story, who is more allegory than man. He observes, he sits, he walks. He borrows money, smokes other people糖心传媒檚 cigars, and takes his friend糖心传媒檚 cloak when they are walking in the rain. And, when the world catches up with him and tries to pin him down into a job, he quietly and almost cheerfully steps off a bridge. A simple (even silly) story, but Nescio pulls it off with grace and warmth.

By 糖心传媒淟ittle Poet,糖心传媒� written when Nescio was thirty-five, the narrator begins to lose his wistful nature and takes a more openly mocking stance toward his protagonist, and possibly against poetry in general. He leaves Koekebakker and his group behind, moving on to a nameless, doomed young poet, whom he pokes fun at mercilessly. One of the conduits of this fun-poking is the God of the Netherlands, who can糖心传媒檛 seem to understand why he bothers to keep creating poets, particularly the meek, boyish breed like the Little Poet in question:

Twice the God of the Netherlands shook his venerable head and twice his long venerable muttonchops slid back and forth across his vest.
bq. It didn糖心传媒檛 add up. There must be a mistake somewhere. A poet with no hair, that was very strange. The God of the Netherlands hadn糖心传媒檛 cared much for poets for thirty years. You could no longer tell what to make of them. Respectable or disrespectable? Impossible to say . . .

God sighed. He糖心传媒檇 have to talk it over with a real poet tomorrow. Maybe Potgieter . . .

Look, there goes the little poet. A handsome young man, you have to admit: thin, with a nicely shaved boyish face except for a pair of flying buttresses in front of his years, and so suntanned. He greets someone, tilting his straw hat a fraction about his close-cut hair.

Bizarre糖心传媒攕o little hair糖心传媒攂ut it definitely was a little poet because God couldn糖心传媒檛 figure him out, or Potgieter either. And Professor Volmer wanted nothing to do with him.

At one point, the Little Poet is walking down the street when he sees a group of women sitting outside a cafe and prays silently, 糖心传媒淥h God . . . what if you performed a miracle now, what if all their clothes suddenly fell off?糖心传媒� The narrator hedges this oh-so-scandalous thought playfully, writing in an aside: 糖心传媒淵ou and I, dear reader, never think such things. And my dear lady readers . . . Mercy me, perish the thought.糖心传媒�
In his later stories, his writing begins to take on a different character. By 糖心传媒淚nsula Dei,糖心传媒� written twenty-five years and two World Wars later, his tone is bitter, though not unsentimental: Nescio has become an old man who cannot understand how his life 糖心传媒� the shining promise he saw in his youth 糖心传媒� has blinked past him. His nostalgia is more morbid now, colored as it is by war, hunger, and age. Reminiscing with the narrator about their youth, his friend Flip laments: 糖心传媒淏ack then we died of consumption, not tuberculosis.糖心传媒� Nescio糖心传媒檚 skill lies in his ability to make even this macabre thought a thing of beauty.

As the title suggests, this is, in a sense, also a 糖心传媒渃ity book糖心传媒� after the fashion of Mark Helprin糖心传媒檚 Winter糖心传媒檚 Tale (New York) and Andrei Bely糖心传媒檚 Petersburg (St. Petersburg). These authors live and breathe their cities, and these works draw their readers onto the streets, into their cafes and parks and back alleys. Nescio accomplishes this with beautiful subtleness; Amsterdam is never the focus of his tales, but remains an unobtrusive but constant and compelling presence.

All in all, Nescio糖心传媒檚 stories 糖心传媒� often tragic but always beautiful 糖心传媒� linger in the mind. They do not seem to have been composed; rather, they unfold with the grace of inevitability. Their melancholy weight means that they are best consumed slowly, leaving time between the stories to allow them to settle and be absorbed. At only 155 pages, this slim volume has a quiet power to match that of the most sweeping of Great Novels.

Jacob M. Appel is a physician in New York City and the author of more than two hundred published short stories. His prose has been short-listed for the Pushcart Prize, Best American Short Stories and the O. Henry Award on multiple occasions. Jacob’s paternal
grandfather, Leo Appel, came to the United States as a refugee from Antwerp, Belgium, in 1938, and Jacob remains deeply engaged in Dutch and Flemish culture. Click for more information.

Dalkey’s published a few including (which is AMAZING) and (more amazing). He’s tragically overlooked by American readers, which really sucks, since these two books are on par with pretty much all other mammoth classics of twentieth-century literature. (This sounds hyperbolic, BUT IT’S NOT.)

