I just received an invitation to the award ceremony for the French-American Foundation & Florence Gould Foundation Annual Translation Prizes, and since I think I missed the announcement of the finalists, I thought I’d take this chance to congratulate all ten translators being honored.
John Cullen for Brodeck by Philippe Claudel (Nan A. Talese/Doubleday)
C. Dickson for Desert by J.M.G. Le Clezio (David R. Godine Publishing)
Richard Howard for Alien Hearts by Guy de Maupassant (New York Review Books)
Charlotte Mandell for The Kindly Ones by Jonathan Littell (HarperCollins)
Richard Sieburth for The Salt Smugglers by Gerard de Nerval (Archipelago Books)
Beverley Bie Brahic for This Incredible Need to Believe by Julia Kristeva (Columbia University Press)
M.B. DeBevoise for Manichaeism by Michel Tardieu (University of Illinois Press)
Jody Gladding for On the Death and Life of Languages by Claude Hagege (Yale University Press/Odile Jacob)
George Holoch for Orphans of the Republic by Olivier Wieviorka (Harvard University Press)
Loic Wacquant for Prisons of Poverty by Loic Wacquant (University of Minnesota Press)
Great list of translators/books/publishers . . .
The prizes will be given out on Thursday, September 16th at a special event at the Gallery at the Century Association. For more information about the awards (and how to attend the ceremony/reception—which is always quite stunning) contact Sierra Schaller at sschaller [at] frenchamerican [dot] org.
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. . .