Less than one week from today—at 2pm East Coast time on Monday, April 28th to be exact—we’ll be announcing the winners of this year’s Best Translated Book Award.
Over the next few days, I’ll be posting write-ups on the Poetry Finalists, along with uninformed speculation and other fun and games.
The most important thing though is to talk about the award celebrations . . .
On Monday, the announcement will go up on Three Percent right at 1pm, and at basically that exact same moment, the winners will be announced at a special BTBA event taking place at Shakespeare & Co. in Paris, France.
The Shakespeare & Co. event kicks off at 7pm and will feature readings by a number of writers and translators from most of the shortlisted titles. Then, Amélie Nothomb will announce the winner of the Fiction prize, and Siaân Melangell Dafydd will announce the Poetry winner. So, if you happen to within train distance of Paris, you should come on out.
Stateside, we won’t be announcing the winners at a live event this year, so instead we’ve organized a post-announcement celebration to take place later that week during PEN World Voices. Here are all the details:
BTBA Celebration Party
Friday, May 2nd, 6-9pm
220 West Houston Street
New York, NY 10014
The party is open to everyone so if you’re a fan of the BTBA, international literature, Three Percent, alcohol, appetizers, or all of the above, you should come on by.
The opening of Jón Gnarr’s novel/memoir The Indian is a playful bit of extravagant ego, telling the traditional story of creation, where the “Let there be light!” moment is also the moment of his birth on January 2nd, 1967. Then. . .
Mahasweta Devi is not only one of the most prolific Bengali authors, but she’s also an important activist. In fact, for Devi, the two seem to go together. As you can probably tell from the titles, she writes about women. . .
The prolific Spanish author Benito Pérez Galdós wrote his short novel, Tristana, during the closing years of the nineteenth century, a time when very few options were available to women of limited financial means who did not want a husband.. . .
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. . .