José Ovejero, La invención del amor

I do not like "love stories."  No, let me change that.  I do not like formulaic tales in which the human characters are interchangeable while the notion of Love, immutable and forever-conquering, reigns supreme.  I do, however, like those tales in which fascinating characters develop through interactions with each other and that "love," whatever it might in truth be, changes and develops with them.  In other words, dynamism in both characterizations and theme is what I require before I can find myself liking a love story.

Spanish writer José Overjero 2013 Premio Alfaguara-winning novel, La invención del amor (The Invention of Love or perhaps Love's Invention might be even more suitable), has pretensions, according to the writer, of being a love story for those who hate love stories.  It certainly is not a standard-issue, boilerplated romance plot, but yet there are enough familiar elements to it to appeal just as much to those who do like the basic love story plot as to those like myself who prefer something, anything, other than boy/girl meets girl/boy and they fall in love and crazy stuff happens on their way to life-long happiness.

The premise revolves around a man, Samuel, who is somewhat cynical.  As he observes foot traffic flowing beneath his balcony one day, he receives a call saying that a woman named Clara has died in an accident.  Although he does not know her, Samuel attends her funeral, where he encounters her sister, Carina.  Samuel conjures up a fictitious relationship with the dead Clara, playing a game with Carina that subtly shifts from a spur-of-the-moment fit of deceptive curiosity toward something much more profound.  The main body of the novel focuses on this game and its eventual resolution.

Ovejero easily could have constructed this tale along the lines of modern sit-comedies, with a stumbling, bumbling male protagonist (antagonist?) getting caught up in his web of lies before becoming so flustered that he inexplicably manages to win the affection (or earn a slap to the face) of the woman whose time he has so occupied.  However, Ovejero eschews this approach.  Instead, Samuel is an adroit manipulator, albeit one who finds himself affected by what he is making up and how this in turn is affecting Carina.  Ovejero expertly develops two fascinating characters here (if one counts the dead Clara as seen through the tales Samuel devises) and in doing so, there is an odd sort of "thriller" quality to this tale, as the reader may find herself eagerly anticipating what will occur next.

Ovejero's narrative works because not only does the plot feel like it is moving fast even when care is taken to develop both scene and character, but that it contains a plausible yet surprising twist to it that makes the time spent focusing on these characters and on Samuel's inventions worthwhile.  It is so well-structured that the narrative improves even more on a second reading, as I discovered when I re-read it recently after nearly a year since my initial read.  The end result is a seemingly-tidy tale that contains a richness to the characterizations, an interesting take on a well-worn theme, with writing that is very good without being too ostentatious.  One of the more intimate novels among the Premio Alfaguara winners.

Hassan Blasim's The Iraqi Christ wins the 2014 IFFP Prize

Iraqi short fiction writer Hassan Blasim's second story collection, The Iraqi Christ, won the 2014 Independent Foreign Fiction Prize.  I haven't read this one yet (just ordered a copy that should arrive in the next 1-2 weeks), so here's a bit from Arabic Literature (in English) on the author and his work:

The Iraqi Christ is Blasim’s second short-story collection. His stronger first collection, Madman of Freedom Square, also translated by Wright, was longlisted — but not shortlisted — for the IFFP in 2010. 

This year, Blasim has seem tremendous acclaim in English. His collection The Corpse Exhibition was released in the US by Penguin and was widely reviewed in the US press, generally positively. Interviewshave popped up across English-language media.
When the IFFP’s 2014 longlist was released, Judge Boyd Tonkin, who writes for The Independent and is the only IFFP judge who stays the same year after year, commented on Blasim’s collection: 

“Strung between reportage, memoir and dark fantasy, these linked stories present Iraq, post-Saddam and post-invasion, as a surrealist inferno. Bizarre horrors become everyday events. Outlandish tragedies punctuate ordinary life. Blasim’s wild imagination, pitch-black comedy and fierce compassion, all captured by Jonathan Wright’s pacy, pugnacious translation, keep nihilism at bay.”Blasim’s stories have been translated into a number of languages, and his work has been embraced in many of them. But not in Arabic. It was a struggle for Blasim to get his short-story collection printed — publication of the original Arabic came after the English translation and then with a number of redactions. The collection is banned in Jordan and perhaps elsewhere. 

When the first collection of Blasim’s stories did come out in Arabic, they did not receive the critical acclaim they have in English. A review inAl-Akhbar, for instance, comments on the lack of beauty in the sentences. Others have commented on an absence of innovative language or style. 

