糖心传媒淎 masterfully nested narrative where writing糖心传媒攊ts presence on the page, its course through time, its prismatic dispersion of meaning糖心传媒攊s the true protagonist.糖心传媒�
糖心传媒擧ernan Diaz,聽author of聽In the Distance

糖心传媒淣ow I am going to tell the story of something that happened one night years ago, and the events of the morning and afternoon that followed.糖心传媒�

begins with this simple promise. But to try to get at the complete meaning of the day糖心传媒檚 events, the narrator must first take us on an international tour糖心传媒攆rom the docks of Buenos Aires, to Barcelona, until we check in at the gloomy Hotel Salgado with the narrator糖心传媒檚 transient friend Felix in Moscow. From scraps of information left behind on postcards and hotel stationery, the narrator hopes to reconstruct Felix糖心传媒檚 stay there. With flights of imagination, he conjures up the hotel糖心传媒檚 labyrinthine hallways, Masha, the captive hotel manager, and the city糖心传媒檚 public markets, filled with piles of broken televisions.

Each character carries within them a secret that they don糖心传媒檛 quite understand糖心传媒攁 stash of foreign money hidden in the pages of a book, a wasteland at the edge of the city, a mysterious shaft of light in the sky. The Incompletes聽is a novel disturbed by this half-knowledge, haunted by the fact that any complete version of events is always just outside our reach.

Begin reading聽The Incompletes聽颈苍听 补苍诲听.

by Sergio Chejfec, translated from the Spanish by Heather Cleary
September 24, 2019
978-1-948830-03-4 | $14.95 (pb)
978-1-948830-09-6 | $9.99 (ebook)

Praise for Sergio Chejfec

糖心传媒淪ergio Chejfec糖心传媒檚聽The Incompletes聽is a masterfully nested narrative where writing糖心传媒攊ts presence on the page, its course through time, its prismatic dispersion of meaning糖心传媒攊s the true protagonist. Heather Cleary糖心传媒檚 flawless translation adds yet another layer to this extraordinary palimpsest of a novel.糖心传媒�
糖心传媒擧ernan Diaz, author of聽In the Distance

糖心传媒�The Incompletes聽is, simply put, Chejfec’s best book, a 糖心传媒榯hriller糖心传媒� in a way for him, but the thing that got me is how it’s also an inside out Madame Bovary.糖心传媒�
糖心传媒擩avier Molea, McNally Jackson

糖心传媒淥n first reading Chejfec, we recall many admired authors, but at a later moment糖心传媒攁 more solid and lasting one糖心传媒攚e realize that he resembles no one, and that he has chosen an unusual and quite distinctive path, one that reveals itself slowly because of the demanding and very personal searches the author himself carries out in his narrative.糖心传媒�
糖心传媒擡nrique Vila-Matas

糖心传媒淚n this innovative novel, Chejfec is gesturing toward the grand European traditions on his own terms.糖心传媒�
糖心传媒�Kirkus Reviews

糖心传媒淚t is hard to think of another contemporary writer who, marrying true intellect with simple description of a space, simultaneously covers so little and so much ground.糖心传媒�
糖心传媒�Times Literary Supplement

糖心传媒淚f genius can be defined by the measure of depth of an artist糖心传媒檚 perception into human experience, then Chejfec is a genius.糖心传媒�’
糖心传媒�Coffin Factory

Sergio Chejfec,聽originally from Argentina, has published numerous works of fiction, poetry, and essays. Among his grants and prizes, he has received fellowships from the Civitella Ranieri Foundation in 2007 and the John Simon Guggenheim Foundation in 2000. He currently teaches in the Creative Writing in Spanish Program at NYU. His novels,聽The Planets聽(a finalist for the 2013 Best Translated Book Award in fiction),聽The Dark聽, 补苍诲听My Two Worlds聽, are also available from Open Letter in English translation.

Heather Cleary糖心传媒檚 translations include Roque Larraquy糖心传媒檚聽Comemadre, C茅sar Rendueles糖心传媒檚聽Sociophobia, Sergio Chejfec糖心传媒檚聽The Planets聽补苍诲听The Dark, and a selection of Oliverio Girondo糖心传媒檚 poetry for New Directions.

As an added bonus, there’s a short conversation Chad had with Uday Prakash about his collection

This week’s music is from the new Raveonettes album, Pe’ahi.

As always you can subscribe to the podcast in iTunes by clicking . To subscribe with other podcast downloading software, such as Google’s , copy the following link.

