One of my favorite editors and agents, Irene Vilar, is helping launch the Americas Latino Festival November 15-19 in Denver, Colorado, and which may be of interest to a lot of Three Percent readers.
According to their website:
With the help of a steadily growing international, national, and local network of alliances and cooperation, the Americas Latino Festival is a community building, educational initiative that is bound to become The Latino Summit for Environmental and Social Justice. The festival unites diverse communities through dialogue on the environment, health, education, culture, and small business entrepreneurship.
The Americas Latino Festival’s mission is to foster a platform of dialogue and mobilization for a just society that ensures that everyone has access to a stable market, an able-bodied workforce & a healthy environment.
I’m going to attend and participate in a discussion about “Translation, Publishing, and Social Justice, so hopefully I’ll see some of you there.
As part of the festival, the Americas for Conservation & the Arts is also launching new book awards for full-length books of fiction and nonfiction, children’s books, and poems published between January 1, 2011, and November 1, 2013, along with unpublished fiction and non fiction.
All the information can be found here, but the main criteria are that the author must be alive and that the submission:
Expresses the themes of the America Latino Festival: environmental justice, reconciliation of peoples and places, migrations, adaptation, integration and inter-generational and cross-cultural dialogue. Especially, works that broaden our vision of how people and their activities, regardless of race or ethnicity, impact the environment or highlight our interdependence on the natural world. Additionally, works that deepen our connection to the natural world or bring new call to action ideas.
Winners will each receive a prize of $2,500.
Randall Jarrell once argued a point that I will now paraphrase and, in doing so, over-simplify: As a culture, we need book criticism, not book reviews. I sort of agree, but let’s not get into all of that. Having finished. . .
Like any good potboiler worth its salt, Fuminori Nakamura’s The Gun wastes no time setting up its premise: “Last night, I found a gun. Or you could say I stole it, I’m not really sure. I’ve never seen something so. . .
Heiner Resseck, the protagonist in Monika Held’s thought-provoking, first novel, This Place Holds No Fear, intentionally re-lives his past every hour of every day. His memories are his treasures, more dear than the present or future. What wonderful past eclipses. . .
If you’ve ever worked in a corporate office, you’ve likely heard the phrase, “Perception is reality.” To Björn, the office worker who narrates Jonas Karlsson’s novel The Room, the reality is simple: there’s a door near the bathroom that leads. . .
I recently listened to Three Percent Podcast #99, which had guest speaker Julia Berner-Tobin from Feminist Press. In addition to the usual amusement of finally hearing both sides of the podcast (normally I just hear parts of Chad’s side. . .
Let’s not deceive ourselves, man is nothing very special. In fact, there are so many of us that our governments don’t know what to do with us at all. Six billion humans on the planet and only six or seven. . .
“Rambling Jack—what’s that?”
“A novel. Novella, I guess.”
“Yeah, it looks short. What is it, a hundred pages?”
“Sorta. It’s a duel language book, so really, only about… 50 pages total.”
“And this—what. . .
Many authors are compared to Roberto Bolaño. However, very few authors have the privilege of having a Roberto Bolaño quote on the cover of their work; and at that, one which states, “Good readers will find something that can be. . .
In Josep Maria de Sagarra’s Private Life, a man harangues his friend about literature while walking through Barcelona at night:
When a novel states a fact that ties into another fact and another and another, as the chain goes on. . .
César Aira dishes up an imaginative parable on how identity shapes our sense of belonging with Dinner, his latest release in English. Aira’s narrator (who, appropriately, remains nameless) is a self-pitying, bitter man—in his late fifties, living again with. . .