Thursday, May 31, 2012

Japanese Literature Challenge 6

 

JLC6 #3 (1)June the 1st is one of those days that are marked & highlighted with the largest  crayon from my colouring box. The reason for this degree of interest is that this is the opening date of what has, over the years, become one of my favourite challenges,by someone who is not only a favourite supporter of literature, but also a friend & constant source of inspiration. June the 1st is Japanese Challenge (#6) day, run by the wonderful Bellezza and in anticipation I’ve been stockpiling a few posts since the previous  one closed, here are the ones so far accumulated…

Jun’ichiro Tanizaki’s - In Praise of Shadows (A Contemplation)

in praise of shadowsIn Praise of Shadows is an essay on aesthetics by one of my favourite Japanese writers, it was originally published in 1933, with the English translation coming out in 1977. This is a tiny book of less than fifty pages, containing a foreword  and an afterword, making the essay itself only  forty-two pages long, which means it can be read in one sitting, although that would be defeating the point of it, this should be savoured, this book should be read and re-read, should be immersed in.

 

 

 

Black Rain–Masuji Ibuseblack rain

This book started as a serialization in the magazine Shincho (Shinchosha Publishing Co, Ltd) in January 1965. Masuji Ibuse used historical records and the diaries of survivors to reconstruct the experience of the devastation caused by the atomic bombing of Hiroshima.

Early Sci-Fi, Nihon (にほん) Style .

the-best-japanese-science-fiction-storiesIn the introduction to this anthology John L. Apostolou, gives us a brief history of this genre in Japan, some of which I’ve used here. He the goes on to say that  apart from a few exceptions, before this book it was nigh on impossible to find Japanese Science Fiction, making this anthology most peoples first encounter with Japanese SF.

Also as part of this challenge, I intend to post on the history of post war Japanese poetry, also on Haiku (history & art of), plus a selection of writers that I’ve been compiling, hoarding & gathering in readiness.

Challenges Page.

Friday, May 25, 2012

Red Riding Hood’s Dilemma - Órfhlaith Foyle

 

red-riding-110I’ve been wanting to read this poetry collection for a while now. My interest was originally raised last year after reading her short story collection “Somewhere in Minnesota and Other Stories . Whilst researching for the post I wrote on that book, I found out  she wrote poetry, this caused me to dig deeper and I found this anthology, but  like a lot of books it went on to my wishlist until finance or some other reason bumps it up & I purchase it. This was my reason….

 I Saw Beckett The Other Day


I saw Beckett the other day
in the doorway of that café
where you took his photograph.



You know the one
...when he looked up at the lens
and realised how he could
haunt us all.


'Hey Beckett,' I said
rejoicing in my discovery of him;
his hand on the door, his eyes
skimming over the interior image
of cigarette smoke and coffee.

I stood beside him. He rubbed his face so
he might recognise me. I smiled and
said even I didn't know what was
happening these days.
Even I could not stop the end.

He nodded, coughed and looked sly; his teeth were
yellow over the pink rim of his lips.
He mentioned the photograph. He said his face
had collected worms under the skin as if ready for
death and he smiled to show them dance
spasmatic with age-spots and veins.

Someone entered the café. Someone left.
Beckett touched the hair above my ear.
I stood on tip-toe so he could whisper down.

He said nothing. It was just a kiss
with the cold wind at our feet and the
smoke and egg friendly air
released in draughts between
the opening and closing of the café door;

which he stepped through to find his table
and entered some other world,
under greasy lights
coupled with table shine and coffee cups,
and thoughts of death, where she stood
groomed for an entrance, were held back by
the odd moments of life
that still strung the useful breaths
Beckett used to blow his coffee cool.

I love the conversational tone of this poem & those lines “You know the one...when he looked up at the lens and realised how he could haunt us all” ,it instantly calls to mind those iconic images of Samuel Beckett, staring off into some distant space, the look part defiant, part fearful, haunted or haunting I'm never quite sure, just that the eyes bore deep, deep into you.

Words said to a Poet just before her/his demise

Poetry is useless.
It only uses words and
they can be rubbed out.
Same way as we
rub you out.
Blank.
You're gone.
Just a vacancy,
not even a breathe left.
But
- if you insist
to exist – in books
well … then …
we can burn you up...
all over again.

Red Riding Hood’s Dilemma, starts with a short poem of the same name, whose opening lines “Should I kill the wolf – or invite him to tea”, reflect (I think) a question running through this collection, we have poems of love & life cheaply spent, of death & of passions strong, here bodies ache, hurt, not in theory, the torment is real, as are the questions left unanswered.