Much of the response to Sergio Chejfec糖心传媒檚 English-language debut, My Two Worlds, published in 2011 by Open Letter, placed him squarely in a Sebaldian camp. The narrator is on a walk, reminiscing both on his past and the historical past of the landscape around him, and it is a novel of a consciousness, of the interior of a single 糖心传媒淚.糖心传媒� Although a grounding comparison for that novel, it does a reader little kindness for his most recent book, The Dark. As I read, I did think of Sebald and other authors, other types of novels, and tried to find that grounding糖心传媒攁 language, a basic reading to build off. Each comparison got me lost. Any attempt to use them puts us on a stray path. The text demands we abandon those comparisons and learn how to read this specific novel. That alone is a rarity and, for me, a reading experience worth the effort.

This is a novel entirely of the interior糖心传媒攁 solipsistic narrator, isolated and writing alone in a room, recounting his relationship with a past love. We have access only to his thoughts and, more particularly, his perception, which we are trapped in. This in itself is nothing new; the recognition of constant subjectivity is old hat, but the absolute consistency of it is the challenge here. 糖心传媒淭he dark糖心传媒� of the title is everything he does not care to concern himself with, and nearly the only way it expands is through an object of love, Delia. No other character in the novel receives a name, and of the other ones we meet, their stories are always connected with Delia, allowing the nameless narrator to expound further on her existence, the meaning of it.

In his opening lines, Chejfec糖心传媒檚 narrator tells us that 糖心传媒淚t has always unsettled me that geography does not change with time, with the changes that take place within it, within us.糖心传媒� With one stroke, we have the strange tone that will permeate the book. He is an unsettled man, only at ease in the carefully crafted idyllic memories of his past with Delia, and even those are darkly shadowed by the events糖心传媒攖he full truth of which is hidden for most of the novel糖心传媒攖hat lead to his abandonment of her. Even as she is his only way outside of himself, that way is narrow. And we have his confusion: immediately after denying that geography does not change with time, he perceives changes within it as indiscernible from the interior of himself.

This narrator is one of those infamous unreliable ones, but not as a game where you strive to perceive the truth of events糖心传媒攈ere it can be hauntingly obvious糖心传媒攏or is he not a cleverly withholding narrator confident in his ability to outsmart the reader.

Be sure and to read the full piece, and then read the book. It’s one of Chejfec’s best. (Which is saying a lot.)

by Sergio Chejfec, translated from the Spanish by Heather Cleary and published by Open Letter Books

This piece is by Korean translator Deborah Smith. You can follow her on Twitter at @londonkoreanist.

Among the spate of excellent writing coming out of Argentina in recent years, Sergio Chejfec stands out. My Two Worlds, the first of his full-length works to be published in English translation (Open Letter), gave us a masterful match-up of digressive style with peripatetic narrator/fl芒neur which seemed a fitting heir to the Sebaldian tradition. The Planets, also published by Open Letter, and translated by Heather Cleary, whose sensitivity to the specific effects which Chejfec is hoping to achieve through his singular style is happily matched by her skill at rendering this in English, is in many ways a continuation of this aesthetic. In other words, it’s another slim yet weighty work straddling the border between the novel and memoir, all with a healthy dose of philosophical mediation.

Yet there is nothing dry or sterile about The Planets, shot through as it is with both the narrator’s understated grief over the “disappearance” of his childhood friend M in early 1970s Buenos Aires, and the dark undercurrents of tension and uncertainty which define that period of Argentine history. Written from the point of view of the narrator looking back on his childhood with M after he believes that the latter has been killed in an explosion, his attempts to bring the past (and thus his friend) back to life are held in check by the distancing effects of time on the intimacy of friendship.

The narrator’s many meditative digressions are in fact such an integral component to the movement of the narrative that to call them digressions seems a disservice, though this movement is more akin to the orbits of the titular planets than to the traditional forward march of a more plot-driven book. And the centre of gravity is M, an emotional centre from which the narrator’s mind jumps off into the philosophical, but to which these passages always swing back before becoming esoteric:

The real illusion that is space, or, more accurately, the confined, familiar city in which our reciprocal identity manifested itself, disappeared in M’s absence. There was no sense trying to recapture it through intermittent, inevitably anonymous, and more or less melancholy visits to his neighbourhood or the places we used to go because, unlike objects—which, like photos, can at any moment become talismans or relics—space has its own ephemeral hierarchy.

For me, it is precisely this abstract quality which somewhat paradoxically serves to strengthen the emotional force of the narrator’s childhold memories, whilst at the same time ensuring that these never descend into sentimental nostalgia. Reading the final few pages, I actually got pretty emotional. Without a doubt, The Planets would be a worthy winner—and I can’t wait to see what Chejfec will do next.

