Latest Book Haul

The only expensive hobby I have (other than ordering mochi from the Japan Centre every few months) is book-buying. But sometimes I get lucky and have books given to me by friends. Here is a pile I acquired this month of April – a fairly normal rate monthly rate of acquisition, I would say.

From the top:

I enjoyed Antal Szerb‘s Journey by Moonlight so much that I ordered several of his other books that have been translated into English, but only this one Oliver VII has arrived thus far, a sort of Prince and the Pauper retelling.

I think Selva Almada’s Not the River got lost in the post when I first ordered it for the International Booker longlist reading, so I had to reorder it, and am very glad I did so, as it was one of my favourite reads from the longlist, and has deservedly been shortlisted too.

Three new books in Romanian published by Cartier, a publishing house from the Republic of Moldova, hand-delivered by the lovely journalist and author Paula Erizanu. Valentina Șcerbani’s Orașul Promis (The Promised City) and Lorina Bălteanu’s Legată cu funia de pământ (Tied with a rope to the earth) are stories of rural families, seen through the eyes of a child, while Gelu Diaconu’s Kaulas is the little-told story of growing up gay in Romania in the 1980s.

Strange, horror-tinged Korean stories appeal to me immensely, and The New Seoul Park Jelly Massacre by Cho Yeeun seems to fall nicely into this category.

To Hell with Poets by Baqytgul Sarmekova is probably the first book from Kazakhstan that I’ll be reading for our London Reads the World Book Club.

I was supposed to receive an ARC of The Extinction of Irena Rey by Jennifer Croft, but that too might have gone missing in the post. A book about translators in primeval forests in Europe by one of my favourite translators? I’ve heard the author speak about it too online. Bring it on! This one was very kindly passed on by my blogger friend from Lizzy’s Literary Life.

Kakuta Mitsuyo is a very popular author about contemporary Japanese women’s lives, but hasn’t been translated all that much into English. However, several of my blogger friends who are interested in Japanese literature have featured her, for example Tsundoku Reader.

Vincent and Theo: The Van Gogh Brothers by Deborah Heiligman I saw reviewed recently on The Scientific Detective’s blog – and, since I am so fond of Van Gogh’s work, I had to get it.

I have to admit that I am at that stage in my bookish love in which I need to get rid of books just as fast if not faster as I acquire them, for fear that it will cost a fortune to ship them abroad, and that I’ll have no room to store them in my much smaller next house (flat). Can I help it if I fall so easily into temptation – as soon as a publisher sends me a newsletter, as soon as I attend an event, as soon as I read a review? Although I use libraries extensively too, I have to repeat to myself: ‘You do not have to buy every single book that sounds interesting.’

Having said that, I might have a wander through the bookshops of Berlin as well next week.

Incoming Books for the Winter Months

I didn’t receive any books for Christmas, other than the Vintage Crime Advent Calendar I offered myself. I don’t think I have any more books currently on order, and I have tried to weed out some of my shelves. Nevertheless, quite an alarming pile of new books have somehow managed to wing their way to me over the past month or so. And I’m not even counting e-books, although I might mention one or two below.

From top to bottom:

The first four books – I suppose my Berlin shelf is getting quite well-stocked now, in preparation for my move towards the end of the year. Although I can understand people’s fascination with Weimar Berlin and the rise of Fascism, MY Berlin (and the Berlin of my generation) is the city just after the fall of the Wall, so I’ve acquired quite a lot of books describing that period: Sven Regener’s Berlin Blues is set in 1989 and translated by John Brownjohn. Wladimir Kaminer’s Russian Disco is a memoir about coming to Berlin in 1990 from Russia as a DJ, translated by Michael Hulse. Ulrike Sterblich’s book is also a memoir, this time of a childhood spent in a city that no longer exists, namely West Berlin. And finally, Carmen-Francesca Banciu is a Romanian writer and her collection of stories and micro-memoirs entitled Berlin Is My Paris (because most Romanian intellectuals of the interwar period and even those escaping Communism ended up in Paris) captures the atmosphere of the whole 1990s in Berlin.

Tone Schunnesson: Days Days Days, transl. Saskia Vogel, published by Heloise Press.

If you haven’t heard of Heloise Press, a small indie publisher in the UK dedicated to contemporary female narratives (both fiction and non-fiction), then I can heartily recommend them. This Swedish novel is about a reality TV star who’s fast approaching middle age and can feel success is beginning to slip through her fingers… and is prepared to do anything to maintain her ‘D’ list status.

Robert Coover: Pricksongs & Descants, Penguin Modern Classics.

I can’t remember who recommended this on Twitter, and I’ve not always gelled with American fiction of the 1960s-1990s, but I’ll give it a go. I think someone said that his short story The Babysitter is one of the best in all of American fiction.

Percival Everett: Erasure, Faber.

By way of contrast, I’ve been amused, horrified and fascinated by every book by Percival Everett that I’ve ever read (he never seems to write the same book twice, does he?). This is not a new book, it was originally published in 2001, but there’s a film out called American Fiction based on this book, so it’s been given a new lease of life.

