Since I already wrote about her once, it only seemed fitting to make Pam Carmell a bit more visible . . . I met Pam at the first ALTA conference I ever attended. If I remember right (and trust me, I probably don’t), we ended up standing next to each other in a line for something (food?) and Cristina de la Torre introduced us. Pam’s big interest is in translating Cuban literature, and the special Cuban fiction issue of the Review of Contemporary Fiction came out of this meeting. (As did Pam’s translation of Jose Lezama Lima’s Oppiano Licario, which won her a NEA fellowship, but now may or may not see the light of day.)
Anyway, on to happier and more fun moments—questions and italicized comments!
Favorite Word in Any Language: Serendipity
No need to define this word . . . But to wax longingly for a second, serendipity is a perfect word to apply to conferences like ALTA. Or Frankfurt. Or BEA. Things just sort of happen at these gatherings. You randomly meet someone in line for food who loves Lezama Lima. There are happy accidents that lead you to finding out about some great writer from some more remote corner of the world. It’s great. Almost magical. Serendipitous discoveries make up part of the unquantifiable good that makes it worth investing in attending conferences like these.
Best Translation You’ve Done to Date: Women on the Frontlines by Belkis Cuza Male
This collection of poetry was published in 1987 by Unicorn Press (Greensboro). I was hoping to find a poem of hers to reproduce here, but I’m not having any luck with that . . . Nevertheless, you can check out her blog, and her bio is pretty fascinating:
Belkis was born in Guantánamo, Cuba. She studied Humanities in la Universidad de Oriente. In 1967 she married Cuban poet Heberto Padilla. Though initially a supporter of the Castro Revolution, Belkis later became a censor critic of his regime. She was jailed with Padilla in 1971 charged with “subversive writing”, It was known later as the “Padilla affair”. She went into exile in the United States with her little son in 1979, until the Cuban goverment authorized him to leave Cuba. She founded Linden Lane Magazine, a review of Latin American and North American writers in 1982. And in 1996, La Casa Azul.
Book that Needs to Be Published in English Translation: Cien botellas en una pared by Ena Lucia Portela
_Portela is a very young Cuban writer who has published a number of books over the past decade. (Her Wikipedia page has more details and general information.) Full publishing disclosure: Pam sent Open Letter a sample of this book, but unfortunately, we can’t fit it into our schedule . . . So, if any publishers out there are interested in taking a look, e-mail me (chad.post [at] rochester [dot] edu) and I’ll put you in touch with Pam . . . We are a full-service blog . . .
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. . .
At 30, the Mexican writer Valeria Luiselli is already gathering her rosebuds. Faces in the Crowd, her poised debut novel, was published by Coffee House Press, along with her Brodsky-infused essay collection, Sidewalks. The essays stand as a theoretical map. . .
Fantomas Versus the Multinational Vampires: An Attainable Utopia (narrated by Julio Cortázar) is, not disappointingly, as wild a book as its title suggests. It is a half-novella half-graphic novel story about . . . what, exactly? A European tribunal, Latin. . .
Marie NDiaye has created a tiny, psychological masterpiece with her Self-Portrait in Green. In it she explores how our private fears and insecurities can distort what we believe to be real and can cause us to sabotage our intimate relationships.. . .