Self-Control, S忙terbakken糖心传媒檚 follow-up to Siamese, centers around Andreas Feldt, a middle-aged man who, filled with an intense and unknowable sense of desperation, is driven to test the validity of his existence and its influence on others around him. The novel opens with Feldt sharing a meal with one of his two estranged daughters. During this encounter, without 糖心传媒渢he slightest notion of an appropriate thing to say,糖心传媒� Feldt inexplicably claims that he is divorcing his wife. This lie seemingly has no effect upon the daughter, but it has a profound impact on Andreas. Confused and disoriented by his own lie, as well as by his daughter糖心传媒檚 indifference to the news, Feldt wanders back out into the world, engaging in a series of encounters with acquaintances, family members, and strangers in which he aggressively tries to exercise influence, if not control, over the lives of others糖心传媒攁nd over his own life.

At the heart of Self-Control is Feldt糖心传媒檚 pervasive repression. We never learn precisely what he is repressing, but its traumatic nature is betrayed by his preoccupation with a missing girl whose disappearance is continually mentioned in the headlines. Feldt clearly identifies with her disappearance糖心传媒攑erhaps with her invisibility, perhaps merely with the tragedy of her likely fate糖心传媒攁nd in fact it is the only conduit through which he seems able to experience his world. Toward everything else he is stubbornly reticent.

Feldt糖心传媒檚 outbursts, then, are unpredictable, violent and ultimately impotent, serving only to make him increasingly aware of his own powerlessness. There are only two options Feldt seems to recognize: he can either fully identify with intolerable despair, the cause of which he refuses to locate, or he can resign himself to invisibility. The novel糖心传媒檚 big reveal糖心传媒攖he only piece of information that matters, in a way, to the novel and its narrator糖心传媒攊s withheld until its final words, but the revelation does not provide clarity or resolution; quite to the contrary, the book糖心传媒檚 ending complicates Feldt糖心传媒檚 choice, along with all that we have come to understand about him.

In stylistic counterpoint to Siamese, the prose in Self-Control is intentionally flat, featureless. The novel is essentially unquotable, its slow narrative an often painfully meticulous depiction of the very smallest operations of Feldt糖心传媒檚 consciousness, most of which he糖心传媒檚 unwilling to acknowledge, and of the suffering he experiences in avoiding pain. Like a Cassavetes film, Self-Control unfolds scene by scene with characters trying desperately to express forces inside them that they cannot account for, or, in Feldt糖心传媒檚 case, even acknowledge. S忙terbakken糖心传媒檚 ambiguous characters change with every page; they refuse easy patterns of behavior that would make them too recognizable, too untrue. They are often repugnant, but S忙terbakken saw such honesty as part of the duty of art and literature.

And one of my personal favorite reviews,

Although Shishkin糖心传媒檚 prodigious talent has been recognized for many years in his native Russia, as well as in Germany and France, until now English readers have only had access to 糖心传媒淭he Half-Belt Overcoat.糖心传媒� That story, translated by Leo Shtutin, appeared in the Read Russia! anthology published earlier this year, and was, to my mind, easily the best in the collection. Maidenhair more than lives up to its promise; beautifully translated by Marian Schwartz, it is a fierce book from a sharp and generous mind.

There are, roughly, three narrative lines which structure the novel: in one, a nameless interpreter (Shishkin糖心传媒檚 alter-ego), who works with asylum seekers in Switzerland, writes letters to his absent son, 糖心传媒淣ebuchadnezzasaurus.糖心传媒� In another, two voices of unknown or unstable identity engage in a series of questions and answers. In the last, a Russian singer named Bella Dmitrievna records her life, and most of the twentieth century, in diaries which the interpreter will eventually read when he attempts to write her biography. With these three strands, Maidenhair weaves its tangled braid, although contained within it are also a dizzying array of historical digressions, philosophical preoccupations, parables, letters, jokes, and literary allusions.

I hesitate to describe the book as 糖心传媒渦niversal糖心传媒� lest this imply that its themes, or its treatment of them, are banal; they are not. On the contrary, they are wonderfully inventive. So when I say that Maidenhair is universal, I mean that it wants to constitute a universe 糖心传媒� or perhaps a map of the universe that is the same size as the universe itself. [. . .]

