katrine ogaard jensen – Three Percent

“Extracting the Stone of Madness” by Alejandra Pizarnik [Why This Book Should Win]

Chad Post — Sun, 16 Apr 2017 18:00:00 +0000

Between the announcement of the Best Translated Book Award longlists and the unveiling of the finalists, we will be covering all thirty-five titles in the Why This Book Should Win series. Enjoy learning about all the various titles selected by the fourteen fiction and poetry judges, and I hope you find a few to purchase and read!

The entry below is by Katrine Øgaard Jensen, who is one of the founding editors of a journal of political research, literature, and art at Columbia University. She previously served as editor in chief of the Columbia Journal and blog editor at Asymptote and Words Without Borders.

by Alejandra Pizarnik, translated from the Spanish by Yvette Siegert (Argentina, New Directions)

Chad��Ĵ�ý�s Uneducated and Unscientific Percentage Chance of Making the Shortlist: 92%

Chad��Ĵ�ý�s Uneducated and Unscientific Percentage Chance of Winning the BTBA: 37%

Had Poe lived to read Alejandra Pizarnik, she would have given him nightmares. Revered by writers such as Octavio Paz, Roberto Bolaño, and César Aira��Ĵ�ý�the latter calling her ��Ĵ�ý�the greatest, and the last��Ĵ�ý� poet��Ĵ�ý�Pizarnik is one of the most important contributors to twentieth-century Argentine poetry. Known for her lyricism and concession to misery, Pizarnik wrote of terror, suffering, estrangement, and death, but also of love and tenderness. She wrote seven books of poetry and one book of prose before ending her life at age 36 in 1972.

Extracting the Stone of Madness, published by New Directions and unbearably, stunningly translated by Yvette Siegert, comprises all of Pizarnik��Ĵ�ý�s middle to late work, as well as a selection of posthumously published verse. A reader unfamiliar with Pizarnik��Ĵ�ý�s life and work might flip through the first couple of pages and find her poems gentle, romantic even. Lines like ��Ĵ�ý�May your body always be / a beloved space for revelations��Ĵ�ý� and ��Ĵ�ý�Only you can turn my memory / into a fascinated traveler, / a relentless fire��Ĵ�ý� could fool anyone. It doesn��Ĵ�ý�t take many minutes of reading, however, before the romance turns into a bitter longing (��Ĵ�ý�You speak like the night. / You announce yourself like thirst��Ĵ�ý�) followed by a violent absence (��Ĵ�ý�The wind had eaten away / parts of my face and my hands.��Ĵ�ý�)

Upon finishing this initial section, Works and Nights (1965), the first-time Pizarnik reader might feel as if they are somewhat prepared for section two, Extracting the Stone of Madness (1968). They are not.

The title poem references a circa 1494 painting by Hieronymus Bosch titled The Cure of Folly (or The Extraction of the Stone of Madness, or Cutting the Stone) depicting a surgical intervention in which a hole is drilled deep into the skull of a ��Ĵ�ý�fool��Ĵ�ý��Ĵ�ý�a medieval practice once believed to relieve mental disorders.

The bad light is near and nothing is real. When I think of all that I��Ĵ�ý�ve read of the spirit ��Ĵ�ý� when I closed my eyes, I saw luminous bodies turning in the mist, on the site of tenuous dwellings. Don��Ĵ�ý�t be afraid, no one will come after you. All the grave robbers have gone. Silence, always silence; the gold coins of sleep.

I speak the way I speak inside. Not with the voice intent on sounding human, but with the other one, the one that insists I��Ĵ�ý�m still a creature of the forest.

��Ĵ�ý�from the poem ��Ĵ�ý�Extracting the Stone of Madness��Ĵ�ý�

In this phenomenally eerie section, Pizarnik��Ĵ�ý�s poems turn into feverish dreamscapes occupied by solitary women dressed in blue or red, fetuses of scorpions, mirrors, lilacs, and sorcery. Similar motifs extend into the next section of the book, A Musical Hell (1971), which references another painting by Bosch, The Garden of Earthly Delights. This title poem refers to the ��Ĵ�ý�hell��Ĵ�ý� panel of Bosch��Ĵ�ý�s famous triptych, depicting musicians playing on instruments that are simultaneously used for torture.

