Not a lot going on in terms of publishing news today, so I thought I’d take a break from the usual posts about ebooks, Zen wisdom, and disturbing novels to bring you a bit of information about Catalan author Quim Monzo, whose Gasoline recently arrived from the printer. (If you’re an Open Letter subscriber, I’m working on the special letter right now, and you should get your copy by the end of next week. Or so.)
Quim is considered to be one of the greatest Catalan authors of his generation. He’s most well known in Europe for his short stories (three of which — Mr. Beneset, Honesty, and I Have Nothing to Wear — appeared in Words Without Borders), but in the States, the only book that’s currently available is the fantastically comic (and ultimately tragic) novel The Enormity of the Tragedy, which was actually one of the first books I ever reviewed for Three Percent.
When Catalonia was the Guest of Honor at the Frankfurt Book Fair a few years back, it was Monzo who gave the opening statement. The link to the full pdf of his speech is broken, but here’s a funny, self-referential and self-deprecating bit that I copied out into an earlier post:
Won’t reading the names of all these writers (most of whom are unknown to the literary world that circulates in Frankfurt) just be tedious for the audience at the opening ceremony who will have to listen to so many unfamiliar names? Won’t they be looking at their watches and thinking, “What a bore!”? And so he decides he won’t mention any names (even though, in fact, he has already mentioned them in the very process of describing his doubts as to whether he should mention them or not). What’s more, he’s read that at the Frankfurt Book Fair there will be an exhibition that explains all this. Although—to be frank—how many of the persons who attend this inaugural event will later visit this exhibition with any more interest than a merely official show of etiquette? Let us be frank and optimistic: very few. Even if this is a Book Fair, where the least-known authors ought to be the ones who would most pique the reading appetite of those who were interested in discovering literary gems and not simply following the commercial drumbeat of what is in vogue at the time.
Monzo will be appearing in three events at this year’s PEN World Voices festival, including the New York Stories event on Thursday, April 29th, In Conversation with Robert Coover, on Friday, April 30th, and a roundtable on The Essay on Saturday, May 1st.
He was going to appear here in Rochester on Monday, April 26th, but schedules became complicated and he won’t be able to make it. (I will interview Quim and his translator, Mary Ann Newman during the Festival for an upcoming Reading the World podcast episode.)
Not to cram too much info into one post, but our April 26th event has morphed into a Celebration of Open Letter at which ten different readers (U of R folks, interns, fans) will read 3-5 minute segments from ten different Open Letter titles—including Quim Monzo’s Gasoline. I’ll post the section that’s going to be read separately . . .
There’s little to say about a series of prose poems that willfully refuse to identify pronoun antecedents. Or perhaps there are a million things. The poems in _Morse, My Deaf Friend_— the chapbook by Miloš Djurdjević published by Ugly Duckling. . .
The Crimson Thread of Abandon is the first collection of short fiction available in English by the prolific Japanese writer and all-around avant-garde trickster Terayama Shūji, who died in 1983 at the age of 47. This collection would be important. . .
Last year, NYRB Classics introduced English-language readers to Catalan writer Josep Pla with Peter Bush’s translation of The Gray Notebook. In that book, Pla wrote about life in Spain during an influenza outbreak soon after World War I, when. . .
“Your bile is stagnant, you see sorrow in everything, you are drenched in melancholy,” my friend the doctor said.
bq. “Isn’t melancholy something from previous centuries? Isn’t some vaccine against it yet, hasn’t medicine taken care of it yet?” I. . .
What to make of Vano and Niko, the English translation of Erlom Akhvlediani’s work of the same name, as well as the two other short books that comprise a sort of trilogy? Quick searches will inform the curious reader that. . .
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. . .