Shishkin has been described as the heir apparent of the great Russian novelists, and indeed, there are times when he seems to have taken the best from each of them. From Tolstoy he has inherited a sense for the epic; from Dostoevsky, spiritual acuity and a social conscience. He takes Nabokov糖心传媒檚 remarkable linguistic flexibility but none of his arrogance; like Chekhov, he looks on humanity with humor and compassion. Shishkin糖心传媒檚 Baroque turns of phrases seem written out of necessity and joy rather than pretention; he respects his readers, he delights in language, and he does not need to show off.

In the fourteen-page Author糖心传媒檚 Afterward to his Selected Poems, Xi Chuan references or quotes from Tolstoy, Yang Lian, the Zhuangzi, the Indian social theorist Ashis Nandy, Eileen Chang, Leo Strauss, C.T. Hsia, Jonathan Spence, Milan Kundera, Li Bai, Czeslaw Milosz, the 20th-century sociologist Fei Xiaotong, ancient philosopher Han Feizi, Mao Zedong, Foucault, Tang dynasty literati Han Yu, and Goethe. This is not a poet who can be accused of parochialism. Yet Xi Chuan wears his erudition lightly, at least in the context of his verse. This is not to say that the poems do not give a sense of a formidable intellect behind them糖心传媒攖hey do糖心传媒攂ut what is striking in the poems is less Xi Chuan糖心传媒檚 breadth of reference than his sense of humor, his humanity, and his attention to the smallest details of ordinary life, ranging from bodily functions to rats to the way drizzle soaks through socks.

Xi Chuan was born in 1963, just after the mass starvation of the Great Leap Forward, and was a small child during Mao糖心传媒檚 Cultural Revolution. Lucky and talented enough to be one of the few children able to go to school at the time, he later went on to major in English at Beijing University. As translator Lucas Klein explains in his exemplary Translator糖心传媒檚 Introduction, in the spring of 1989 Xi Chuan lost two close poet friends, Hai Zi and Luo Yihe, both of whom were also Beijing University students. Following on the heels of that trauma were the events in Tiananmen, which Xi Chuan participated in and suffered from. The pain of his friends糖心传媒� deaths and the disillusionment he experienced after the government crackdown discouraged him from writing for nearly two years. When he resumed, his style had changed considerably from the Imagist Western-influenced Obscure Poetry exemplified by poets such as Bei Dao, Duo Duo, and Yang Lian. He moved toward a more philosophical and less lyrical prose poetry that contrasts with his earlier shorter, often nature-inspired work. His most recent poems play with ideas of paradox, inheritance, and the past, present, and future of civilization.

These are large themes, and Xi Chuan knows how to write large poems to encompass them. [. . .]

But Klein糖心传媒檚 ear rarely fails him. He captures both the music and slightly anachronistic feel of the original Chinese in the early poem 糖心传媒淚n the Mountains糖心传媒�: 糖心传媒淒usk congeals over the hungry cliff / excess dusk presses onto my tent / sunlight walks by on stones.糖心传媒� Xi Chuan abandoned this youthful style, and Klein糖心传媒攁 scholar of contemporary and Tang dynasty literature糖心传媒攏ot only keenly identifies this and other more subtle shifts, but also manages to convey the changes convincingly, allowing the reader to come away with a sense of the arc of Xi Chuan糖心传媒檚 artistic development. He comes up with lines that resound beautifully: 糖心传媒渓ook to life糖心传媒檚 last station / when the long-deceased song passes on again and red Persian asters / assemble in the distance like a chorus of birds.糖心传媒� The sound play of 糖心传媒渓ife糖心传媒檚 last station糖心传媒� and 糖心传媒渟ong passes on糖心传媒� moving to 糖心传媒淧ersian asters糖心传媒� to 糖心传媒渂irds糖心传媒� builds a lovely alliterative scene that in sheer beauty momentarily surpasses the music of the original. So much is sacrificed in translation that a translator must identify and seize these fortuities wherever he can, and time and again Klein does exactly that. Xi Chuan糖心传媒檚 verse could not have been better served in English.

The announcement on October 11 that Chinese writer Mo Yan had won the 2012 Nobel Prize for Literature was met with delight in some quarters and despair in others. The hand-wringers have focused on Mo Yan糖心传媒檚 politics糖心传媒攐r rather their perception of Mo Yan糖心传媒檚 lack of political consciousness糖心传媒攁nd talk about this has dominated editorial pages in the West, rather than talk about his art. In recent weeks, the 2009 Nobel Literature Prize winner, Romanian author Herta Mueller, characterized Mo Yan as a Communist Party hack and called the award 糖心传媒渁 catastrophe.糖心传媒�

Mo Yan糖心传媒檚 politics are somewhat oblique, by design, and a read of his most recently translated novel, Pow!, shows that comments like Mueller糖心传媒檚 are wide of the mark. Shot through with politics and history and translated by the masterful Howard Goldblatt, Pow! adds to the growing list of Mo Yan糖心传媒檚 rollicking and ribald novels available in English糖心传媒攁ll translated by Goldblatt, who has championed Mo Yan糖心传媒檚 work for decades and continues to do the author great justice in his earthy and vivid translations. [. . .]