Although some critics suggest that Jonathan Wright has beautified Blasim’s stories in English, the appeal of the stories is not in the style, but in the raw sharpness of the individual scenes, the freshnses of them, how they pop out beyond expectations and drag the reader into a new place.  Although the collections have been uneven, there have been amazing, startling moments within.

Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but I'm curious enough about this collection (which I almost bought before the IFFP winner was announced) that I'll read it soon after it arrives here. 

World Cup of Fiction Preview: Group A

Although the 2014 FIFA World Cup in Brazil does not begin until June 12th, it is not too early to begin writing the Group previews for the 32 nation World Cup of Fiction (and Poetry) that will take place on this blog during the timeframe of the FIFA tournament.  I did a version of this for the 2010 World Cup, but that was a bit rushed due to starting it during the middle of group play, so for this iteration, I would like to be able to devote more time to covering specific writers and poets from countries, like the African ones represented here, that receive relatively scant coverage even from sites devoted to international fiction.  In order to do this, especially for those countries whose literary traditions in print form do not possess the deep roots of others, I am going to try to balance it out as much as possible, likely choosing a modern poet from one of the more "established" literary powers to go up against, say, a poet from Cameroon or Côte d'Ivoire (if I cannot locate novelists from these countries in time for individual group play matches).  Hopefully, this will lead to more intrigue, as otherwise it could devolve into a perceived mismatch that would lessen the enjoyment of writing these posts, not to mention reduce the chances of someone seeking out new authors due to a lack of proper treatment.

Therefore, when two literary sides match up, there will be only 1-2 authors discussed per country in the writeup and while there will be some allusions to actual football/soccer in the comparisons, the focus this time will be more on the individual merits of these writers.  Now with all of this convoluted explanation out of the way, time to commence with the Group A preview:

Group A:

Brazil
Cameroon
Croatia
Mexico

Brazil

Whether they are called the Canarinhos or simply O Seleção, the Brazilian literary side may enjoy a slight bit of a homepitch advantage here.  Capable of fielding a side that includes writers as diverse as Clarice Lispector, Moacyr Scliar, Jorge Amado, and Machado de Assis, among others, the Brazilian side is strong on Modernist short fiction, with some deftness among those who use magic realist techniques to tell engrossing stories.  If there is a weakness, it might be in poetry, as their poets are not as well-known outside the Lusophone sphere.

Cameroon 

Les Lions Indomptables may have to live up to their football side's courageous nickname, as their literary tradition is not as familiar to world lit readers as are those of the other three members of this group.  However, the Cameroon side does have a group of 20th century poets who have been translated into English and other major global languages:  Simon Mpondo, Mbella Sonne Dipoko, and Patrice Kayo. Cameroon does have a promising young novelist and poet, Patrice Nganang, whose Dog Days was translated into English back in 2006.  If Cameroon hopes to advance, it will have to pin its hopes on its strong lineup of poets, although there certainly is a chance that it will spring a literary upset on one of the literary powers.

Croatia 

The Vatreni will likely bring some of their renowned literary fire to their group play match ups.  Capable of fielding a diverse set of writers ranging from Daša Drndić to Dubravka Ugrešić to Miroslav Krleža, the Croatians appear to be strongest when it comes to realist literature of the 20th and early 21st centuries.  They may be a bit suspect when it comes to defending against a strong poetic counterattack, so it will be interesting to see if their aggressive literary themes can withstand a quick striking counter from their opponents.

Mexico 

El Tri has baffled literary observers for years.  Despite possessing a wealth of essayists, poets, and writers, the Mexican literary side barely qualified for this year's World Cup of Fiction, as they needed to win a playoff against New Zealand in order to advance.  The 2012 death of Carlos Fuentes seems to have discouraged this team, as there has yet to emerge a suitable replacement.  Yet the combination of Ignacio Padilla and Jorge Volpí, with their Crack Manifesto system of short, sharp literary texts peppered with incendiary prose, promises to wreak havoc on unprepared foes.  Yet the problem of this side remains their relative age.  Old war horses like Octavio Paz and Sor Juana have provided many thrilling moments over the centuries, yet in 2014 their influence on the pace of the play may be on the wane, as other literary sides can bring to bear newer, more revolutionary writers.  Mexico's literary fate may depend upon its ability to develop its reverses quickly upon to stem any reverses on the pitch and to provide a punchy counterattack to provide the necessary points for advancement.