Órfhlaith Foyle was born in Africa (Nigeria) to Irish missionary parents, she has also lived in Kenya and Malawi, and later she lived in Australia, France and Russia, all of this is sustenance for the words, the tales that unfold through her poetry, migrant songs with all the darkness & light that make up human beings and their journeys through and in this life, because at the end of the day, that question running through this collection - is that of mankind's.


orfhlaithfoyle.blogspot.com
Orfhlaith Foyle
Red Riding Hoods Dilemma

Friday, May 18, 2012

Traveller of the Century - Andrés Neuman


A- ARE YO_UU C_COLD? THE coachman shouted, his voice fragmented by the jolting of the coach. I-I’m f-fine, th-ank yo-uu, replied Hans, teeth chattering. The coach lamps flickered as the horses sped along the road. Mud flew up from the wheels. The axles twisted in every pothole, and seemed about to snap. Their cheeks puffing, the horses blew clouds from their nostrils. An opaque moon was rolling above the horizon.
For some time now Wandernburg had been visible in the distance, to the south. And yet, thought Hans, as often happens at the end of an exhausting day, the small city seemed to be moving in step with them,and getting no nearer.”
***************************************
Hans is an adventurer and translator of literature, never staying long in one place, he is on his way to Dessau, but tired he chooses to stop off for the night in the  mysterious city of Wandernburg, fully intent on leaving first thing the next day. Waking late the next morning, he steps out into a city full of the days hustle & bustle,  he decides to explore and wanders aimlessly around the city, occasionally loosing his bearings. The day passes without him realising it  & he misses his coach. Wandernberg  is a strange place with mysterious properties, although it is situated between Berlin & Dessau, it’s precise location is open to interpretation, as it has moved several times  & even the streets are constantly in a state of flux, appearing to have the ability to change not only their compass position, but also the location of the buildings within them. This all combines to ensnare Hans, who ends up staying a lot longer than he had intended.
******************************************
He ends up staying the next night & the next, unable to pursue his intended journey, without real intent he ends up prolonging his stay in this city. This leads to  him encountering & befriending some of the local residents that cross his path, decreasing his motivation to leave. Through one of his new friends, he meets the the beautiful Sophie Gottlieb, an intelligent, well read, poetry loving, independent young woman, whom Hans falls deeply in love with, a perfect match one would think,  except,  there is a fly in the ointment, Sophie is betrothed to another.
Although at the heart of this book is this love affair, it is merely the core around which everything revolves, much of this book takes place in Sophie’s Literary salon & through this medium we hear discussions covering everything from individual freedom to national sovereignty, they debate philosophy, music, they talk about books & censorship, argue about women’s rights & the working class. We follow this relationship as they use language to probe & decipher each other, they meet in his inn room under the cover of translating poetry.


In my interview with Andrés Neuman, he said about this book, “the novel tells a love story between two translators, Sophie and Hans, who can’t stop translating everything: words, gestures, intentions, silences. In the beginning, they don’t know that the other is a translator too, but they connect through their obsessively translating approach to reality. They start to get more intimate, until they settle the routine of locking themselves in a bedroom in order to translate poems and fuck, fuck and translate poems (not a bad plan I think!). And they start to realize how similar can love and translation be. Loving someone implies putting the other person’s words into ours; struggling to completely understand them and (unavoidably) misunderstanding them; founding a common, fragile language. Whereas translating a text implies a deep desire towards it; a need of possessing it and cohabiting with it; and both (translator and translated one) end transformed.”, making this book an exploration of the idea of  “Love as a metaphor of translation, translation as a metaphor of love”
***********************************
“During the four hours they spent alone three times a week, Hans and Sophie alternated between books and bed, bed and books, exploring one another in words and reading one another’s bodies. Thus, inadvertently, they developed a shared language, rewriting what they read, translating one another mutually. The more they worked together, the more similarities they discovered between love and translation, understanding a person and translating a text, retelling a poem in a different language and putting into words what the other was feeling. Both exercises were as happy as they were incomplete – doubts always remained, words that needed changing, missed nuances. They were both aware of the impossibility of achieving transparency as lovers and as translators. Cultural, political, biographical and sexual differences acted as a filter. The more they tried to counter them, the greater the dangers, obstacles, misunderstandings. And yet at the same time the bridges between the languages, between them, became broader and broader.”
traveller of the century - A.N
What is amazing about this book is that this is just one aspect, I could mention the organ grinder, Han’s first friend & yet regarded by most as an old beggar. Through him Hans learns of the natural world via the discussions held in the cave the man lives in, and in one of those lump in the throat moments  we follow the organ grinder as he fades away & dies despite, Hans doing everything he can to save him, or that there is a sub plot about a sexual predator furtively prowling the streets of Wandernburg, whilst being pursued by a father & son cop team, allowing for some great comic dialogue between the two as they detect & finally catch the culprit.