Like in Bosch��Ĵ�ý�s hell, the horror in Extracting the Stone of Madness is inescapable. Every Pizarnik poem is a step down a phantom staircase, an insomniac descent leading to the final text of the book: a poem that was found written in chalk on a blackboard in the poet��Ĵ�ý�s workroom after her suicide.

So why should anyone read this disturbing piece of literature, let alone award it with one of the finest translation prizes in the U.S.? Because Pizarnik��Ĵ�ý�s poetry, and Siegert��Ĵ�ý�s rendition of it, is inescapable: not due to its terror, but due to its mastery.

“tasks” by Víctor Rodríguez Núñez [Why This Book Should Win]

Chad Post — Sat, 15 Apr 2017 14:00:00 +0000

by Víctor Rodríguez Núñez, translated from the Spanish by Katherine M. Hedeen (Cuba, co-im-press)

Chad��Ĵ�ý�s Uneducated and Unscientific Percentage Chance of Making the Shortlist: 38%

Chad��Ĵ�ý�s Uneducated and Unscientific Percentage Chance of Winning the BTBA: 2%

How does an immigrant return to their native country if they��Ĵ�ý�ve never actually left? Cuban poet Víctor Rodríguez-Núñez asks this timeless (and timely) question through twenty-one sections that make up the long poem tasks, translated masterfully into English by Katherine M. Hedeen and published by the exciting co-im-press.

In terms of describing tasks, I honestly don��Ĵ�ý�t know where to begin��Ĵ�ý�and this seems to be exactly the point: experiences, like Rodríguez-Núñez��Ĵ�ý� lines, are without beginning or end, borderless and beyond differentiation:

beards half a century old
scissors dread me
I��Ĵ�ý�m hardheaded
I��Ĵ�ý�m from another dream of roosters crowing
raccoon bandit
hygiene of bathrooms both exotic
not so much as a volcano

a sooting of flurries
I��Ĵ�ý�m a blue mark in the silence
freshly cut grass flamboyant trees
wonders of doubt

in the mirror there��Ĵ�ý�s someone gazing back
ransacked by the light
an old acquaintance

��Ĵ�ý�attempted excerpt from the section ��Ĵ�ý�origins.��Ĵ�ý�

Through the elimination of commas, periods, and uppercase letters (save for proper nouns and the ��Ĵ�ý�I��Ĵ�ý� in translation), Rodríguez-Núñez moves toward a form which he in the book��Ĵ�ý�s introduction calls ��Ĵ�ý�edgeless poetry.��Ĵ�ý� Indeed, it is difficult��Ĵ�ý�sometimes impossible��Ĵ�ý�for the reader of tasks to find a point where an idea begins or ends, and it��Ĵ�ý�s exactly within these limitless impossibilities that new meanings and magical images emerge from the text. Rodríguez-Núñez and Hedeen leave the reader hanging in a compelling cloud of disorientation��Ĵ�ý�guided by question marks as the only sentence-splitting punctuation��Ĵ�ý�throughout the book:

what does the peasant
right in the middle of a furrow
weeds no longer relevant
facing the freeway
where cars hum
for a moment head-raised want to tell you?
that it��Ĵ�ý�s rained and the corn is coming up strong this year?

that the sun��Ĵ�ý�s yolk
has just burst the horizon
starry with palms and agave flowers?
that the task is hard
and you won��Ĵ�ý�t write about all this?
tulips glimmer
only proof the sun survives

leaves aren��Ĵ�ý�t tame
they turned to glass in the night
when the workers cut the grass

��Ĵ�ý�attempted excerpt from the section ��Ĵ�ý�indisciplines��Ĵ�ý�.

Although memory perpetually haunts the quotidian, a comforting regeneration of nature always surrounds the narrator��Ĵ�ý�s experiences. tasks deserves to win the Best Translated Book Award 2017 because it reads like a stunning, hopeful requiem��Ĵ�ý�or a cut-up poem crafted from the transcript of a roundtable discussion between Federico García Lorca, Inger Christensen, and The Kinks��Ĵ�ý�presenting an imaginative remix of otherness and eco-poetics in a carefully crafted form where words, like migratory birds, roam freely across borders.

Spain vs. Costa Rica [Women's World Cup of Literature: Second Round]

Chad Post — Fri, 26 Jun 2015 17:01:44 +0000

This match was judged by Katrine Øgaard Jensen, blog editor at Asymptote. You can follow her on Twitter at @kojensen.