Felix Hartlaub: Clouds Over Paris. Wartime Notebooks, transl. Simon Beattie, Pushkin Classics.

I do know who is to blame for this acquisition: two of my favourite bloggers. Jacqui reviewed it on her blog, while Kaggsy(aka Karen Langley) reviewed it for Shiny New Books – and it sounds so compelling: the observations of a German embedded journalist who comes with the Nazi occupiers to Paris. Meanwhile, I have the dilemma of deciding where to shelve this: in my German section or my French section (it’s not just about the origins of the author, but also about subject matter).

Jan Morris: Trieste and the Meaning of Nowhere, Faber.

Hilde Spiel and her novella set in Trieste are to blame for this one, but to be honest, Trieste has always fascinated me as a mix of Austro-Hungarian, Italian, Slavic and other elements. Jan Morris first visited the city as a soldier at the end of the Second World War and has seen it change and evolve over the decades.

Clarice Lispector: The Besieged City, transl. Johnny Lorenz, Penguin Modern Classics.

Her least-known and least-Clarice-like novel, but the reason I want to read it is not just because I’m a completist (although it’s been a long time since I read her, high time to reread, perhaps in chronological order), but also because she wrote it while she was an (unhappy) expat in Switzerland.

Arkady & Boris Strugatsky: Roadside Picnic, transl. Olena Bormashenko, AND The Inhabited Island, transl. Andrew Bromfield, both published by Gollancz SF Masterworks.

I enjoyed reading Roadside Picnic so much (very different but just as brilliant as the film Stalker) that I recommended it to someone and lent it to them, but can’t remember who. So I had to buy it again, and while I was ordering it, I came across this other novel which I hadn’t heard of, so now I have two of theirs, as well as the utterly hilarious political satire of Monday Begins on Saturday.

Elvin James Mensah: Small Joys, Scribner.

I think I must have come across this one in one of the Best of 2023 lists, but I apologise once more for not remembering whose list it was (identify yourself in the comments if it was yours). A book about friendship, homophobia, race, depression and suicide – but ultimately about hope and loyalty.

Nikhil Krishnan: A Terribly Serious Adventure. Philosophy at Oxford 1900-1960. Profile Books.

This is a direct result of a discussion about Iris Murdoch on #DevonBookHour on Twitter, where the founder of the Devon Book Club, Ian, said he was rereading her fiction and someone else mentioned that this book also talks about her philosophy. Of course, when I proudly produced it in front of my older son, who’s studying philosophy, he dismissively said: ‘I think the Cambridge version of this might have been more interesting!’

Holidays: Between Cultures, Between Generations and a Massive Book Haul

This will just be a random rambling because I haven’t had time to organise my thoughts or fully process the multitude of often contradictory feelings I had about my short holiday in Romania last week.

The reason why I went there at this time of year was to attend the wedding in Bucharest of my second cousin (who is over 20 years younger than me), but of course I spent most of the time with my parents in the countryside. As always, I felt torn between cultures, mistress of (or slave to) none. I also noticed a profound difference between generations, and I can only hope that the younger generation does not get cynical and give up.

1. Romanian weddings are truly joyous occasions, with no embarrassing speeches or drunken antics, only dancing and eating and children running around (they had a children’s entertainer for them and they were outside most of the time). My cousin wanted hers to be relatively small and modern, so she only invited about 120 people (small by Romanian standards) to the reception, mostly young friends of the couple, including friends from abroad. The menu and the music were a little bit too modern for the few more distant middle-aged relatives who had been invited. I too regretted the lack of ‘sarmale’ (stuffed cabbage leaves, a wedding feast staple), but appreciated the very wide range of music for dancing, from the 1970s to 2020, from folklore to rock to pop to jazz, in a mix of languages and styles. The bride and groom had a stunning opening dance, which my cousin had personally choreographed, and, although they couldn’t bring their dog with them to the venue, she was present via the groom’s custom-made cufflinks with her portrait on them. Other innovations included an instant photo booth to provide souvenirs for all the guests, and a little buffet of savoury and sweet dishes while the guests were arriving and pictures were being taken. (Usually you have to wait for ages until the first course is served.)
2. Instead of presents, the tradition is to give money to the bridal couple in an envelope at the wedding (like in Japan). I’ve been reliably informed that Romanians are among the most generous in the world with the sums they give at weddings.
3. I was woefully underdressed for the occasion. I had bought a nice enough knitted skirt and top combo from Cos for the wedding, but it turned out to be too hot for it, so I only wore the skirt and improvised a light top, but the other guests were extremely impressive in all their finery.
4. I couldn’t help wondering what would have happened with an open bar tab at a wedding in England. Some of the friends did have one or two rounds of tequila shots, but it was honestly very tame. Instead, there was lot of smoking or vaping outside – so each country has its own vice, I guess. What struck me, however, is how chatty, friendly, lively, eager to dance almost all of the guests were. For an introvert it must be a nightmare, but for me, it felt great to be able to join in conversations with just about anyone, see some of the youngsters play basketball in their finest outfits, do the silliest dance moves without any shame – and huge kudos to the guests from abroad who did their best to join in the Romanian folk dances.