Attempting to pin down & define all that goes on in this book isn’t easy, as I said in my interview it seems to encompass everything – Do you like Philosophy✓, History✓, Politics✓, Romance✓, Translation✓, Poetry✓, and yet this isn't some dry intellectual exercise, it seethes with passion whether this is the love affair of the  two main protagonists, or the ideas pouring off the pages. In fact it would be harder to find a reader that would not find this a wonderful, fantastic and a totally absorbing read.

Andrés Neuman has written four novels, four short-story collections and several collections of poetry, all published since 1998. Born in Buenos Aires in 1977, his family later emigrated to Granada, where he still lives. this his fourth novel, El viajero del siglo (Traveller of the Century) won Spain's two most prestigious literary awards, the Alfaguara Prize and the National Critics Prize.

Andrés Neuman (Official)
Andrés Neuman(Wiki)
Words Without Borders (A.N)
Granta Audio: Andrés Neuman
Pushkin Press
@Pushkin Press
Andrés Neuman at The Parrish Lantern

Monday, May 14, 2012

The Official Winner of the IFFP

Independent Foreign Fiction Prize Shortlist Announced

The results for the official Independent Foreign Fiction Prize is in, so a hearty congratulations to Blooms of Darkness, written by Aharon Appelfeld & translated by Jeffrey M. Green. The judges said of this book  “Jeffrey M Green's incantatory translation from the Hebrew does ample justice to a novel that meditates on the imagination, memory and language itself”. blooms-of-darkness-2





Although it didn’t feature in the shadow jury’s short list, Mark from Eleutherophobia, said that the Writer “has crafted a nice, and somehow soul-enriching novel.” and our chairman, Stu from Winstonsdad said that “Aharon has shown why he considered one of the foremost Hebrew writers”.  So although this wasn’t my personal favourite, or the choice of the shadow jury(RobMark, Lisa,TonyStu, Simon and myself)), Congratulations to Aharon Appelfeld & Jeffrey M. Green from all the members of the shadow jury & hope you enjoy yourself at the official celebrations this evening.


Here are the shadow jury posts on this the official IFFP 2012 winner.
MarkSimonStu, Tony

And here a link to all our posts on the 2012 IFFP .

Thanks to all from Booktrust  and The British Arts Council , for their support and thanks also to Nikesh Shukla for aiding us in this process.




Also once again I want to thank all my fellow Judges for making this such a successful first year for the Shadow IFFP & an additional thanks to Stu for the original invite & if he does it again - I'm in :-)

Sunday, May 13, 2012

A Righteous Decision (The IFFP Shadow Winner)

IFFP shadow - Copy1

Earlier in the year I was asked by Stu (Winstonsdad), to join him & some likeminded fellow bloggers to form a shadow jury, working alongside the official Independent Foreign Fiction Prize, between us  (RobMark, Lisa, TonyStu, Simon and myself) we read them all, then racked our brains & each others, debated & argued, slowly deliberating over our selections, before choosing our winner. So our Winner is……………… but first a quick word from our chairman & champion of translated literature in all its guises, Mr Stuart Allen….
***************************
“I want to thank all my fellow Judges for making this such a successful first year for the Shadow IFFP.