For more information on the Women’s World Cup of Literature, click here or here. Also, be sure to follow our and like our And check back here daily!

This match between Tatiana Lobo’s Assault on Paradise (translated by Asa Zatz) and Elvira Navarro’s The Happy City (translated by Rosalind Harvey) is really a battle between the epic and the subtle. Representing Costa Rica we have a novel depicting the Conquistadores and the Church invading Central America in the early 1700s, and may I just say that I��Ĵ�ý�ve rarely encountered such a larger-than-life opening (entitled “Pa-brú Presbere dreams of Surá, Lord of the Nether World”!!)

Here��Ĵ�ý�s a random sentence from the very first page, which is almost written as if God herself were the narrator:

The fire slowly expired and the shadows fell, the darkness good for thinking and meditation but not about the external things that anguish us in the officious light of day, rather about the secrets of the womb.

In contrast to this opening from “above,” The Happy City—a novel in two separate yet connected sections, representing Spain—begins very much from below, with the first pre-adolescent main character, Chi-Huei, spying on his father and his aunt from a garden (yes, this boy is witnessing something in a garden; need I say more about where the story is going?):

From the bushes, a chorus of crickets rose up, monotonous and precise, drowning out the hum of the traffic and the neighbors��Ĵ�ý� voices issuing from open windows. The sultry summer atmosphere oozed with the sweet, acidic scent of the loquats, and Chi-Huei liked to stand beneath the tree, breathing in the strangeness of the night, although he was not aware of its mute vibration just now.

As mentioned, The Happy City consists of two sections, and both of them follow a pre-teen (in the first section it��Ĵ�ý�s Chi-Huei, while the second section is dedicated to his friend Sara) discovering the disturbing complexities of the adult world. This novel is written with a sharp clarity, which Assault on Paradise at times fails to achieve. The “epic” nature of the latter almost forced me to keep a notebook in order to remember certain characters and events—which some readers like, I just happen to not like it—and that earns Spain a goal during the first half of this match.

In the second half, however, Costa Rica takes revenge. Although The Happy City covers some steps towards sexuality, it doesn��Ĵ�ý�t stand a chance against the intriguing misadventures of main character and admirer of women Pedro Albarán from Assault on Paradise. Just take a look at this opening sentence for chapter two, which pretty much sets the tone for the rest of the book:

Bárbare Lorenzana and Pedro Albarán arrived at the city of Cartago at the same time, slept under the same roof, made love to the same woman, and had not spoken to one another for the past ten long years.

Pedro��Ĵ�ý�s encounters include—but are not limited to—La Chamberga the innkeeper; a local prostitute called The Mother of Travelers; Agueda, wife of an officer in the army; and finally, a mute native woman who embodies the culture that Pedro Albarán��Ĵ�ý�s compatriots seek to terminate. Well done, Pedro. You��Ĵ�ý�ve scored a goal for Costa Rica.
With a score of 1-1, here comes the divine FIFA-like corruption scandal: I��Ĵ�ý�ve decided to leak an out-of-context quote from an email sent to me by fellow judge Meredith Miller, who scandalously allowed Costa Rica to win over Brazil last week. Here��Ĵ�ý�s what she wrote about Assault on Paradise:

Don’t get bogged down by all of the names or disoriented with the mythology in the opening pages.

Well said, Miller. The truth is, Assault on Paradise is epically ambitious in many ways, but it also manages to enthrall the reader with its clever use of low-brow humor combined with an elevated language when the story calls for it. Costa Rica scores the final goal of this match, because reading Assault on Paradise is an utterly entertaining and unique experience.

Costa Rica 2, Spain 1

With only one match left to come, we can speculate a bit on what the quarterfinals will look like. Germany’s The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine has clinched a bye, and unless Texas wins by 5, or Delirium by 4, Canada’s Oryx & Crake will automatically advance to the semi-finals as well. The rest of the seedings are still a bit in flux, with the current standings being Australia (+3), Costa Rica (+2), and Cameroon (+1). Tomorrow’s winner could finish anywhere in there . . .

Speaking of tomorrow, the last match of the second round will be judged by Hilary Plum and feature Texas: The Great Theft by Carmen Boullosa (Mexico) against Delirium by Laura Restrepo (Colombia). And following that, we’ll be able to specify who faces who in the quarter- and semi-finals.