Part fable, part fictionalized autobiography, Pow! is told from the point of view of the not altogether reliable Luo Xiaotong and hinges on the transformation of his home village from a farming community to Slaughterhouse Village. There糖心传媒檚 more money in meat than in crops, and the entire village has found new prosperity as a center for the killing and butchering of animals from the surrounding countryside. The narrator糖心传媒檚 father, Luo Tong, is as famed for his ability to judge the weight of livestock just by looking at them as he is for his incorruptibility糖心传媒攈e refuses any and all gifts from livestock sellers, even something as trifling as a cigarette. He shows less self-control in sexual matters, however, and a good portion of the novel details the privations suffered by the narrator after his father runs off with another woman, the sexually supercharged Aunty Wild Mule, a favorite consort of village headman, Lao Lan. Luo Tong and Lao Lan糖心传媒檚 rivalry over Aunty Wild Mule is an ongoing source of conflict in the novel. [. . .]

If this book isn糖心传媒檛 a social and political critique, I don糖心传媒檛 know what is. The narrator is a child in a man糖心传媒檚 body, sexually frustrated, powerless, and poor. Who糖心传媒檚 on top in this society? Corrupt village heads and Party officials with their Audi A6s and Remy Martin cognac. The peasants get rich feeding the unseemly appetites of China糖心传媒檚 new urban bourgeoisie with bogus and sometimes toxic products, while the countryside itself turns into an abattoir. This is the Reform Era and these are the Party bosses who have guided it. In case we miss the point, the narrator states: 糖心传媒淯gly, snot-nosed, grime-covered children, who are kicked about like mangy dogs糖心传媒� are more likely than attractive and happy children to grow up to be 糖心传媒渢hugs, armed robbers, high officials or senior military officers.糖心传媒� If China糖心传媒檚 leaders and low-lifes are drawn from the same pool, what hope is there?

And what of Xiaotong, the common man? He糖心传媒檚 impotent. Pow! reaches its climax in a fantasy act of vengeance in which Xiaotong fires 41 shells at Lao Lan. Xiaotong lays waste to the village and slaughterhouse, but after each salvo Lao Lan emerges, Rasputin-like, virtually unscathed, until the very end. Lao Lan is a scion of the gentry who ran the village in dynastic times, and the narrator stresses this continuity. If Lao Lan exemplifies official corruption (and hence much of what糖心传媒檚 wrong with the Chinese Communist Party), then official corruption will be hard to eradicate, at least not without destroying much of the country with it. It糖心传媒檚 not clear from this book whether Mo Yan thinks that would be such a great loss.

The books of the Argentine writer Sergio Chejfec defy easy classification, but we can say that he writes for walkers: those for whom each step signifies something both taken/found and lost/forgotten. He writes about wanderers: those for whom destinations are rarely known, where every recognized face and remembered story proves too heavy with significance, slipping the grip of its proper naming. This is especially true of his recently translated novel, The Planets. Originally published in Spanish in 1999, Chejfec糖心传媒檚 meditation on friendship, loss, and memory defies easy summation. This is fitting, for these also inform the fluid bounds of reality lived and described by his characters. Here, dreams are recited alongside the real events they anticipate and/or create; characters from dreams slide into the parables of protagonists; and iconic females blur within the slippages between vowels (e.g., Lesa/Sela) and consonants (e.g., Marta/Mirta). The Planets, in short, is a strange novel. It is made stranger still by the absence of its principle character, known only by the narrated memories of others, the enigmatic, nearly nameless M. This strangeness is fitting, then, for each story told about or by him is born of a gap糖心传媒攂etween dream and reality, past and present, cause and effect糖心传媒攁nd manifests the trauma of his absence.

To read The Planets is not so much to implant oneself within its narrated world as it is to discover oneself in this world糖心传媒檚 orbit. Whereas in Chejfec糖心传媒檚 English-language debut, My Two Worlds, the reader is invited into not merely the narrator糖心传媒檚 world but his very perception of it, The Planets is distinguished by the ambivalence of its intimacy糖心传媒攖he holding of its reader at arm糖心传媒檚 length, in an abeyant proximity. The result is a work less immediately familiar than foreign. In a time where the pace of life has hastened to an informational blur糖心传媒攖he world at our keyboarded fingertips and on our cable televisions, with so much available knowledge that we now question its purported power糖心传媒攊t is precisely Chejfec糖心传媒檚 ability to inhabit the immediacy of both known and unknown, common and strange, that makes his work so timely.