Here’s the opening of Jacob’s review of My Little War:

The period between Flemish author Louis Paul Boon糖心传媒檚 birth in 1912 and the publication of his post-modern masterpiece Mijn kleine oorlog (My Little War) in 1947 saw Belgium ravaged by some of the worst wartime carnage that the European continent had experienced in centuries. Even as Hitler糖心传媒檚 advancing wehrmacht sent 25% of the Belgian population fleeing over the French border, memories remained fresh of the brutal German occupation of 1914糖心传媒攊ncluding its defining atrocity, the sacking of Leuven, during which the city糖心传媒檚 library of 300,000 medieval books was burned and the entire populace expelled. So to post-war Flemish readers, Boon糖心传媒檚 peculiarly brilliant novel appeared in the wake of two large wars, challenging a literary orthodoxy that tried to make sense of these conflagrations.

Mijn kleine oorlog is decidedly not an anti-war novel糖心传媒攁t least, not in the sense of Remarque糖心传媒檚 All Quiet on the Western Front or Zweig糖心传媒檚 The Case of Sergeant Grischa or Rolland糖心传媒檚 颁濒茅谤补尘产补耻濒迟, the sort of predecessors to which Boon is likely referring to when he writes to question the archetypal 糖心传媒済reat writer糖心传媒� who rises up to present the world with 糖心传媒渉is Book About the Great War糖心传媒攚ith capital letters.糖心传媒� Instead, the volume might be described as an anti-anti-war novel . . . if it even is a novel at all. A better description yet might be an anti-anti-war sketchbook. For what Boon has done in thirty-three brief vignettes is collect snippets of overheard conversations, press reports, unsubstantiated rumors and 糖心传媒減ersonal糖心传媒� experiences to generate a montage of the highly subjective experience of one ordinary laborer-turned-POW-turned-writer during the Second World War. Yet even the volume糖心传媒檚 subjectively is overtly orchestrated; this is not Virginia Woolf or James Joyce trying to capture the subtle workings of the human mind, but rather an author reminding the reader that he is feigning to do so. In one noteworthy example, after referring to multiple characters as 糖心传媒渨hat糖心传媒檚-his-name糖心传媒� and 糖心传媒渨hat糖心传媒檚-her-name,糖心传媒� Boon suddenly pretends to have recalled one of their names: 糖心传媒淲hat糖心传媒檚 her name came too,糖心传媒� he writes. 糖心传媒淲hat was her name again the one who was hit in the head with something the other day and died, who used to get so furious and denounce us as pro-German when we said the war would last five years . . . it was Mrs. Lammens!糖心传媒� Of course, the reader recognizes that Boon has not achieved this recollection in the moment. Rather, Boon uses this device to mock his modernist forebears and to remind the reader of his own pretenses.

Click here to read the complete essay.

Mijn kleine oorlog is decidedly not an anti-war novel糖心传媒攁t least, not in the sense of Remarque糖心传媒檚 All Quiet on the Western Front or Zweig糖心传媒檚 The Case of Sergeant Grischa or Rolland糖心传媒檚 颁濒茅谤补尘产补耻濒迟, the sort of predecessors to which Boon is likely referring to when he writes to question the archetypal 糖心传媒済reat writer糖心传媒� who rises up to present the world with 糖心传媒渉is Book About the Great War糖心传媒攚ith capital letters.糖心传媒� Instead, the volume might be described as an anti-anti-war novel . . . if it even is a novel at all. A better description yet might be an anti-anti-war sketchbook. For what Boon has done in thirty-three brief vignettes is collect snippets of overheard conversations, press reports, unsubstantiated rumors and 糖心传媒減ersonal糖心传媒� experiences to generate a montage of the highly subjective experience of one ordinary laborer-turned-POW-turned-writer during the Second World War. Yet even the volume糖心传媒檚 subjectively is overtly orchestrated; this is not Virginia Woolf or James Joyce trying to capture the subtle workings of the human mind, but rather an author reminding the reader that he is feigning to do so. In one noteworthy example, after referring to multiple characters as 糖心传媒渨hat糖心传媒檚-his-name糖心传媒� and 糖心传媒渨hat糖心传媒檚-her-name,糖心传媒� Boon suddenly pretends to have recalled one of their names: 糖心传媒淲hat糖心传媒檚 her name came too,糖心传媒� he writes. 糖心传媒淲hat was her name again the one who was hit in the head with something the other day and died, who used to get so furious and denounce us as pro-German when we said the war would last five years . . . it was Mrs. Lammens!糖心传媒� Of course, the reader recognizes that Boon has not achieved this recollection in the moment. Rather, Boon uses this device to mock his modernist forebears and to remind the reader of his own pretenses.

