Following up on yesterday’s posts, here’s a piece on the Russian Debut Prize that I also wrote for Publishing Perspectives. Interesting project and seems crazy in its scope—30,000+ entries a year?!
Back in 2000, the “Debut Prize” was established by the Pokolenie (Generation) Foundation to support Russian writers under the age of 25. Ten years later, the best works generated by this competition will be made available to English and Chinese readers.
According to Olga Slavnikova, winner of the Russian Booker Prize and director of the Debut Prize, “The Debut inspires young Russian writers to complete that first book. The Debut prompts them to commit to literature their unique experience, what might be described as the shock of their first encounter with grown-up life.”
By setting the age limit at 25, this prize is helping engender novels by authors who were children when the USSR collapsed, who escaped the Cold War, and are coming of age in a world that their parents could never have predicted. In the words of Ms. Slavnikova, “One may say without exaggeration that this is the most ingenuous and honest literature in Russia since 1917, the year of the deplorable October coup.”
Although tens of thousands of manuscripts are submitted for the award every year, virtually none of these “ingenuous” works makes it out of Russia. To help promote this new generation of Russian authors, the Pokolenie Foundation is launching an international program. This year anthologies of the “Best of the Debut Prize Winners” will appear in both Chinese and English.
GLAS — one of the most successful and well-respected English-language publishers of Russian literature — recently published Squaring the Circle, which includes pieces from Aleksei Lukyanov, a two-time Debut Prize finalist; Gulla Khirachev, who is mostly known for her avant-garde children’s tales, but won the Debut Prize in 2009 for her first work of fiction for adults; Polina Klyukina, who was a finalist in 2008; and Olga Yelagina, who was a finalist in 2005, among others.
These pieces have been selected from all of the winners from the past decade. The 30,000+ entries are first whittled down into a 100 author “shortlist,” and the 20-25 Debut finalists are brought to Moscow for “Debut Week” — a week of lectures, classes, talks, and an award ceremony in which winners in various categories receive 200,000 rubles (approx. £4,000 or $7,500).
In addition to GLAS’s Squaring the Circle, a Chinese anthology will also be produced. And over the next few years, collections will appear in French, German, Italian, Spanish, and Japanese, in addition to annual anthologies in English. Along with promoting Russian culture, an underlying hope is that these anthologies will entice more foreign publishers to bring out translations of contemporary Russian authors.
Announced earlier this week, this year’s Rossica Translation Prize was awarded to Amanda Love Darragh for her translation of Iramifications by Maria Galina.
The prize of £5,000 is split between the translator and publisher—which in this instance is the admirable Glas, one of the finest publishers of contemporary Russian literature—and is given to the finest English translation of a Russian work published within the past two years.
This year Academia Rossica also instituted a Young Translators prize worth £300, and awarded to James Rann . . . for, something. (It’s not listed on the website, and besides, the award is for the translation of “a passage of contemporary Russian literature,” not the complete work. Which is cool—the real point is to encourage younger translators.)
Click here for more information about Academia Rossica, a London-based organization creating a better cultural exchange between Russia and the West.
Written after the fall of the Soviet Union, the novel, Skunk: A Life paints a picture as to what life was like during the 1950s in Soviet Russia from a post-Soviet perspective. The themes in Peter Aleshkovsky’s novel are classically Russian: he illustrates the internal moral battle that everyone must endure in a Dostoyevskian way, and the theme of nature leading one to find the truth in life is reminiscent of Tolstoy’s works. For that reason Skunk is a great segue from classic Russian literature into contemporary writing, focusing on current issues, while retaining grand literary ambitions.
Skunk takes place in the provincial town of Stargorod during Soviet Era. The main character, Daniil Ivanovich (or Skunk), is born fatherless to a woman devoid of motherly instincts and grows up under the care of his grandmother until her tragic death when he is five years old. He finds his grandmother prone on the floor, and after having made sure she’s actually dead, steps across her head to retrieve a snack while he catatonically waited for the milkman to come the next day. After returning to live with his mother, Skunk soon finds himself struggling for acceptance in an era where “the outsider” is not warmly received. Though, alienated and alone, Skunk seeks refuge in the wilderness and while living there he discovers his place in life and develops his individuality.
After a short stint back in the city, he returns to the wilderness and stumbles across a hermitage nestled in the most remote regions of the forest. Cut off from home and the rest of society, he seeks refuge in the monastery. Once again, he returns home only to find his mother dead and his one true love interest engaged. Hopeless and curious about his personal relationship to religion, Skunk becomes conscious of the fact that he cannot accept religion and once again retreats into the wilderness where he carries out the remainder of his life. He eventually marries a woman from the country, only to mistreat her and follows in the way of his mother’s many male interests.
Daniil has an easy life, knocs his already pregnant wife about a bit, and threatens from time to time to run away from her and become a forester . . . In her heart she knows that her brooding little husband, who is so gentle in bed, only really finds fulfillment in the forest.
In his constant mentions of monasteries and religion, Peter Aleshkovsky incorporates his life work of studying archaeology and restoring monasteries in Northern Russia. Skunk was shortlisted for the Booker Russian Novel Prize in 1994, as well as it should, for its wonderful depiction of society versus wilderness and its ability to revive classic Russian literature. According to the author bio, Aleshkovsky’s also the author of Stargorod, a cycle of 30 narratives about provincial Russia, and three other novels. The admirable Glas, which has been successfully delivering contemporary Russian literature to the rest of the literary world for years, published this translation. More info about Glas and their long list of Russian translations can be found on their website.
Pedro Zarraluki’s The History of Silence (trans. Nick Caistor and Lorenza García) begins with the narrator and his wife, Irene, setting out to write a book about silence, itself called The History of Silence: “This is the story of how. . .
There are plenty of reasons you can fail to find the rhythm of a book. Sometimes it’s a matter of discarding initial assumptions or impressions, sometimes of resetting oneself. Zigmunds Skujiņš’s Flesh-Coloured Dominoes was a defining experience in the necessity. . .
In a culture that privileges prose, reviewing poetry is fairly pointless. And I’ve long since stopped caring about what the world reads and dropped the crusade to get Americans to read more poems. Part of the fault, as I’ve suggested. . .
I would like to pose the argument that it is rare for one to ever come across a truly passive protagonist in a novel. The protagonist (perhaps) of Three Light-Years, Claudio Viberti, is just that—a shy internist who lives in. . .
The last five days of the eleventh-century Icelandic politician, writer of sagas, and famous murder victim Snorri Sturleleson (the Norwegian spelling, Snorre, is preserved in the book) make up Thorvald Steen’s most recently translated historical fiction, The Little Horse. Murdered. . .
We all know Paris, or at least we think we know it. The Eiffel Tower. The Latin Quarter. The Champs-Élysées. The touristy stuff. In Dominique Fabre’s novel, Guys Like Me, we’re shown a different side of Paris: a gray, decaying. . .
One hundred pages into Birth of a Bridge, the prize-winning novel from French writer Maylis de Kerangal, the narrator describes how starting in November, birds come to nest in the wetlands of the fictional city of Coca, California, for three. . .