Why This Book Should Win – The Woman Who Borrowed Memories by BTBA Judge Katrine Øgaard Jensen

Monica Carter — Tue, 14 Apr 2015 08:25:02 +0000

Katrine Øgaard Jensen is an editor-at-large for and the editor-in-chief for .

– Translated by Thomas Teal and Silvester Mazzarella
NYRB Classics

When growing up in Northern Europe, you come to expect a certain level of gloom in all good storytelling; even children��Ĵ�ý�s stories are not meant to be cute. In fact, most tales that my grandmother read to me before bedtime were absolutely brutal and still fill me with equal amounts of nostalgia and unease whenever I think of them.

Some of these haunting tales were written and illustrated by Tove Jansson. They were part of the adventures of Moomintroll, a dreamy-faced, hippopotamus-like creature, which became Jansson��Ĵ�ý�s most successful creation and inspired several television series, films, an opera, and theme parks in Japan and Finland. The most memorable stories for me included the Hattifatteners: silent, tall, ghost-like creatures who can��Ĵ�ý�t speak nor hear and have flaring hands attached to their neckless heads that feature one set of eyes. They are drawn to lightning, which makes them electric and dangerous; they travel the sea in small boats in groups of uneven numbers and they collectively own a barometer. In one story, a character steals this barometer and they relentlessly pursue him until they get it back. In another story, Moominpappa travels to the lonely island of the Hattifatteners, discovering the secret to their weather-obsession: they cannot feel emotions unless confronted by lightning.

The storyline of the Hattifatteners is terrifying, heartbreaking, and comforting simultaneously. In that sense, Tove Jansson��Ĵ�ý�s selected short stories for adults in The Woman Who Borrowed Memories: Selected Stories (New York Review Books, 2014), is not far from her children��Ĵ�ý�s literature. The Hattifatteners are simply swapped with isolated people: voyeurs watching others act around them, observing and feeding off the lightning, longing to connect, unable to participate in the world.

The opening story, ��Ĵ�ý�The Listener��Ĵ�ý�, encompasses this theme of isolation beautifully. It��Ĵ�ý�s a subtle tale of Aunt Gerda, a thoughtful and attentive listener, who undergoes a sudden change.

As the years went by and Aunt Gerda��Ĵ�ý�s weight of insight grew, it troubled no one that she knew so much about them. They counted on her protective faculty; they let themselves be misled by her peculiar air of innocence and neutrality. It was like telling secrets to a tree or a devoted pet and never having afterward that queasy feeling that you��Ĵ�ý�ve given yourself away. But now it was as if Aunt Gerda had lost her innocence.

Aunt Gerda decides to draw a map of everything she knows about everyone with neat ovals representing people and lines revealing their relationships: thefts of money, children, work, love, trust, and a single attempted murder, which makes her feel a cold thrill as she inscribes it.

Sometimes Aunt Gerda sat quietly without trying to remember, simply immersed in her solar system of past and emerging lives, sensing the future changes in the lines and ovals, inevitable in the light of obvious cause and effect. She felt a desire to forestall what must happen, to draw her own lines, new lines, maybe in silver and gold since all the other colors were taken. She toyed recklessly with the idea of making the dots and ovals movable, game pieces that could shift their context and create new constellations and entanglements.

The idea of observing, and sometimes even taking over, the lives of others reemerges throughout The Woman Who Borrowed Memories. The ultimate culmination of this manifests in the titular story where an old acquaintance steals a woman��Ĵ�ý�s memories until the thief finally ends up appropriating the other woman��Ĵ�ý�s life.

So why should The Woman Who Borrowed Memories win the Best Translated Book Award? Because it is impossible not to be moved by Jansson��Ĵ�ý�s stories, translated from the Swedish with great sensitivity by Thomas Teal and Silvester Mazzarella. As Lauren Groff writes in her introduction:

The terror of what��Ĵ�ý�s outside makes what��Ĵ�ý�s inside warmer, gentler; the light presses bravely against the danger and darkness. We read Tove Jansson to remember that to be human is dangerous, but also breathtaking, beautiful.

Jansson��Ĵ�ý�s collection offers both terror and consolation for anyone who has ever been a Hattifattener on that lonely island, desperately monitoring the weather and waiting, once more, for lightning to strike.