The preview of Group B should be up by the weekend.  Any guesses as to which should be the two favorites to advance to the Knockout Stage?

A few, brief impressions of the Spanish translation of Jeff VanderMeer's Annihilation

Even though I'm an occasional translator, I typically do not buy a translation of a work if I can understand it in its native idiom.  But on occasion, I will make exceptions.  Sometimes, it is because I want to make double-sure that I get every single use of figurative or symbolic language.  Other times, it is as simple as wanting to have a nicely-designed edition on one of my bookshelves, awaiting my whim as to when I should peruse it.

Then there are those cases in which I want to collect editions by particular authors, even for languages that I do not comprehend at all.  There are only a few for which I'll do this, as collection costs can be prohibitive:  Antoine de Saint-Exupéry's The Little Prince (currently, I own just over 20 editions, 14 of which are print editions); the Bible (over a dozen translations, ancient and modern each); and now, the works of Jeff VanderMeer.  I've been reading Jeff's works for a little over ten years now and I generally buy any limited editions of his whenever they go on sale.  So when I saw the Planeta/Destino cover for the Spanish translation of the first volume of the Southern Reach Trilogy, Annihilation, I was fascinated for two reasons.  First, the cover is one of the better ones I've seen on any book in years in terms of capturing my attention and in seeming to correlate with what is inside the book.  Secondly, I was curious to see how the tone would translate across idioms.

This morning, I received my pre-ordered e-book edition of Aniquilación on iBooks.  I have spent the past hour or so carefully reading it, comparing it at times to the original US edition.  What I have noticed is that translator Isabel Margelí does a terrific job in capturing the feel of the opening scenes.  Even when she had to "break" the sentences in order to render it into equivalent Spanish, those changes felt natural and in tune with the flow of the narrative.  I have always enjoyed reading and listening to Spanish because of a perceived sonorous quality to its syntax and in reading Annihilation in translation, this quality meshes very well with the portentous atmosphere of the narrative.  Certainly, the first twenty e-pages (130 total on my iPad at its current setting) bode well for my enjoyment of this translation.

A few qualms about the usage of "trigger warnings" in literary contexts

A couple of days ago, The New York Times published an article entitled "Warning:  The Literary Canon Could Make Students Squirm."  It is a piece presenting various sides on the recent rise in requests on college campuses and elsewhere for there to be "trigger warnings" for media and literature in case traumatized individuals encounter something that might set off a trauma-related reaction.  It is a pop sociological piece, more interested in introducing the topic for a general audience than exploring the matter in depth, but nonetheless it is worth reading if you are not familiar with the issue.

For those who are aware of the increased requests for "trigger warnings," likely there have been some strong reactions.  For many, especially those who have been the victims of traumatic events or know people who have suffered through such, the idea of there being "warnings" makes sense, as it enables them to focus their sympathy on people who have and continue to suffer from episodes related to horrific past personal events.  Safety, particularly of the preventative type, is paramount here and it is easy to empathize with them.  However, there are others who believe that pre-emptive labeling of certain things, especially those that possess great "cultural capital," as literary classics in particular do, can be ultimately detrimental, as such labels might unfairly and unduly influence popular perceptions of certain "difficult" works.

Literature, along with great swaths of human material societies, are not designed to be "safe havens." Whenever ideas and realities clash, whether it be in fiction, poetry, non-fiction, or other written, illustrated, or performed arts, the expression of this violent collision possesses the potential to replicate very real and very hurtful human moments.  If it didn't, then these arts would not contain the elements necessary for us to relate to them, to grasp them, to understand at least a sliver of what is being expressed in these works.  To shunt these works away under a "trigger warning:  X" moniker is to risk making them off limits, to be something that might be re-interpreted along the lines of one or a few lines of potential reader reaction rather than something that might cause a greater spectrum of reactions to be seen and heard.

But even this view risks missing a greater, more substantive point:  literature that discusses disturbing elements may just be cathartic.  Catharsis is a vital part of human interactions with the world.  Encountering something, whether it be "real" or "art," that enables very real fears to be presented in more digestible snippets that then can be worked at and manipulated by our reasoning faculties is something to be treasured.  In writing this article, I was reminded of this quote by G.K. Chesterton:

“Fairy tales do not tell children the dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children the dragons can be killed.”