The immediacy of the familiar and the foreign informs, as well, the friendship between the narrator and M, the ponderous duo at the core of The Planets. Remaining nameless糖心传媒斕切拇綔M for Miguel, or Mauricio; it could also be M for Daniel since, as we know, any name at all can reside behind letters糖心传媒澨切拇綌they navigate Buenos Aires as though on a dual trajectory. Not merely inseparable in the banal way many childhood friends are described, they considered themselves so linked that the identity of one was unthinkable without the other. In recognition of this they exchange photographs, whereupon 糖心传媒淢糖心传媒檚 photo糖心传媒� accurately describes both the photo of himself and the one given to him by the narrator (and vice versa). Being and identity, they muse, are not steady-state givens, to hoard behind the closed doors of one糖心传媒檚 consciousness. They are, rather, intermittent occurrences, dependent on, if not wholly determined by, the perspective of those who bear witness.

There are also great pieces on and worth checking out, among many others. So be sure to read and support QC however you can—it’s one of the greatest literary resources out there.

Holding the reader at arm糖心传媒檚 length from the medium of its telling (the early image of the narrator attempting to read a newspaper and seeing only splotches of ink comes to mind), The Planets is therefore marked by a certain糖心传媒攑roductive糖心传媒攄issonance. That is, it strikes a minor note. For this reason, among others, translating the novel was not so much a matter of pulling a text or pushing a reader, but rather one of situating the work at a remove from colloquial English that was comparable to its relation to colloquial Spanish. Because from this vantage point just beyond the familiar we can observe, through the narrator糖心传媒檚 dance with the shadow of his lost friend, the fundamental unnaturalness of the natural.

Well, this summer (June to be exact), we’re going to be bringing out The Planets (translated by Heather Cleary), one of his earlier books that focuses on the Dirty War period in Argentina’s history. Although, seeing that this is a Chejfec book, it’s kind of more about the telling of the telling of a story of a friend of the author who disappeared and may have died in an explosion. It’s as masterful as My Two Worlds, and maybe even a bit more expansive.

Here’s the official jacket copy:

When he reads about a mysterious explosion in the distant countryside, the narrator糖心传媒檚 thoughts turn to his disappeared childhood friend, M, who was abducted from his home years ago, during a spasm of political violence in Buenos Aires in the early 1970s. He convinces himself that M must have died in this explosion, and he begins to tell the story of their friendship through a series interconnected vignettes, hoping in this way to reanimate his friend and relive the time they spent together wandering the streets of Buenos Aires.

Sergio Chejfec糖心传媒檚 The Planets is an affecting and innovative exploration of mourning, remembrance, and friendship by one of Argentina糖心传媒檚 modern masters.

Anyway, if you want an advanced copy, click below and you could win one through the GoodReads Giveaway program. This contest closes on Monday, so enter right away . . .

As a huge fan of Southern Cone literature, the fact that there’s quality contemporary works coming out of that area isn’t that surprising, but it is almost shocking to realize just how many great Argentine books are being published in the States . . . Here are the five titles that Joey focused on, with short clips from his descriptions:

Friends of Mine by 脕ngela Pradelli: Called 糖心传媒楩riends of Mine糖心传媒�, and also translated by [Andrea] Labinger, the novel tells the story of a group of women living in the Buenos Aires province, who meet once a year on 30th December to eat dinner, celebrate the New Year, and reflect on the strange, difficult and wonderful passage of time. Structured in short, lucid fragments, the novel reads like a coming-of-age tale for a group of friends, a neighborhood, and an era of life in middle-class Argentina that has as much resonance today (and outside of Spanish) as it did when it was first published in 2002 and was awarded the Premio Emec茅. [. . .]

The Islands by Carlos Gamerro: Like the spiralling narrator of 糖心传媒楤ad Burgers,糖心传媒� the protagonist of 糖心传媒楾he Islands糖心传媒� chases his own trauma down a rabbit hole when he discovers that, despite the passage of ten years, the Falklands/Malvinas War is still raging 糖心传媒� a reality he糖心传媒檚 not quite ready to confront. [. . .]