The weather was far too hot for late October: a bonus for the wedding, but worrying in terms of climate change. At my parents’ house, close to the mountains, temperatures did drop down to 2-3 overnight, but were still 25-26 during the day, while in Bucharest it was easily around 29-30 and didn’t feel too cold even after midnight.

As always, I talked extensively to people of all ages and noticed quite a generation gap. Young people and those up to about my age are all working very hard, very long hours, and often spend many hours stuck in traffic or commuting. Many of them also have elderly parents or relatives in the countryside whom they have to visit regularly) What spare time they have, they spend on sports, meeting up with friends or travelling (mostly abroad). They are often exhausted and those who are in their 50s are all planning to retire as soon as they can, before the pension reforms kick in. There will be a huge talent and experience gap coming up in many professions.

The older generation are more traditionalist, and have far too much time to fall for and talk about conspiracy theories. Although my father as a former diplomat has a more nuanced view of the whole situation in the Middle East, many people I spoke to were racist, although, oddly enough, equal-opportunities racist about ‘the Arabs overrunning all of Europe and committing terrorist acts’ or ‘those Jews controlling too much of the world’s media and committing atrocities’.

Closer to home, my niece’s mental health problems and suicide are still regarded with utter horror as a mortal sin, and not an ounce of compassion was forthcoming from the older family members. I remember my maternal grandmother and at least one aunt on my father’s side having much more progressive views back in the days, but the Orthodox church has got a firm grip on the older generation. They have deleted all her online posts and blogs in which she discussed her struggles with depression quite frankly, and destroyed her notebooks, and have nothing but nasty stories to tell about her and speculations about her messy lifestyle which ‘made her go off the rails’.

I tried very hard to hold my tongue and not to succumb to lengthy arguments on either political or religious or psychological subjects.

However, one source of joy was the large pile of books I acquired, although I didn’t find all the ones I was searching for in the bookshops (I should have ordered them online beforehand and had them delivered at my parents’ house). I didn’t bring quite all of them back, because I also wanted to bring some of the books already on my parents’ bookshelves. such as Middlemarch (it’s not the prettiest edition, a Pan Classics, but it’s been read with much fondness – I found a Japanese bookmark in it, so I must have been reading it as a student), Kurt Tucholsky’s Schloss Gripsholm – the quintessential summer book (translation by Michael Hoffman published by NYRB) and an illustrated bilingual limited edition of What These Ithakas Mean: Readings in Cavafy, published by the Hellenic Literary and Historical Archive in 2002. But I did bring back books by seven women authors (two of them from Moldova, the others from Romania), and four male authors, including a book of plays, so I hope to have some translation samples available soon and start knocking on publishers’ doors with them.

June Book Haul

I can’t really blame this on my upcoming birthday, since most of them are books I ordered a week or more ago, when my birthday didn’t seem imminent. I suppose it’s the usual displacement activity: where else to turn to but new books, if you’ve got a younger son with exams, an older son who needs financial support for his year abroad in Geneva (of all ‘cheap’ places, luckily he got a place in a student hall), a temperamental cat that you are not sure you can cope with and the anxiety of planning an ill-advised Japan trip that you’ve now committed to doing but would really rather be doing anything else instead. Makes zero financial sense to spend money on books when are you worrying about money, but there we go…

Let’s at least have some fun taking a peek at the books themselves.

I can’t always remember what sparked my impulsive buying, but it’s usually Twitter or reading your blogs. Starting from the top left:

• Dana Shem-Ur: Where I am, transl. from Hebrew by Yardenne Greenspan. I’m pretty sure I saw this on the Twitter feed of New Vessel Press, a publisher I’m very fond of. A book about expats, living between cultures, motherhood and wifehood across cultures – so very much my cup of tea!
• Someone on Twitter was quoting some of the madder passages about Maria Callas’ funeral from this book. Sisters, a memoir written by her older sister Jackie Callas, herself a singer but very much in the shadows of her more famous sibling. So much to unpack there!
• Kapka Kassabova: To the Lake – I actually have this already on Kindle but wanted to have a hard copy of it – it’s not quite the beautiful edition I was expecting from Graywolf Press, but a Granta edition.
• Kapka Kassabova: Twelve Minutes of Love – while I was busy buying the previous book, I also came upon this earlier book of hers, a combination of travel writing, tango history and the search for connection and art. A must-have for a failed tanguero like myself!
• Claudia Pineiro: A Little Luck – I’ve loved pretty much all the Charco books I’ve read so far, and Pineiro is never a dull author.
• Attia Hosain: Phoenix Fled – I abstained from the Virago Anniversary Sale, but had already ordered this collection of short stories from an entirely new to me author, when I read a brief review of one of her stories in Jacqui’s blog post.
• Darran McCann: After the Lockout – it’s once again one of my regular blogger friends, Fiction Fan, who introduced me to this writer and his evocation of a complex and dark period of Irish history
• My last two are poetry books, because poetry presses are often a labour of love and need all the support they can get. These two are from Blue Diode Press in Edinburgh and are both about slippery cross-cultural identities: CaucAsian by Neetha Kunaratnam and Kayakoy by Jeri Onitskansky.