Change the words slightly, perhaps substitute "traumas" for dragons and "fiction" for "fairy tales" and perhaps "overcome" for "killed" and a pithy commentary on why certain "dark" types of literature that are read, viewed, or performed are valuable emerges:  "Fiction does not tell children that traumas exist.  Children (or perhaps survivors?) already know that traumas exist.  Fiction tells (children/survivors) that traumas can be overcome."  Sometimes, I believe that this role of catharsis is overlooked in discussing the issue of safety/protection when it comes to literature and media.

Mind you, this is not intended to belittle or dismiss the viewpoints of those who view things differently.  Instead, I believe that in considering which works are appropriate (after all, de Sade almost certainly is not suitable fare for elementary/primary school students), some trust should be placed with the authors and lecturers that the material may not be just a trigger for traumatic flashbacks but also potentially something that enables a cathartic release and the beginning or continuation of a healing process.  That last element, unfortunately, is not discussed as much when considering this issue.  Perhaps it is time that we consider fragility and resiliency together and keep empathy unaltered by excessive worry at the center of this societal interaction with literature and media.

Nebula Award winners announced

Below are the winners and the finalists in the various categories of the Nebula Awards, which were awarded Saturday night.  In a couple of cases, I might give some brief thoughts on the categories.  Interesting to see that the SFWA voters, despite the turnover of the past decade, still seem to have the knack of selecting a winner that I view as being among the most mediocre of the Novel finalists.  Some things really never do change, do they?

Best Novel

• Winner: Ancillary Justice, Ann Leckie (Orbit US; Orbit UK)
• We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves, Karen Joy Fowler (Marian Wood)
• The Ocean at the End of the Lane, Neil Gaiman (Morrow; Headline Review)
• Fire with Fire, Charles E. Gannon (Baen)
• Hild, Nicola Griffith (Farrar, Straus and Giroux)
• The Red: First Light, Linda Nagata (Mythic Island)
• A Stranger in Olondria, Sofia Samatar (Small Beer)
• The Golem and the Jinni, Helene Wecker (Harper)

 I've read five out of the eight finalists.  Out of those five, I would have ranked them in this order:  1) Fowler, 2) Wecker, 3) Samatar, 4) (and some distance from the first three) Gaiman, and 5) Leckie.  At this point, I'm resigned to Leckie being the latest Gaiman, someone who wins multiple genre awards in a given year despite not having written anything that truly will be memorable a decade from now.  Then again, the list of truly original works winning any sort of literary/genre award is very small compared to the pleasingly comfortable re-treads with shiny tires and spinners, so take my comments with multiple grains of salt.

Best Novella

• Winner: ‘‘The Weight of the Sunrise,’’ Vylar Kaftan (Asimov’s 2/13)
• ‘‘Wakulla Springs,’’ Andy Duncan & Ellen Klages (Tor.com 10/2/13)
• ‘‘Annabel Lee,” Nancy Kress (New Under the Sun)
• ‘‘Burning Girls,’’ Veronica Schanoes (Tor.com 6/19/13)
• ‘‘Trial of the Century,’’ Lawrence M. Schoen (lawrencemschoen.com, 8/13; World Jumping)
• Six-Gun Snow White, Catherynne M. Valente (Subterranean)

Best Novelette

• Winner: ‘‘The Waiting Stars,’’ Aliette de Bodard (The Other Half of the Sky)
• ‘‘Paranormal Romance,’’ Christopher Barzak (Lightspeed 6/13)
• ‘‘They Shall Salt the Earth with Seeds of Glass,’’ Alaya Dawn Johnson (Asimov’s 1/13)
• ‘‘Pearl Rehabilitative Colony for Ungrateful Daughters,’’ Henry Lien (Asimov’s 12/13)
• ‘‘The Litigation Master and the Monkey King,’’ Ken Liu (Lightspeed8/13)
• ‘‘In Joy, Knowing the Abyss Behind,’’ Sarah Pinsker (Strange Horizons 7/1 – 7/8/13)

Best Short Story

• Winner: ‘‘If You Were a Dinosaur, My Love,’’ Rachel Swirsky (Apex 3/13)
• ‘‘The Sounds of Old Earth,’’ Matthew Kressel (Lightspeed 1/13)
• ‘‘Selkie Stories Are for Losers,’’ Sofia Samatar (Strange Horizons1/7/13)
• ‘‘Selected Program Notes from the Retrospective Exhibition of Theresa Rosenberg Latimer,’’ Kenneth Schneyer (Clockwork Phoenix4)
• ‘‘Alive, Alive Oh,’’ Sylvia Spruck Wrigley (Lightspeed 6/13)

