It’s been fun reading the various newsletters celebrating Women in Translation month this week, and I thought I’d offer a few of my own favorites for your consideration.
With The Animals by Noëlle Revaz (2012)
(Translated from the French by W. Donald Wilson. Dalkey Archive Press.)
A visceral, transgressive book that’s not for the faint of heart.
From my 2012 review at the Boston Globe:
Paul is a farmer who rules his isolated plot like a tyrant, pausing from his work only to batter his cowering wife, who he refers to only by a crude, objectifying slur. He pays his numerous children little regard, not even bothering to remember their names and only mentioning them when they swarm around him like gnats, howling in terror or cackling devilishly at some indignity he has visited on their mother. Any sentiment Paul might possess is reserved for his livestock. Even when considering his feelings towards his wife, he drifts to thoughts of his cattle, professing that he does understand love; it is when "you have the everlasting fear something bad might occur to damage her about the horns or make you call the vet." He hires Georges, a Portuguese farmhand, to work with him for the summer, and the two form an uneasy bond as Georges attempts to bring some degree of humanity into Paul's chaotic, violent dominion.
The book’s most memorable feature is the odd, malformed argot that Revaz (and Wilson) have crafted for Paul. His speech is as a raw and roughly hewn as he is—as you read along, his limited vocabulary and narrow emotional range make you feel claustrophobic. You’re trapped inside his closed mind, seeing the world through his jaundiced eyes. A challenging read, but one unlike anything else I’ve ever read.
Hard Copy by Fien Veldman (2024)
(Translated from the Dutch by Hester Velmans. Head of Zeus.)
I’m in love with Fien Veldman’s Hard Copy. I can’t think of a book that I’ve read recently that I’ve identified with more. I’m completely on board with its cynical take on contemporary office life, its smart blend of dark humor and genuine emotion, and its utterly weird and captivating premise. It reminds me a bit of the work of Yorgos Lanthimos, especially The Lobster. The book is told from the perspective of an unnamed narrator who has overcome her humble, working class upbringing to land a cushy though generally unfulfilling office job. Alienated from her bourgeois coworkers and haunted by a trauma from her childhood, she develops an unhealthy obsession—a relationship, really—with her desktop printer.
It is a typical office appliance, a square, bulky piece of equipment. I press my cheek to his right flank. Smooth, comforting plastic. He’s in standby mode. My energy is absorbed into the device; my nervous system’s electrical signals are understood by him.
I smiled my way through this whole book. It’s Impressive, inspiring, the kind of work I aspire to. I can’t recommend it enough.
Free Day by Inés Cagnati (1973)
(Translated from the French by Liesl Schillinger. NYRB Classics.)
I don’t really like when people ask me what my favorite book is—it’s really not an easy question to answer. But more often than not, I’ll say it’s Inés Cagnati’s Free Day. In a way, Free Day blends elements of the first two books on the list. It’s the story of a bright young girl, Galla, who grew up on a farm in rural France under the thumb of a brutal, tyrannical father but has since matriculated to a boarding school in a distant town where her background marks her as an outcast. The book follows Galla’s thoughts as she bicycles back to the farm from school, meditating on the abuse she’s suffered at home, the bullying she endures at school, and the dangers that lay ahead of her on her journey. It’s a powerful story that explores what it feels like to be bright and poor, alienated from your family and heritage by your gifts but never fully accepted in your new environment because of where you come from. Cagnati gives Galla a strong, defiant voice that’s funny, endearing, and at times heartbreakingly poignant. It reminded me quite a bit of Elena Ferrante’s Neapolitan novels, but I can’t help but think that Cagnati managed in just 170 odd pages what it took Ferrante four books to accomplish. It’s absolutely worth your time.
I have the best luck with French translations, adding Free Day to my tbr!
These all sound amazing. I'd heard of Hard Copy and thought it sounded a bit too kooky but I may have to reconsider.