Notes on Some Noteable Danes ��Ĵ�ý� BTBA Judge Katrine Øgaard Jensen

Monica Carter — Thu, 04 Dec 2014 12:30:47 +0000

Katrine Øgaard Jensen is an editor-at-large for and the editor-in-chief for .

It��Ĵ�ý�s December. I still have a shit-ton of books left to read for the BTBA, and the very thought of writing a blogpost about my favorite contenders is giving me mild anxiety. But, as a Chuang Tzu once wrote (in David Hinton��Ĵ�ý�s excellent translation), ��Ĵ�ý�small fear is fever and worry; great fear is vast and calm.��Ĵ�ý�

The great fear, in this case, consists in creating a longlist from so many well-designed, well-written, and well-translated books. It��Ĵ�ý�s so frightening that I��Ĵ�ý�m actually okay with it. But here comes the small fear: my two cents about what��Ĵ�ý�s good in the pile of submissions.

I can certainly reveal some of my favorite titles to you, such as Valeria Luiselli��Ĵ�ý�s (trans. by Christina MacSweeney), Roberto Bolano��Ĵ�ý�s (trans. by Natasha Wimmer), Scholastique Mukasonga��Ĵ�ý�s (trans. by Melanie Mauthner), and Karl Ove Knausgaard��Ĵ�ý�s (trans. by Don Bartlett), but since all of these titles have already been mentioned several times, I figured my blogging energy would be better spent on two Danish titles that have not yet come up as anybody��Ĵ�ý�s favorites. I will allow my fellow judges the benefit of the doubt, and assume they have yet to read the books I��Ĵ�ý�m about to highlight.

As a Dane, Naja Marie Aidt��Ĵ�ý�s writing has been an inevitable part of my life. I grew up reading and analyzing her short stories in middle and high school classes, and I��Ĵ�ý�ve remained fascinated by her fiction ever since. One of Aidt��Ĵ�ý�s literary fortes is her depiction of distorted human relationships; sometimes conveyed explicitly through master-slave abuse, pedophilia, or snuff (Vandmærket, 1993), sometimes portrayed through subtle powerplay and deceit as a matter of routine (Tilgang, 1995). Aidt��Ĵ�ý�s latest short story collection and first book in English, (Two Lines Press), is no exception:

��Ĵ�ý�I slowly peeled the clothes off her, and she looked beautiful on the red Persian rug, in the warm light from the fire. She spread her legs. She looked at me with dark, sorrowful eyes. Your sister has a tighter cunt than you. I wonder whether you��Ĵ�ý�re born that way, or if it��Ĵ�ý�s just because she��Ĵ�ý�s so young.��Ĵ�ý� (From Bulbjerg)

These disturbing tales will potentially stay with you for years; they have certainly haunted me since 2006, when I first read the collection in Danish. Rereading Baboon in English was an immense pleasure, thanks to an incredible translation by Denise Newman who managed to capture the beauty of Aidt��Ĵ�ý�s descriptive prose while maintaining a sense of urgency within the lines:

��Ĵ�ý�Suddenly we found ourselves in the middle of an astonishing landscape: luminous, white sand dunes on all sides, wind swept, small trees twisting under the vast open sky. We gasped joyfully as though coming up for air after being under water too long. We stood there looking around, our eyes blinking after staring at the gravel road in the dark forest for so long. Even the smell was different here, salty and fresh, the sea had to be close by. But we lost our bearings long ago.��Ĵ�ý�

Aidt��Ĵ�ý�s talent for combining brutality and beauty is, in my opinion, nothing less than extraordinary.

Another Dane who deserves honorable mention in the BTBA is Dorthe Nors. Her short story collection (Graywolf Press/A Public Space) is a delightfully fast and punchy read, expertly rendered by translator Martin Aitken. Nors��Ĵ�ý� combination of light language and dark humor is captivating -not only within each individual story, but also in the way the stories complement each other. From the tragicomic self-proclaimed Buddhist, to the man who googles female killers when his wife is asleep, to the heron in Frederiksberg Gardens with mites living in its underfeathers:

��Ĵ�ý�Last winter I saw one slouching on the back of a bench with its long, scrawny neck. Its feet were completely white and it barely even reacted when I walked past. The way the wind ruffled its neck feathers made me want to go back and sit down next to it. It was the way the suffering had to be drawn out like that, the way herons never really muster the enthusiasm. But I won��Ĵ�ý�t touch birds, alive or dead.��Ĵ�ý� (from “The Heron”)

Nors��Ĵ�ý� short story “The Heron” was the first Danish piece to be published in The New Yorker, and it truly does work well as the literary centerpiece of the perfectly unpredictable Karate Chop.