Ray Bradbury Award for Outstanding Dramatic Presentation

• Winner: Gravity (Alfonso Cuarón, director; Alfonso Cuarón & Jonás Cuarón, writers) (Warner Bros.)
• Doctor Who: ‘‘The Day of the Doctor’’ (Nick Hurran, director; Steven Moffat, writer) (BBC Wales)
• Europa Report (Sebastián Cordero, director; Philip Gelatt, writer) (Start Motion Pictures)
• Her (Spike Jonze, director; Spike Jonze, writer) (Warner Bros.)
• The Hunger Games: Catching Fire (Francis Lawrence, director; Simon Beaufoy & Michael Arndt as Michael deBruyn, writers) (Lionsgate)
• Pacific Rim (Guillermo del Toro, director; Travis Beacham & Guillermo del Toro, writers) (Warner Bros.)

Andre Norton Award for Young Adult Science Fiction and Fantasy

• Winner: Sister Mine, Nalo Hopkinson (Grand Central)
• The Coldest Girl in Coldtown, Holly Black (Little, Brown; Indigo)
• When We Wake, Karen Healey (Allen & Unwin; Little, Brown)
• The Summer Prince, Alaya Dawn Johnson (Levine)
• Hero, Alethea Kontis (Harcourt)
• September Girls, Bennett Madison (Harper Teen)
• A Corner of White, Jaclyn Moriarty (Levine)

I've only read the Hopkinson and Johnson and out of those, I would select Hopkinson's work.  A good, solid work, although not my favorite novel, adult or YA alike, by her.

Service to SFWA Award was given to Michael J. Armstrong.

Damon Knight Memorial Grand Master Award was given to Samuel R. Delany.

Andrzej Sapkowski, Víbora (Viper)

Andrzej Sapkowski's 2009 novel, Viper, differs significantly from his earlier works in several key ways.  Set in 1980s Afghanistan, it is his only novel-length fiction set in the "modern" world.  With this setting comes a shift in "magical" elements away from medievalesque sorcerers and swordsmen toward something that is more overtly allegorical and more horrific than anything else the author has written before.  It is a bold move for an established writer to take, but one that largely works for Sapkowski.

Viper is set near the end of the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan and the action is centered around a member of the Soviet special forces, Pavel Levart, as he becomes embroiled within a millennia-long story of a hidden treasure and a monstrous golden viper whose very presence signals the impending death of whoever encounters it.  As Levart and his comrades push further into the Hindu Kush, where the viper is based, echoes of previous expeditions, ranging from Alexander the Great's soldiers to 19th century British soldiers, begin to ring, both metaphorically and in a very "real" sense, all around them.

Viper possesses more of a horror feel than a military fantasy, as the ominous viper appears several times fleetingly before disappearing for a while, leaving in its wake some disturbing revelations.  Sapkowski, however, avoids making this sense of impending doom monotonous, as he often uses snippets of poetry, especially Keats' in untranslated English, to break the mood.  These poetic snippets, however, serve another purpose, as they contain certain thematic references that foreshadow certain developments.  As Levart and his comrades advance into the mountains, the tension slowly but steadily rises, as more about the legend of the golden viper and the treasure it guards is revealed.

The action is more internal than eternal and those expecting violent action may find themselves disappointed.  Sapkowski furthers the narrative more through dialogue than through external action, although this is less pronounced than in his earlier series.  The problem with this particular novel, however, is that the dialogue is not as memorable as those conversations from both the Witcher and Hussite Trilogy series.  There were times that the dialogue actually seemed to get in the way of the narrative, as Levart and his fellow soldiers prove to be less than exciting characters and their conversations feel devoid of the vitality that marks most of Sapkowski's earlier writing.

Yet despite this, Viper does contain enough narrative tension over its 183 pages to make it a worthwhile read, albeit one that is one of Sapkowski's weaker efforts.  The Spanish translation by José María Faraldo felt "natural" to me, as though the story was originally written in Spanish rather than in Polish.  Even though I had some problems with the dialogues and the characterizations, I do not believe it is the translator's fault, but instead that of Sapkowski himself.  Yet despite these issues, on the whole Viper was a good, intriguing tale with a good conclusion.  It may not be Sapkowski's best work, but even a lesser work of his is better than the vast majority of the speculative fiction writers that I have read in recent years.