Of the two non-descript ones at the bottom of the picture, the first one is an ex-library copy of a book that I remember reading as a student and which I recently mentioned to someone asking about books about literary translation: Robert Wechsler’s Performing Without a Stage, a rather wonderful comparison of translators with musicians interpreting a piece of music. ‘While every musician knows that his performance is simply one of many, often one of thousands…, the translator knows that his performance may be the only one, at least the only one of his generation, and that he will not have the opportunity either to improve on it or to try a different approach… no one can see his difficult performance. Except where he slips up. In fact, he is praised primarily for not being seen.’

The last one is a library book: how I will miss Senate House Library when I no longer work in that iconic building and can go upstairs to meander around the bookshelves as and when I please. Couldn’t find a lot of Romain Gary (that I hadn’t read) in French, surprisingly enough, but I did find some English translations. Hocus Bogus is a translation of the book Pseudo, that he wrote under the pseudonym Emile Ajar.

Last Few Acquisitions of 2022

And when I say ‘few’, I don’t really mean it!

Let’s take it from left to right, shall we?

As you know, I am always susceptible to book recommendations on Twitter (even though I am rapidly falling out of love with Twitter because of recent changes and furore). I saw Lauren Alwan wax lyrical about Emma Thompson’s diary of the filming of Sense and Sensibility, and I love that film and script, so I thought it would be a good investment.

The following five are all acquisitions from Newcastle Noir. Tony Mott is the author I am currently translating for Corylus (Deadly Autumn Harvest), and she kindly brought other books in her Gigi Alexa series, also featuring seasons in the title (Poisoned Summer and One Last Spring – provisional titles in English). I got talking with author Tom Benjamin who lives in Bologna and has written a series of crime novels set there, featuring an English private investigator, so that he could comment on cultural differences (my cup of tea, as you can imagine!). Passionate about social issues as I am, especially in my crime fiction, I instantly picked up the first in Trevor Wood‘s trilogy featuring a homeless man solving murders almost in order to protect himself. I’ve already read it and it is gritty, moving and quite unlike the run-of-the-mill police procedurals or psychological thrillers that seem to be a dime a dozen. Last but not least, although action thrillers are not my staple reading matter, after hearing author Amen Alonge talk about his book, life choices, stereotyping and the emptiness of vengeance, I had to get his first book in the Pretty Boy series, A Good Day to Die. Experts are saying that literary festivals don’t sell a lot of books anymore, but clearly they have never seen me in action! The only reason I stopped buying was because I had a rather heavy suitcase and a dodgy elbow to contend with on the way back from Newcastle.

I am not immune to book buzz, and I’ve been hearing about the next two books all year, so finally caved in and got them: Stu Hennigan‘s Ghost Signs is an examination of poverty in Britain today, made worse by austerity and the pandemic. And of course everyone has heard of Percival Everett‘s The Trees, shortlisted for the Booker Prize this year.

I have received the first in the 2023 Peirene subscription, History. A Mess. by Icelandic author Sigrun Palsdottir, translated by Lytton Smith, and it sounds intriguing, about an academic who makes a mistake and then is prepared to go to any lengths to hide that.

The next few books are all in German and took quite a while to be shipped over from Germany (and some were quite expensive). I’ve been fascinated with Hilde Spiel since I read her wonderful memoir of returning to post-war Vienna, so I ordered a whole bunch of her fiction in German (she also wrote in English), some of which has not arrived yet, as I hope to pitch her work to various publishers. Same applies to Ödön von Horváth, who is still mostly unknown outside Austria. Meanwhile, the book by Ingrid Noll was once again recommended by someone on Twitter – I’m afraid I can’t even remember by whom!

I’ve read a fair amount of Balzac over the years, but I think I only partially read Lost Illusions (or an abridged version). This is the long winter read for our London Reads the World Book Club, and I hope to find a way to see the latest French adaptation of it as well, because it looks very good (and evergreen topic, don’t you think?).

In addition to the above, there are a few that are still on their way and which might even make it here before 2023: Euphoria by Elin Cullhed, because I can never resist a book about Sylvia Plath; The Mermaid’s Tale by Lee Wei-Jing, because I’ve always been on the hunt for a worthy ballroom dancing partner; and a self-help book, believe it or not: The Little ACT Workbook by Sinclair & Bedman, as I’ve been looking for an alternative to CBT, which may be effective therapy for most people but doesn’t work for everyone.

Disclosure: I have set up my stall on Bookshop.org and if you go there, you will find not only find all the Corylus books available on that site, but also other lists with translated crime fiction that I particularly enjoy or books that I have recently bought myself or would heartily recommend. If you buy via those links, I get a very small commission myself, at no extra cost to you, and all the pennies will be ploughed back into producing better books for you at our tiny, very part-time publishing venture.