Judging Books by Their Covers – BTBA Judge Katrine Øgaard Jensen

Monica Carter — Tue, 30 Sep 2014 10:19:03 +0000

Katrine Øgaard Jensen is an editor-at-large for and the editor-in-chief for .

Since I am the youngest, the least knowledgeable, and by far the most superficial judge in the BTBA, it��Ĵ�ý�s only appropriate that I make my first blog post about something sexy. As a judge in the much-fun World Cup of Literature this summer, also hosted by Three Percent, my write up for Croatia vs. Mexico accidentally ended up referencing my sexual mischief in June. So yeah, I��Ĵ�ý�m not going to bore anyone with that again. Instead, I believe it would be appropriately disgraceful of me to dedicate this post to: not the authors, not the translators, but the book designers.

That��Ĵ�ý�s right. I��Ĵ�ý�m judging books by their covers.

In appreciation of the , presented by the nonprofit (provider of artists��Ĵ�ý� book awesomeness since 1976), I would like to acknowledge some of my favorite covers in the BTBA so far. I feel particularly compelled to do so after witnessing an inspiring talk last week about cover design and the visual enactment of literature, as a part of the at Columbia University. The talk was given by one of my favorite contemporary book designers, Peter Mendelsund, whose new Kafka covers you might have noticed (the series with the eyes). Mendelsund studied philosophy and literature, went on to become a classical pianist, and then suddenly decided to learn book design on his own. His appreciation for immediacy inspired me to go ahead and blog about something I have absolutely no knowledge of. Also, he claimed that developing a taste in design was super easy. Basically, you just ask yourself what looks good. So there.

First up is : a novel, cover illustration by Joel Holland (written by Juan Pablo Villalobos, translated from the Spanish by Rosalind Harvey, published by Farrar, Straus and Giroux).

I immediately noticed this light paperback when it came in the mail, despite the fact that it chose to arrive with books from five different publishers. The black-on-lime green cover claimed my attention, along with the cow-on-UFO illustration. What��Ĵ�ý�s not to like? I started reading Quesadillas the following day, solely due to its cover.

Another well-designed delicacy I devoured because of its cover was (written by Takashi Hiraide, translated from the Japanese by Eric Selland, published by New Directions). Erik Rieselbach is behind this intriguing design (more honorable mention for him later), although the cover art is actually an oil painting by Léonard Tsugouharu Foujita from 1927.

According to , this piece of oil on canvas, entitled ��Ĵ�ý�Chat Couturier��Ĵ�ý�, is worth $60,000-$80,000. I��Ĵ�ý�m not sure if I would ever want that thing on my wall ��Ĵ�ý� a cat in any kind of artwork makes me uncomfortable ��Ĵ�ý� but as a book cover it definitely works. That stare would make anyone open anything, be it a book, a safe, or an anchovy sandwich.

Next up is (written by Naja Marie Aidt, translated from the Danish by Denise Newman, published by Two Lines Press). Although broken flowers make me think of Bill Murray by default, Gabriele Wilson��Ĵ�ý�s cover art mercifully exceeds my previous notions. There��Ĵ�ý�s something haunting about the shadows on the petals, something stunning about this terrible flower on a pale background. I��Ĵ�ý�m a fan.

Lastly, I have to dedicate a final paragraph to some books that have already been mentioned by my fellow judge, Madeleine LaRue. I will not waste your time with even more praise to these publications, but simply point out that their covers are among my favorites as well:

, cover art by Amedeo Modigliani (written by Scholastique Mukasonga, translated from the French by Melanie Mauthner, published by Archipelago Books).
, cover design by N. J. Furl (an anthology of Spanish-language fiction curated by Valerie Miles, published by Open Letter Books).

, cover design ��Ĵ�ý� yet again – by Erik Rieselbach (written by Jenny Erpenbeck, translated from the German by Susan Bernofsky, published by New Directions).

That will be all.

Mexico vs. Croatia [World Cup of Literature: First Round]

Chad Post — Fri, 20 Jun 2014 14:00:00 +0000

This match was judged by Katrine Øgaard Jensen. For more info on the World Cup of Literature, read this, and download the bracket.