We all undertook the journey of judging the 2012 Shadow IFFP eight weeks ago. This journey first took us to Asia - 1980’s Tokyo (or is it?), a mother's disappearance in Seoul, and a chilling look at the AIDS crisis in rural China. Then we read two Hebrew novels: the first set in the present, introducing us to an old man and a village; the other in World War Two, showing us a young Jewish man on the run, hiding in a most unexpected place.
Next, it was off to Germany, and two books dealing with death. In the first, a husband is shocked at discovering his wife’s view of him after her death; in the other a women called Alice has friends and lovers alike die around her. At this point, we relaxed for a while in Hungary, soaking in a little of the country's rich history - and its hidden sexual underground - until deciding to head north to make the acquaintance of an eccentric Icelandic autodidact with an interest in sea creatures and the occult.
We then journeyed further into Scandinavia, meeting a professor stuck in a mid-life crisis, who is witness to a murder, and a roguish leader of a Jewish community in a Second-World-War ghetto, before two Italian novels introduced us to a villain of the top order in 19th-century Europe, and a shipwrecked man with a forgotten heritage. Skipping forward to 1980s Paris, we learned about a group of friends facing the AIDS crisis head on, while a trip back in time courtesy of a Basque writer took us to Colonial Africa and a man heading into an army camp gone rogue.
This journey hasn’t been the easiest for us as judges, as most of the books dealt with death and the darker side of human life. However, they show the wealth of literary talent around the world and the wonderful work modern translators carry out. We as judges have discovered a lot about each other, digesting and discussing the books and slowly trimming our list down to our winner”
Thanks Stu. Well that just leaves me to tell you our choice for the IFFP Shadow Jury Winner. This is a book I described as “a strange and wonderful book & that  it was also harsh, weird, comic and magical” & that I thought the translator “also deserves high praise for her translation from  Icelandic, with  her use of words like “Helpmeet” & “Braggart” making  the book appear grounded in an older form of English, allowing me to get a taste of the period”
Our 2012 Winner is From the Mouth of the Whale, by Sjón & translated  by Victoria Cribb, whose ear for the poetic & yet appropriate word choice sjonmade this book a delight. I’ll leave the last word to our  esteemed chairman…
“We all liked - and some of us loved - this book; nobody really had a bad word to say about it. All of us felt entranced by the writing and by Sjón's voice. Through Jonas' eyes, the writer captured 17th-century Iceland so well, and this was helped by Victoria Cribb's translation which, through its usage of archaic vocabulary and grammatical forms, gave it the feel of a book that had just been unearthed, not written. From the Mouth of the Whale is a worthy first winner of the Shadow Independent Foreign Fiction Prize."






For a complete list of Shadow jury Reviews visit Lisa's blog Here  Thanks Lisa.


Also my Hearty Thanks goes to Stu, for the original invite.

Friday, May 11, 2012

Everyday – Lee Rourke.

 

“Woke up, fell out of bed,
Dragged a comb across my head
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup,
And looking up I noticed I was late, late, late, late
Found my coat and grabbed my hat
Made the bus in seconds flat
Found my way upstairs and had a smoke,
and Somebody spoke and I went into a dream”*

*****

Only to wake up and find yourself still on that same bus (Smoking Not Allowed), heading to work, with some loud-mouthed fool in the row behind shouting some shite into their phone. Still feeling slightly foggy from the daydream, you have a feeling of deja vu; only for reality to come crashing in - hobnails first, as you realise this is your existence, this! is  your day to day reality. Once off this bus, you’ll go to your office and join your fellow drones, clock in, clock out, clock in, clock out, the process relieved by a beer and a limp sandwich at lunch time.

In the last chapter of Albert Camus’s The Myth of Sisyphus, he outlines the legend of Sisyphus, the man who defied the gods and placed death in chains, so that no human need die. Finally after several false starts, the gods caught  and punished him for all eternity to roll a rock up a mountain, only for it to fall down again, but you’ve done nothing that heroic.  The nearest you got was not spilling that kebab, you took home the other night after consuming fifteen pints of the landlords finest, one heroic moment in a life of pointless drudgery.

*

Everyday by Lee Rourke

Everyday is a collection of short stories by Lee Rourke, although as it says in the introduction some are so short that they hardly qualify, that the writer’s preferred term is Fragments, fragments of a larger picture without end. There is no complete whole in Everyday, instead what we get are glimpses, framed through dirty cracked windows, of a London full of unfulfilled people, lives so beyond melancholic it hurts. These are  individuals  who’s snapping point has long been reached and it wasn’t a straw that broke the camel’s back, more likely a rusty crowbar. The men and women float in and out  of each others lives through one night stands, bar meetings or just through work, sometimes the situations turn violent, even deadly, but for the most part people reach their limit and just keep bumping, grinding and then carrying on. Occasionally though they commit small acts of rebellion, occasionally they walk out on their jobs, or take a different route, or just walk the streets without purpose for a moment forgetting their day to day existence. 

 

Albert Camus, in his 1942 essay The Myth of Sisyphus,  saw Sisyphus as personifying the absurdity of human life describing that  “the Absurd arises out of the fundamental disharmony between the individual's search for meaning and the apparent meaninglessness of the universe.That as beings looking for meaning in a meaningless world, humans have three ways of resolving the dilemma” these being through Suicide, Faith, or acceptance of the Absurd: a solution in which one accepts the Absurd and continues to live in spite of it. Camus endorsed this solution, believing that by accepting the Absurd, one can achieve absolute freedom. Lee Rourke doesn’t merely accept this, he celebrates it with his glass raised high.