Incoming Books

Whenever I am worried about the state of the world, or my family, or my health, I build a wall of books around me. So, needless to say, October has been a month of intensive book acquisition.

Starting from the top, a book by an Austrian writer Franz Schuh, whose latest book of essays (somewhat in the acerbic satirical tradition of Karl Kraus) was written during the pandemic. The title is certainly quite a sobering one Lachen und Sterben (Laughing and Dying). I will be reviewing this for the Austrian Riveter produced by the EuroLitNetwork. I love it, but will it work for someone who is not as partial to Viennese humour and cynicism as myself?

A Quebecois journalist, travel writer and novelist next: Isabelle Grégoire. I’ve actually received two novels by her from a translator friend: Fille de Fer (The Iron Maiden? – not pictured here) is set on the railway lines of the very far north of Canada, while Vert comme l’enfer (Green Like Hell) is set at least partly in the Amazonian jungle.

Scottish writer Iain Hood’s Every Trick in the Book was a very kind present from Karen (whom you might know as Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings). She reviewed it on her blog, and I thought it sounded quite amusing and very clever.

The Haunted Hotel is the first of two Wilkie Collins acquisitions this month, inspired no doubt by Eleanor Franzen’s deep dive into this author. I had to buy his best-known novel, The Woman in White, too, because I realised that although it is one of my favourite English 19th century novels, I do not actually own a copy of it. You can’t go wrong with the very pretty, tactile Alma Classics editions, which often have some bonus material at the end of each book.

I think it was in an Australian contributor’s #6Degrees of Separation post (and I apologise, I cannot remember exactly who it was) that I came across the book Women of a Certain Rage, a collection of personal stories and essays about angry women by Australian women writers, introduced by Liz Byrski. Women openly expressing their rage is still perceived as so unseemly, so dull, so unnatural, and it makes me seethe (just like my mother’s admonishments: sit nicely, speak softly, don’t frown, don’t raise your voice, don’t lose your temper).

I have become a complete Marlen Haushofer fan and had been meaning to buy her biography for ages (or at least since I attended a conference about her work). Written by Daniela Strigl, its title is a quote from the author herself: ‘Wahrscheinlich bin ich verrückt…’ (I may well be crazy). I also bought her novella Die Mansarde (The Attic Room) and will probably read it asap for German Lit Month and Novella in November.

I’ve loved Lissa Evans‘ Old Baggage and Crooked Heart, so I acquired V for Victory on my Kindle soon after it came out. However, I never got round to reading it and when I saw a hardback at my library, I thought I would prefer to read it in this format. I am already 40 pages in and it’s proving the perfect comfort read.

Not one but two Bloomsbury books next. I used to joke in my 20s that if I ever appeared on Mastermind, the Bloomsbury Group would be my specialist subject. But in the meantime, there have been quite a lot of new books published about them, as they seem to be a perpetual source of fascination, scandal and gossip even with this generation. I have read Frances Spalding’s biography of Vanessa Bell, but thought it might be nice to own it, but I did not know about the biography of David (Bunny) Garnett, Bloomsbury’s Outsider by Sarah Knights, and am curious to see if my rather negative opinion of him will be swayed in any way.

Yet another chunky biography, this time of the problematic but hugely talented Austrian writer Joseph Roth, Endless Flight by Keiron Pim. This is turning out to be quite an Austrian acquisition month, isn’t it?

Finally, another library book, one I had to wait for, the ever-popular Anthony Horowitz with his latest Hawthorne mystery A Twist of the Knife, in which the author as ever makes an appearance as a somewhat egocentric, hapless participant, this time accused of murder because a critic panned his play on opening night. Great escapist fun!

I have also acquired some e-books, either buying them directly or from Netgalley. These are mostly light reads, perfect for cosy evenings under the electric blanket.

Kirsten Miller: The Change – a quiet Long Island community is shaken out of its complacency when three menopausal women find unusual means of empowerment. Sounds like a laugh, very Hocus Pocus or Practical Magic.

Susi Holliday: The Hike – two bickering sisters and their husbands go on a hiking trip to Switzerland but only two make it down the mountain. How can I resist the scenery and the premise (makes me glad to be an only child, right?).

Tom Hindle: The Murder Game – one house, nine guests for a murder mystery fun evening, trapped by the snow, very Golden Age feel to this one

Machado de Assis: The Looking Glass. Essential Stories (transl Daniel Hahn) – I’m terribly fond of this Brazilian writer, and these stories sound spooky, slightly sinister, quite bonkers. I still want to get hold of his novel The Posthumous Memoirs of Brás Cubas, but am not sure which of two translations to get (probably the Margaret Jull Costa one).

Jo Callaghan: In the Blink of an Eye – I had the pleasure of hearing Jo read a little from this at the Bay Tales Noir at the Bar Halloween Special (where our author Jonina Leosdottir also read from her novel Deceit). It sounds like a fantastic slightly speculative crime novel: a real-life policewoman partnered with an AI officer.