Mexico vs. Croatia

A few years back, during a drunken Christmas party at a Danish newspaper, I asked a colleague how she developed her opinions as a movie critic. She did not have an academic background in film, and yet there she was, at a national paper, reviewing movies every week.
��Ĵ�ý�Piece of cake!��Ĵ�ý� she exclaimed, ��Ĵ�ý�I just think of the movie as a soccer match, making up the score as I watch it. When I leave the theatre, I ask myself: How was the game?��Ĵ�ý�

I decided to adopt the movie critic��Ĵ�ý�s honorable method in this piece for World Cup of Literature, Mexico vs. Croatia. Furthermore, I have subjected the two competing novels, Faces in the Crowd by Valeria Luiselli, and Baba Yaga Laid an Egg by Dubravka Ugresic, to reading in several diverse environments in exciting New York City, including a local coffee shop in Bushwick, a local bar in Bushwick, and my bed (also in Bushwick). I highly doubt that any reader will find this carefully thought-out method to be anything but utterly agreeable.

New York City Subway

It almost seems unfair; Faces in the Crowd actually depicts a NYC subway car on its cover. Its short, poetic prose, served to the reader as connected vignettes, is a match made in heaven for a ride on the L train, infested with hipsters either listening to “Heaven Knows I��Ĵ�ý�m Miserable Now” by The Smiths on their iPhones, or talking loudly to their twenty-something friends about failed Tinder dates. You don��Ĵ�ý�t need an attention span to read Faces in the Crowd. You could even consider displacing it on one of those orange plastic seats, to see if the book actually starts reading itself for you.

Baba Yaga, on the other hand, is an outright hassle to get through on the subway. The literary style is dense; it��Ĵ�ý�s difficult to stay focused in the midst of the IT��Ĵ�ý�S SHOWTIME boys breakdancing on the poles, the occasional evangelist, the Alicia Keys wannabe, and whoever else demands my attention in the subway car.

I really shouldn��Ĵ�ý�t be allowed to read good literature. They should give literary licenses to responsible adults only.

GOAL TO MEXICO
(Mexico 1 ��Ĵ�ý� Croatia 0)

Local Bushwick Coffee Shop

Three mornings a week, I buy a breakfast bagel and a coffee from a Colombian sunbeam of a woman. She greets me with the words, ��Ĵ�ý�morning sweetie, what can I get for you,��Ĵ�ý� forever in the midst of entertaining the rest of the coffee shop with tales from her home country. The day I bring in my World Cup of Literature titles to read, she speaks fondly of her single-parent upbringing while taking my order.

��Ĵ�ý�My mother used to beat me with a belt. Taught me not to make the same mistake twice, oh no,��Ĵ�ý� she says, and laughs. I laugh too.

��Ĵ�ý�I bet your mother never beat you,��Ĵ�ý� she says to me, and I tell her she is right. Then we laugh again.

This morning I find myself in awe of Baba Yaga. Ugresic��Ĵ�ý�s nightmarishly truthful depiction of a mother-daughter relationship through the first eighty pages of the book puts words to situations that I��Ĵ�ý�ve become only too familiar with, ever since my mother��Ĵ�ý�s illness transformed her into a Baba Yaga when I was twenty. Ugresic is clearly a literary master unworthy of my judgment, and oops, what��Ĵ�ý�s that piece of information I overlooked on the cover? ��Ĵ�ý�Nominated for the Man Booker International Prize.��Ĵ�ý�

GOAL TO CROATIA.
(Mexico 1 ��Ĵ�ý� Croatia 1)

Riverside Park

The sun is burning my Scandinavian scalp, while my blond mane is drenching the forehead and neck in sweat. I buy 3-dollar water from a cart in the park and curse the smirking salesman for just about three minutes in my head, a minute per dollar, I guess. It��Ĵ�ý�s gross out, and I don��Ĵ�ý�t feel like dealing with the heaviness of Baba Yaga��Ĵ�ý�s 327 pages. I find a bench in the shade, try to read a few pages, but must admit defeat. Once again, I pull out Faces in the Crowd. It��Ĵ�ý�s easy to get back into, it��Ĵ�ý�s the guilty pleasure of having sex with your ex—it��Ĵ�ý�s effortless:

Milk, diaper, vomiting and regurgitation, cough, snot, and abundant dribble. The cycles now are short, repetitive, and imperative. It��Ĵ�ý�s impossible to try to write. The baby looks at me from her high chair: sometimes with resentment, sometimes with admiration. Maybe with love, if we are indeed able to love at that age. She produces sounds that will have a hard time adapting themselves to Spanish, when she learns to speak it. Closed vowels, guttural opinions. She speaks a bit like the characters in a Lars von Trier movie.