In this, the flipside of trendy London, there is no dark underbelly, and any romance here will die stillborn, this is apathy writ large, written by the writer with a humour and gusto that belies the stories told, that will pull you in, maybe tentatively to begin with, at first you may grimace, but in a short time you will be grinning -  acknowledging the dark screwed up humour within.

 

Lee Rourke.

*SPONGE

  *Lee Rourke(Wiki)

  ***3AM Magazine

****  A day in the Life (The Beatles)

Friday, May 4, 2012

Scenes from Village Life–Amos Oz

Translation – Nicholas de Lange

amos oz

 This is a book of fragments, there are seven tales  and a coda in this book, and what you get are glimpses into the lives of the inhabitants of the fictional village of Tel Ilan, just a short bus hop from Tel Aviv. This is starting to become an issue as it’s distance and it’s beauty makes it an ideal setting for the smart set to move in with their money and  chic boutiques, pricing out the locals.  This is merely one of the backdrops to what is a strange and disturbing book, all the more so for being beautifully written.

It is as though we pop into a moment of these characters day and then go on our way with no conclusion beyond a slight ache, as though we had just received acupuncture, with a series of question marks, there is a disquiet, a sense of unease that permeates ones conscious and remains there nagging, a slight nuisance pricking  at the edges of your perception.

In the first tale Arieh Zelnik, lives with his 90 year old mother and one day a stranger turns up, a lawyer with some news for him, from this simple premise the story slowly gets stranger and stranger until?

In another, Dr Gili Steiner goes to meet her nephew of the bus. The bus arrives without him, the Dr becomes distressed and searches for him whilst reminiscing about their past together, her angst increases as her attempt fails.

In Strangers, Kobi Ezra, a 17 year old loner, is infatuated with the librarian - a 30 year old divorcee - who is seeing a truck driver, this is a tale that is both tortuous and touching as he strives to make his feelings known.

This is a slight glimpse into this small patch of Eden, where the natives seem to live lives of quiet despair,  and although each tale focuses on one person, the inhabitants wander through the book as though they were wandering through the  village, constantly popping up in each others tales, adding a cohesiveness to the whole collection - except for the end tale (the coda) unless the point is to ram home the sense of isolation of being  alone. In this tale, a pointless government inspector is occupied in a pointless forgotten job, he writes unread reports about what appears to be a primitive community, lost in a world of decay.

This is the moment where I say something particularly Stupid (more so than normal) Amos Oz is a writer, by this I mean a proper writer. I’ve read reports that say he should have won the Noble Prize for Literature or that he’s a genius, it is too early for me to give a considered comment on those remarks, this being my first Oz book. What I can say is that this is a strange book and yet it is a really beautifully written book that for all its surreal dark qualities really endeared itself to me, that  slowly and quietly charmed it's way into my heart.

Amos Oz was born in 1939 in Jerusalem. At the age of 15 he went to live on a kibbutz. He studied philosophy and literature at the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, and was a visiting fellow at Oxford University, author-in- residence at the Hebrew University and writer-in-residence at Colorado College. He has been named Officer of Arts and Letters of France. An author of prose for both children and adults, as well as an essayist, he has been widely translated and is internationally acclaimed. He has been honoured with the French Prix Femina and the 1992 Frankfurt Peace Prize. He lives in the southern town Arad and teaches literature at Ben Gurion University of the Negev.

Nicholas Robert Michael de Lange (often known simply as N. de Lange) (7 August 1944, Nottingham) is Professor of Hebrew and Jewish Studies at the University of Cambridge and is an ordained Reform rabbi. He was taught and ordained by the British Reform rabbi Ignaz Maybaum, a disciple of Franz Rosenzweig.

De Lange is a historian and author, who has written and edited several books about Judaism, as well as various papers and articles, he has translated several works of fiction by Amos Oz, S. Yizhar and A.B. Yehoshua into English. In November 2007, he received the Risa Domb/Porjes Prize for Translation from the Hebrew for his translation of "A Tale of Love and Darkness" by Amos Oz.

He currently gives lectures on Modern Judaism and the Reading of Jewish texts at the Faculty of Divinity, University of Cambridge. He is a fellow at Wolfson College, Cambridge.

 

IFFP shadow - Copy1

Amos Oz (Wiki)

Complete Review (Amos Oz)

Nicholas de Lange (Wiki)

Faculty of Asian  & Middle Eastern Studies (NdL)