In Boon糖心传媒檚 fictional universe, which occupies only a few small streets in a Belgian village, everything is true because nothing is true. For instance, Boon describes a fellow soldier pausing during a retreat through an abandoned dairy, with German gunners close on his heels, to rescue a goldfish from an overturned bowl. When Boon questions this 糖心传媒渨hat糖心传媒檚-his-name,糖心传媒� the infantryman replies, 糖心传媒淚magine you lived in that dairy, and got back after you糖心传媒檇 run away, wouldn糖心传媒檛 you be glad to see that your goldfish were still alive? Well?糖心传媒� Lest we read too much into this tale of minor heroism, several sentences later, Boon announces: 糖心传媒淎ctually, I made those goldfish up, that糖心传媒檚 what stories are for.糖心传媒� He then begins his next vignette with the caveat: 糖心传媒淏ut this isn糖心传媒檛 made up . . .糖心传媒� Who can really say? For an author who writes, 糖心传媒渢here糖心传媒檚 never any need to cook up any fantasy; the truth is fantastic enough,糖心传媒� no moment in Mijn kleine oorlog is ever definitively truth or definitively fantasy. Even the identification of the narrator, Boontje, with the author remains intentionally unclear. Boon writes that 糖心传媒淚f I糖心传媒檝e usually said 糖心传媒業糖心传媒� in this book, it was just a way of presenting things, what I really meant was 糖心传媒榶ou糖心传媒櫶切拇綌you, you poor man, exploited, scorned, spat upon, pacified with empty promises, who didn糖心传媒檛 have the courage to stand up for yourself . . .糖心传媒� In the current age of Thomas Pynchon and 糖心传媒渢ruthiness,糖心传媒� we may take this approach for granted. To Boon糖心传媒檚 Flemish audience of 1947, blurring the lines between Truth and fiction in this speciously cavalier manner may have touched too close to home, and initial sales were disappointing. After all, as depicted by Boon, many Flemings played both sides during the occupation; distinguish the heroes of the Belgian Resistance from the collaborators and Black Shirts remains an unfinished process to this day.

Critic Annie van den Oever has catalogued Boon糖心传媒檚 early influences, most notably Franz Kafka and the Femish poet and nationalist Paul van Ostaijen. According to van den Oever, Boon 糖心传媒渟aw himself as a link in a chain糖心传媒� of what she terms the 糖心传媒済rotesque literary tradition糖心传媒澨切拇綌those early twentieth century writers who broke open 糖心传媒渢he traditionally monologic novel.糖心传媒� Thanks to Anne Visser and the Dalkey Archive, we have a translation of Annie van den Oever糖心传媒檚 seminal 2007 biography of Boon, Het leven zelf (Life Itself), which holds forth the promise of revealing this link to English-speaking audiences. Paul Vincent糖心传媒檚 translation, which follows the more popular Dutch second edition, is as clear and funny and nuanced as the original, and does an impressive job of conveying many of the text糖心传媒檚 linguistic jokes and puns into English.

Despite its complex literary agenda糖心传媒攐r possibly on account of it糖心传媒�My Little War also stands out as a deeply moving, often unsettling work of fiction. Boon clearly recognizes that an author cannot challenge his readers糖心传媒� ideas unless he also engages their emotions. His motley crew of what糖心传媒檚-his-names, including 糖心传媒渢he very good and very amusing and very ugly Albertine Spaens糖心传媒� and the cigar-smoking turncoat shoe manufacturer Swaem and the tragic Canadian girl with a harelip, are drawn with such precision that one feels one can recognize one糖心传媒檚 own acquaintances in his depictions. In fact, Boon reflects near the end of the volume, 糖心传媒淭here are 36 people who think they糖心传媒檙e What糖心传媒檚-his-name, and eleven gentlemen who give this particular writer angry looks whenever they walk by because they recognize themselves in Mr. Swaem糖心传媒攁lthough he had only a symbolic Mr. Swaem in mind.糖心传媒� There lies the magic of Boon糖心传媒檚 technique: His falsehoods are more convincing than the truths of traditional fiction.