Traveller of the Century by Andr茅s Neuman: Neuman, who has written poetry (糖心传媒楴o s茅 por qu茅糖心传媒�), short story (糖心传媒楢lumbramiento糖心传媒�) and travelogue (糖心传媒楥贸mo viajar sin ver糖心传媒�), created in 糖心传媒楾raveller of the Century糖心传媒� a novel that is at once contemporary and historical: set in Restoration-era Germany, it discusses sexual mores and intellectual disputes in a distinctly modern way. Praise from writers like Roberto Bola帽o long ago boosted his reputation in the Spanish-speaking world, but more than acclaim or ambition, it糖心传媒檚 the clarity and grace of Neuman糖心传媒檚 prose that has earned him high standing among fans. [. . .]

The Planets by Sergio Chejfec: First published in Spanish in 1999, 糖心传媒楾he Planets糖心传媒� was written during the fifteen-year period when Chejfec lived in Venezuela, a temporal and cultural dislocation important to the text. As 糖心传媒楳y Two Worlds糖心传媒� used ambulatory reflection, 糖心传媒楾he Planets糖心传媒� uses the act of remembering to elevate a simple story into an elegant register. It糖心传媒檚 a mode of literature difficult to master, but worthy of celebration when done right. [. . .]

Varamo by C茅sar Aira: A novel kind of about a Peruvian man who takes up the homemade art of fish embalming, and also kind of about a very slow city-wide car race, and also kind of about the makings of a classic Central American poem, and yet somehow also not about these things at all. 糖心传媒榁aramo糖心传媒� is as strange, and as compelling, as Aira糖心传媒檚 best work. In fact, it may be Aira糖心传媒檚 best work. Or his worst. You糖心传媒檒l have to read all his books to know for certain.

A 糖心传媒渨alking糖心传媒� book, when I finished My Two Worlds I wrote, 糖心传媒淚t糖心传媒檚 meandering (obviously), sometimes feels pointless (deliberately), and takes longer than one would expect to go a such a short distance (which works perfectly with the book糖心传媒檚 plot).糖心传媒� It糖心传媒檚 a slow-burner, but in the time since I finished it has only grown in my esteem. My Two Worlds is only just over 100 pages, but it took me some time to read because of the many layers and switch-backs not just in the global structure of the book but alaso in each sentence. The translation is a marvel. [. . .]

Q: What were some of the particular challenges of translating Chejfec糖心传媒檚 work?

A: What sets Chejfec糖心传媒檚 work apart from other fiction I糖心传媒檝e translated is the density and complexity of his sentences. There糖心传媒檚 no coasting along; every sentence demands an intense scrutiny and a parsing through of meanings and possible translations. When I was working on My Two Worlds, I had to ask Sergio a million questions, to the point where a gloss on the book could be made from the Q&As in the emails that went back and forth

At the same, I noticed how crucial the 糖心传媒渓ittle糖心传媒� words were in qualifying the narrator糖心传媒檚 ruminations, such as 糖心传媒淚 can糖心传媒檛 be sure糖心传媒� or 糖心传媒渁nyhow糖心传媒� or 糖心传媒渨hatever,糖心传媒� the whole panoply of verbal stutters in English that express doubt or hesitation. Even these formulaic expressions needed to be sorted through and weighed in the English translation.

Q: Some of the pleasures?

A: The biggest one? That was when I reached a certain moment in the revision and could read long stretches of the novel as a novel, I mean, I could step back and enjoy the scenes as if it were any book I糖心传媒檇 just picked up. You then flash back to an earlier stage when your draft was a mess, full of brackets around those phrases or sentences that resisted translation . . . So it was utterly gratifying in the end to feel myself being gripped by the story as would any other reader.

And throughout the project, it was a real joy to work with Sergio Chejfec. As I said, Sergio spent an enormous amount of time answering my questions, either in emails or in person. I don糖心传媒檛 think he ever imagined his novel would be subject to the kind of microscopic scrutiny it underwent. I asked him once about what it was like to be translated and he said it was like a parable by Kafka; he had to offer his explanation to the Guardian of the Other Language so that the door would open. If that was the case, I loved my Kafkaesque role in this endeavor!

The response to My Two Worlds has been amazing. It糖心传媒檚 the first translation I糖心传媒檝e done that糖心传媒檚 made a perceptible ripple. Chad Post and the staff at Open Letter Books have done an exceptional job at getting the novel out there to the right readers, and it糖心传媒檚 a thrill for me to read reviews or commentaries that quote from the translation itself.

Be sure and read And My Two Worlds. It really is a spectacular book . . .