Keigo Higashino: A Death in Tokyo – after rereading his Malice for our Crime Book Club, I couldn’t resist finding something new by this clever Japanese author with a great insight into the darkest depth of the human psyche.

Gregg Olsen: Starvation Heights – I don’t usually read much true crime, but this one’s a little different, about a sanatorium for ‘fasting cures’ in the Pacific Northwest in the early 20th century. This one does sound grim, rather than comfort reading, so I might leave it for later.

On Pause Again – and More Books!

Sadly, I didn’t just bring back good memories and new friendships from Bloody Scotland, but also Covid. I started feeling a bit fluey on Tuesday/Wednesday, but thought I had caught a cold from my younger son. However, it appears that his cold is independent, and on Friday I tested positive, after several people who had attended Bloody Scotland had already announced they had fallen ill. It is optimistic to think that we can go back to a normal life in closed venues – it is, in fact, a lottery, and although I wear masks on public transport, I have to admit I did not wear one in the venues and probably not everyone tested for Covid before they attended the event.

So I just had quite a horrible weekend, and am not up to anything more intellectual than showing you pictures of the books I have acquired this month.

First of all, thank you to Stela Brinzeanu and her publisher Legend Press for the beautiful little parcel that arrived with the proper edition of the book Set in Stone (I previously read the ARC), a tote bag and a small jar of honey from Moldova.

I splashed out on quite a few books, although only two at Bloody Scotland (I did not have much room in my luggage and also my broken arm struggled with the tiny suitcase I did have).

The two I bought in Stirling were Last Girl Ghosted by Lisa Unger and The Killing Kind by Jane Casey, after attending their panel. I read them both half in Stirling and half on the train journey home, they were proper page-turners!

After the death of Javier Marias, I felt I wanted to acquire a few of his translated novels which I didn’t have, although for the time being I am reading the trilogy Your Face Tomorrow, which was already on my shelves but which I had never quite started properly. I have already read and loved Lolly Willowes, and I borrowed Winter in Sokcho by Elisa Shua Dusapin in the original French from my university library. I bought the collection of sci-fi-tinged stories Terminal Boredom after reading a couple of blog reviews, and I got two Tim Winton books after several of you started raving about him on Twitter following an article featuring an interview with him. As you can see, I am so easily led down the book-buying path…

I borrowed the Elizabeth George from the library on Tuesday and thought it would be just the thing for a Covid-stricken brain, but alas, her novels have been getting longer and longer, without any justification, so I very nearly abandoned it. Fish Soup is a Charco Press book that I did not have, but we’ll be reading it for our London Reads the World Book club, and I’ve liked the other Margarita Garcia Robayo book that I read, Holiday Heart. I didn’t get to hear Emma Styles at Bloody Scotland, but I sat next to her on the train back to London and when she described her debut novel set in Australia, No Country for Girls, I knew I had to get it. Think teenage Thelma and Louise in the outback!

Last but not least, the British Library has produced a beautiful illustrated volume of Poems in Progress, showing early drafts and manuscripts of famous poems by poets ancient through to contemporary. I saw my poetry mentor Rebecca Goss tweet that she was in it, and I didn’t need a second invitation.

There is one final purchase for this month (she said optimistically), which hasn’t arrived yet: Hilary Mantel’s Beyond Black. I have to admit that I have never been able to get through the Wolf Hall trilogy, although I have much admired Mantel’s earlier novels, but did not own any of them.

Back from Holidays – and Books Acquired!

There is no such thing as a relaxing holiday with the extended family back in the home country… but there were many pleasant moments, and a complete break from the treadmill, so I can’t complain! I’ve been boring everyone with endless holiday pictures on Twitter, but here are a few of my favourites, to give you a flavour of the landscapes and ‘vibes’. I will share more in my next few Friday Fun posts. [None tomorrow, though, as I have a lot of catching up to do still]

Barajul Vidraru – reservoir and dam

The Black Sea coast

The Bran-Rucar pass in the Carpathians

Sibiu

Although I had no time to browse in bookshops (unbelievable, I know!), I brought back a whole pile of books with me, some were old favourites languishing on my parents’ bookshelves, others that I had ordered online a few months ago and got delivered to their address. Meanwhile, a few books made their way into my letterbox here in the UK while I was away.

Here’s the result!

Romanian books:

• As part of my search for contemporary Romanian authors to read and possibly translate, particularly women authors, I’ll be reading Raluca Nagy, Nora Iuga, Magda Cârneci (this one has been translated by Sean Cotter) and Diana Bădică. All recommendations via Romanian newsletters to which I subscribe.
• A mix of contemporary and more classic male authors as well: Gellu Naum is better known for his avantgarde poetry and prose in the 1930s and 40s, or his wonderful children’s book about the wandering penguin Apolodor in the 1950s, and this is his only novel as far as I am aware (this too has been translated into English, see some reviews here); Max Blecher’s Scarred Hearts, which I previously read and reviewed in English, but wanted to own in Romanian; one of my favourite modern poets, Nicolae Labiș, who died tragically young; an English translation by Gabi Reigh of my favourite play by one of my favourite writers, Mihail Sebastian; finally, two young writers that I want to explore further, Tudor Ganea and Bogdan Coșa.
• Last but not least, a dictionary of Romanian proverbs translated into English – just to remind myself of some of the old folk sayings.