In a section entitled 糖心传媒淪elf-Defense,糖心传媒� Boon muses: 糖心传媒淚糖心传媒檇 like to suggest to my publisher that he set up an 糖心传媒楨veryone Write their Own Little War糖心传媒� contest糖心传媒斕切拇綔First prize a pipe!糖心传媒� (Note the allusion to Magritte糖心传媒檚 La trahison des images.) To a significant degree, we now live in that world today: Anyone can糖心传媒攁nd many authors do糖心传媒攚rite their 糖心传媒渙wn little war糖心传媒� narratives for the Internet. One can easily imagine Boon looking down upon us, smoking his own pipe and grinning.

Although the Netherlands is the guest of honour this year, we have always felt most welcome in China. In the past few years, a great many Dutch titles have been translated into Chinese. Vice versa, attention for China and Chinese literature is growing in the Netherlands. The fact that we can present ourselves as the host country this year is largely due to the good relations that have been built up in recent times. The numerous contacts have made us aware of what is important, valuable and beautiful in the view of Chinese people.

The programme we present is rich and diverse, and embraces disciplines such as literature (which is self-evident), visual art, design, architecture and comic strips. A major part of the authors糖心传媒� programme will take place in the auditorium of the Dutch Pavilion. On Fair days, a continuous programme of book presentations, discussions, workshops, meetings with school classes, interviews and lectures will take place. Encounters between Dutch and Chinese writers will form a central feature of the programme. All the Dutch authors attending have recently had work translated into Chinese. [. . .]

Simultaneously with the Fair in Beijing, we shall also devote attention to Chinese literature at one of the most important literary events in the Netherlands, Manuscripta. In this context, Chinese writers will be invited to the Netherlands and a part of our programme in Beijing will also be shown live in the Netherlands.

The is pretty interesting, even if you don’t read Dutch and aren’t at the Beijing Book Fair. For instance, there’s and a series of blog posts from Dutch Foundation for Literature representatives, participating authors, and rights agents, such as (who also translated into English):

The Chinese publishers I have met during the course of my career, the few who have made it to London, Frankfurt or Amsterdam, have all come across as pleasant, shy and polite people. They have invariably brought gifts: chopstick sets, handmade paper notebooks, fans, good luck hangers. At the end of the meeting they take your picture. There is a good chance you糖心传媒檒l never see them today.

Thinking back to those the chopstick sets yesterday afternoon, it occurred to me a copy of our rights guide (albeit in Chinese) wouldn糖心传媒檛 really cut it as a gift. But what would? [. . .]

In terms of concrete stuff, I糖心传媒檓 not sure what the Netherlands has to offer China that isn糖心传媒檛 illegal to import, foodstuff and bulbs, sexy magnets, bongs or clogs. Meanwhile China is responsible for more than half of the world糖心传媒檚 clothing and shoe production, immense quantities of paper, and zillions of plastic toys. And that糖心传媒檚 what everyone I糖心传媒檝e talked to about China these past weeks has mentioned: scale. The population of Beijing is 30 million. A two-week tourist trip to the city doesn糖心传媒檛 even make a dent on what there is to see there.

The Chinese publishers I met in the past seemed to think more in terms of Europe – European science, European thought, European literature – than being specifically interested in the Netherlands (or England, or Germany糖心传媒�). The titles they have bought from us have reflected this: witness the hotly fought contest for Bram Kemper糖心传媒檚 Painting, Power & Patronage, a book on the Italian Renaissance published in English in 1992. Three publishers offered!

Putting together the rights guide involved setting aside everything learned in Frankfurt. Forget hype, rights sales, bestsellerdom, forget typically Dutch landscapes. Think academic authority, science, culture, think knowledge base, content and classical literature. While we have nothing concrete to offer the Chinese, our thought and traditions have some value. This value is not necessarily financial though. My experience of selling books to the Chinese has taught me that to expect advances from 500 to 1,000 euros, print runs of a couple of thousand copies and no royalties or royalty statements. This puts it on a par with countries like the Czech Republic. At present we糖心传媒檙e talking author management not profit.

Probably just me, but I think it’s interesting to witness this sort of cultural exchange—one that doesn’t involve English . . .