Click here for all past and future posts in this series.

by Sergio Chejfec, translated by Margaret C. Carson

Language: Spanish
Country: Argentina
Publisher: Open Letter Books

Why This Book Should Win: Because of all the great stories surrounding how it was discovered and published. Also because fellow BTBA-er Enrique Vila-Matas said that it “paves the way for the novel of the future.” That’s some solid praise.

I was just at the AWP conference where I ran into a lot of people who were big fans of this book. (They were especially excited to get their hands on The Planets, his next book, which comes out from Open Letter this summer.) And at least a few of these Chejfec fans asked how we discovered him. Sure, he’s the author of 13 books, and teaches at NYU, but neither his prolific career, nor his proximity to Rochester had anything to do with how this book came to be published.

Back a couple years ago, Scott Esposito linked to a year-end roundup post from the always interesting (and martial arts inflected) blog in which Enrique Vila-Matas gushed about My Two Worlds and compared Chejfec to both Sebald AND Walser. That’s serious, eye-grabbing company.

Anyway, I posted about this on Three Percent and almost immediately thereafter I received an email from Margaret Carson about how she had just translated a piece of this for an upcoming issue of BOMB Magazine. She sent it along, we all fell in love, and quickly decided to sign on three books of his . . .

Everyone on the Open Letter editorial committee immediately recognized the importance and beauty of Sergio’s writing. This is one of those novels with a very simple plot—a writer at a literary conference in Brazil wanders around looking for a park and thinking about his upcoming birthday and the not-so-wonderful reviews his new book has been receiving—that is utterly dependent upon the quality of the writing and the atmosphere created.

Or, as Vila-Matas says in his introduction:

I begin as I’ll end: adrift. And I begin by wondering if novels have no choice but to narrate a story. The answer couldn’t be simpler: whether they intend to or not, they always tell a story. Because there’s not a single intelligent reader who, given something unique to read, even the most hermetic of novels, would fail to read a story into that impenetrable text. [. . .] If I really think about it, Chejfec is someone intelligent for whom the word novelist is a poor fit, because he creates artifacts, narrations, books, narrated thoughts, rather than novels. My Two Worlds, for instance, is above all a book that reminds us that there are novels with stories, but there are also not-so-orthodox novels—Chejfec’s are in this camp—though these may also contain stories. The story in My Two Worlds isn’t easy to summarize because—as it true for all his novels—what’s important seems merely an excuse to highlight the dramatic role of the incidental.

That goal—“to highlight the dramatic role of the incidental”—can be found right off the bat in the opening paragraph of the novel:

Only a few days are left before another birthday, and if I’ve decided to begin this way it’s because two friends, through their books, made me see that these days can be a cause to reflect, to make excuses, or to justify the years lived. The idea occurred to me in Brazil, while I was visiting a city in the south for two days. I couldn’t really understand why I’d agreed to go there, not knowing anyone and having almost no idea about the place. It was afternoon, it was hot, and I’d been walking around looking for a park about which I had almost no information, except its somewhat musical name, which by my criterion made it promising, and the fact it was the biggest green space on the map of the city. I thought it impossible for a park that large not to be good. For me parks are good when first of all, they’re not impeccable, and when solitude has appropriated them in such a way that solitude itself becomes an emblem, a defining trait for walkers, sporadic at best, who in my opinion should be irrevocably lost or absorbed in thought, and a bit confused, too, as when one walks through a space that’s at once alien and familiar. I don’t know if I should call them abandoned places; what I mean is relegated areas, wehre the surroundings are suspended for the moment and one can imagine being in any park, anywhere, even at the antipodes. A place that’s cast off, indistinct, or better yet, a place where a person, moved by who knows what kind of distractions, withdraws, turns into a nobody, and ends up being vague.

One last little story that seems so very Chejfec-ian: Last spring, Sergio was on a PEN World Voices panel with me about “The Publishing Revolution.” We talked about any number of subjects, but a lot of time was spent talking about book discovery, about how to get your book into the hands of the right reader at the right time, especially in this increasingly digitally driven world. We used My Two Worlds as an example, about how we were planning on promoting it on GoodReads, through websites and interviews and all that.

After the panel ended, Sergio wandered over to Housing Works to browse around. Inside, he overheard this young man going on and on to a friend about this book he had just read and that had completely blown him away. Naturally, the book he was raving about was My Two Worlds, and he ended up spending a nice bit of time chatting with Sergio about it . . .

UPDATE: I can’t believe I forgot to include this initially, but watch the video below to hear Margaret Carson and Sergio Chejfec discuss the book, the translation, and the book in general.