Admittedly, I have a soft spot for Lars, so Luiselli naturally scores with me right there, on a sweaty bench in Riverside Park. I think of an old boyfriend who took me to see Antichrist in the movie theatre. He was really into soccer.

GOAL TO MEXICO
(Mexico 2 ��Ĵ�ý� Croatia 1)

In Bed In Bushwick

��Ĵ�ý�Is that about Baba Yaga?��Ĵ�ý� my new friend asks, as we lie down to read on my bed, belly first.

��Ĵ�ý�Yeah, kind of,��Ĵ�ý� I say. We look like book seals, although that��Ĵ�ý�s not a thing.

��Ĵ�ý�She��Ĵ�ý�s that witch who eats children, right! Is that book going to win?��Ĵ�ý�

��Ĵ�ý�I don��Ĵ�ý�t know, it��Ĵ�ý�s kind of a masterpiece, but it��Ĵ�ý�s also kind of hard to get through. I think I like this one better,��Ĵ�ý� I say, and tap the cover of Faces in the Crowd.

��Ĵ�ý�Well, I think this one should win!��Ĵ�ý� he says, and pushes Baba Yaga closer to me. The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are playing on Spotify as I begin reading. I was going to put on The Smiths, but decided we were not quite there yet.

I discover that the second section of the book is much sillier than the first; the humor is kind of adorable. I especially enjoy the scene where an elderly woman, Beba, is getting a massage from the young Mevlo:

Beba didn��Ĵ�ý�t know what to say. As far as she could judge, the young man was fine in every way. More than fine.

��Ĵ�ý�This thing of mine stands up like a flagpole, but what��Ĵ�ý�s the use, love, when I��Ĵ�ý�m cold as an icicle? It��Ĵ�ý�s as much use to me as a cripple��Ĵ�ý�s withered leg. You can do what you like with it, tap it as much as you like, it just echoes as though it was hollow.��Ĵ�ý�

��Ĵ�ý�Hang on, what are you talking about?��Ĵ�ý�

��Ĵ�ý�My willy, love, you must have noticed.��Ĵ�ý�

��Ĵ�ý�No,��Ĵ�ý� lied Beba.

I tell my new friend that Baba Yaga is pretty great. I also tell him that he has a huge cock.

We met on Tinder.

GOAL TO CROATIA
(Mexico 2 ��Ĵ�ý� Croatia 2)

Local Bushwick Bar

I��Ĵ�ý�m ordering a completely legitimate Tuesday counter-drink, hair of the dog. A counter-Bacardi rum and coke; it has to be exactly the same as the night before, or it won��Ĵ�ý�t help. At this point, there is no point in denying the obvious, I tell the bartender, as Brazil fails to shine against Mexico on the TV behind him.

I don��Ĵ�ý�t feel like reading Baba Yaga right now. I feel like reading Faces in the Crowd. There, I said it.

GOAL TO MEXICO
(Mexico 3 ��Ĵ�ý� Croatia 2)

——

Katrine Øgaard Jensen is an Editor-at-Large for Asymptote, and the Editor-in-Chief for Columbia: A Journal of Literature and Art. She is currently pursuing an MFA in Creative Writing at Columbia University, majoring in Fiction and Literary Translation.

——

katrine ogaard jensen – Three Percent

“Extracting the Stone of Madness” by Alejandra Pizarnik [Why This Book Should Win]

“tasks” by Víctor Rodríguez Núñez [Why This Book Should Win]

Spain vs. Costa Rica [Women's World Cup of Literature: Second Round]

Why This Book Should Win – The Woman Who Borrowed Memories by BTBA Judge Katrine Øgaard Jensen

Notes on Some Noteable Danes ���Ĵ�ý� BTBA Judge Katrine Øgaard Jensen

Judging Books by Their Covers – BTBA Judge Katrine Øgaard Jensen

Mexico vs. Croatia [World Cup of Literature: First Round]

Notes on Some Noteable Danes ��Ĵ�ý� BTBA Judge Katrine Øgaard Jensen