Other books:

• Another expat in Berlin story, imaginatively entitled Berlin by Bea Sutton. I read Susan’s review on her blog A Life in Books and couldn’t resist.
• Two Japanese crime novels: Fish Swimming in Dappled Sunlight by Onda Riku (I was bowled over by The Aosawa Murders by the same author) and an older crime classic by Matsumoto Seicho entitled Tokyo Express.
• Two volumes of poetry, Reckless Paper Birds and Panic Response by the English poet John McCullough. I recently attended a workshop with him and found him very inspiring indeed.
• Last but by no means list: a whole flurry of chapbooks of Swiss literature, translated from all four official languages of Switzerland, published by the wonderful Strangers Press at the UEA. I am hoping to convince them to do a series on Romanian literature too someday, fingers crossed!

Incoming Books (March & April 2022)

I travelled to Romania with a rather small suitcase, so I could not bring back all of the books of contemporary Romanian literature which I had ordered and had delivered to my parents’ address. Besides, I also had to bring back some wine, honey, tea and spices, didn’t I? The remaining books will have to wait until my next visit in summer (when I will have my sons’ additional suitcases to play with). Here are the ones that I prioritised this time round:

As you might know, Mihail Sebastian is one of my favourite Romanian writers, and this volume contains all of his plays, including The Holiday Game, which I’ve translated, Star with No Name, which Gabi Reigh has translated for Aurora Press, and two lesser-known works written during WW2, both of them still extremely topical: Breaking News (about fake news and political corruption) and the unfinished The Island (about war and refugees). There is a play by a contemporary of Sebastian’s, Gib Mihaiescu, which reminds me a lot of the Garcia Llorca. I have also brought back books by contemporary playwrights, as I hope to translate more theatre – and maybe even see it performed at some point: Octavian Soviany, Mircea Ionescu, Edith Negulici and Catalina Buzoianu’s adaptation of a hugely popular Romanian novel called Wasted Morning (Dimineaţă pierdută).

Tony Mott is a Romanian crime author, her books feature the indomitable forensic scientist Gigi Alexa and are set in the beautiful city of Brasov ‘where nothing much ever happens’ – except murder, of course. We hope to publish her work for Corylus soon.

I am also hoping to drum up some interest among publishers for Lavinia Braniste, one of the most interesting women writers working in Romania today. Her description of millenials trying to find their feet in a rapidly changing social and economic environment seem to me (sorry!) far more interesting than the rather banal ramblings of some English-speaking writers of the same age group.

Also with a view to possible future translation, an old favourite of mine: Urmuz, an avantgarde writer who was born in the same town that my parents now live in, Curtea de Arges, with a tiny output (he died young) but a huge influence on later writers. Some of his work has been translated, but I don’t think very well – besides, it should be a fun challenge to have a stab at it.

Simona Popescu and Bogdan Suceava might not remember me, but I know them personally, albeit tangentially. Simona is primarily a poet (although this book is a novel) and used to take part in one of the literary circles I also attended at university (‘cenaclu literar’ we used to call them), and I have reviewed some of Bogdan’s work before.

Last but by no means least, I have added Stela Brinzeanu’s new novel to this list, because it arrived while I was away, because she is originally from Moldova although she writes in English, and because this piece of historical fiction is based on a legend that lies at the heart of the construction of the fine monastery in Curtea de Arges.

Missing from the picture: two volumes of poetry by really young and adventurous women poets Ofelia Prodan and Deniz Otay; and the first novel by a highly-regarded playwright Alina Nelega.

Needless to say, these weren’t the only books I acquired over the past month and a half.

Impulse buys from the second-hand shelves just outside the Gower Street Waterstones: Christpher Isherwood, Max Beerbohm’s hilarious and surreal Zuleika Dobson and a crime novel by Cyril Hare. I ordered the memoir of living in Berlin by Kirsty Bell from Fitzcarraldo after reading a review at Kaggsy’s Bookish Ramblings. As for Percival Everett, I was so taken by the enthusiasm displayed for his book I Am Not Sidney Poitier on Late to It podcast, that I had to buy two of his books. He seems a very interesting and versatile writer, to say the least.

I fell a victim of my own research, when I reviewed Frank Moorhouse’s novel about the League of Nations and included some other books about international organisations. I think I might have read Fieldwork, but I had to get both Mischa Berlinsky books about anthropologists and NGOs, while Mating by Norman Rush was a suggestion by my friend Jennifer Bew Orr. With friends like these depleting your pockets, who needs enemies, right? 😉

Continuing the ‘moving to Berlin’ theme (can you guess what I might be planning in the nearish future?), I had to get Amy Liptrot’s latest book, as I cannot imagine a greater contrast than Orkney Islands to Berlin Mitte. Meanwhile, Clare Chambers’ The Editor’s Wife was a direct consequence of listening to Clare talk about her writing challenges and failures on Francesca Steele’s podcast Write Off. Finally, The Seven Deadly Sins is a collection of essays on the traditional sins by contemporary Catalan authors, all translated by Mara Faye Lethem and published by Fum d’Estampa Press.

Do any of the above tempt you? Which would you like me to read and review first? Which would you like to get for yourself?

Incoming Books and Their Sources (6)

I thought I had the perfect excuse for justifying the vast amount of books that recently joined my household: it’s two months’ worth of incomings. But actually, it’s more like 6 weeks. Time to hit the pause button, I think, especially with the cost of everything going up so much and me contemplating a more part-time role (i.e. lower pay) so that I have more time to write, translate and promote Corylus. In the meantime, however, it’s been inspiration (or greed) galore. And, if I’m honest, book addiction is my way of escaping from all the anxiety that the current news cycle provokes in me.

From blogs and podcasts

I’m naming the culprits here (my daily walks while listening to podcasts are proving terribly injurious to my bank balance):

• Backlisted Pod: for O Caledonia (mentioned in passing) and Stephen Sondheim (a full episode)
• Slightly Foxed for Red Comet (full episode with biographer), although I vowed I had enough books about and by Sylvia Plath
• Late to It for Hilma Wolitzer (although not this particular book) and Kirsty Gunn’s Infidelities
• Book reviews by favourite bloggers such as Jacqui and Susana (who read it in the original Portuguese of course) and in Asymptote Journal for Empty Wardrobes
• Dorian Stuber and his guest Niccie Panetta for the 2021 books of the year round-up which included Blue Remembered Hills and Olga Zilbergourg for mentioning The Man Between about legendary translator Michael Henry Heim.

Sent by the publisher

Someone at Penguin Classics heard my boisterous declarations of love for Mishima’s work, for which I am profoundly grateful. Meanwhile, Clare O’Dea is a Switzerland-based expat writer whom I briefly encountered at Geneva Writers Group and she asked her publisher to send me this fictional account of the very recent (1959) Swiss referendum about women’s suffrage. Finally, I’d been a keen reader of Daniel Hahn’s diary of translating Damiela Elit’s Never Did the Fire for Charco Press, and commented on some of his blog posts, so was kindly sent a copy of the final diary published in book form.

Book clubs and discussions with friends

I have several books of poetry and prose by my friend and fellow Romanian writer who writes in English, Carmen Bugan, but realised that I did not have this collected version of her poems. I had been covetously eyeing Hannah Lowe’s The Kids and finally got the nudge to buy it after it won the Costa Award. I can’t remember exactly whom I had a conversation with on Twitter about the Bloomsbury Group, but I thought it was high time I read Angelica Garnett’s memoir, which puts them all in a less golden light. Meander Spiral Explode has been recommended to me for its exploration of the writing craft for those who are no longer content with the Three Act or linear structure. Finally, for our London Reads the World Book Club in March, we will be reading a Romanian book at last and it’s one of my favourite writers, Mihail Sebastian. I thought it might be helpful to have the English translation to hand, rather than rely solely on the Romanian version I have, and I might end up having OPINIONS about the translation.

From the library

I’ve heard so many good things about this memoir of living with disability A Still Life, shortlisted for the Barbellion Prize, and I’ve been on the waiting list for it at the library for ages. When I finally went to pick up my reservation, I came across this collection of short stories by Dostoevsky and I’ve never been able to ignore anything by him, even when he infuriates me.

Spontaneous purchases

I happened to be in the lovely Marlow Bookshop in real life, and was intrigued about Gail Simmons’ journey across the Chiltern Hills, which recreates Robert Louis Stevenson’s three-day journey across the same landscape nearly 150 years earlier. With HS2 speed railway threatening to destroy this landscape forever, it’s an attempt to capture a place and time before it disappears. I also picked up a British Library anthology there, because crime fiction and books are an irresistible combination. The quest to diversity my bookcase continues with the academic study of London as a migrant city, a science-fiction take on office life by Chinese American author Ling Ma, and two crime novels by Adam Macqueen introducing Tommy Wildeblood, rent boy turned sleuth, against a backdrop of London’s recent history (1970s-80s).

Catnip topics

Communist dictatorships in the former East Bloc countries and the United Nations (or other international organisations) are very triggering for me: in other words, as soon as I see or hear something about these topics, my online buying finger gets activated. The Stasi Poetry Circle is the true story of an attempt to set up a ‘propaganda poetry writing group’ in the German Democratic Republic. As for Romain Gary’s book: as I mentioned in the blog post about Frank Moorhouse’s book, it is a satire about the United Nations (thank you, Emma, for first drawing my attention to it), which Gary initially published under a pseudonym. I managed to find it second-hand on a French website and it got here relatively quickly.

An afterthought

Last, but not least, an online conversation with the same Emma as above, following her brilliant review of the Marseille Trilogy reminded me how much I love Jean-Claude Izzo and how difficult his books are to find over here. But lo and behold, a quick online search produced these two at reasonable prices. They’re both set mainly in Marseille too.