{"id":296906,"date":"2014-03-19T12:30:11","date_gmt":"2014-03-19T12:30:11","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.wdev.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent-dev\/2014\/03\/19\/sleet-by-stig-dagerman-why-this-book-should-win\/"},"modified":"2018-04-16T15:44:25","modified_gmt":"2018-04-16T15:44:25","slug":"sleet-by-stig-dagerman-why-this-book-should-win","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/2014\/03\/19\/sleet-by-stig-dagerman-why-this-book-should-win\/","title":{"rendered":"Sleet By Stig Dagerman – Why This Book Should Win"},"content":{"rendered":"

Elizabeth Harris\u2019s translations from Italian include Mario Rigoni Stern\u2019s novel Giacomo\u2019s Seasons<\/i><\/a> (Autumn Hill Books) and Giulio Mozzi\u2019s story collection, This Is the Garden<\/i><\/a> (Open Letter Books). She has won a 2013 Translation Prize from the Italian Ministry of Foreign Culture (Rome) for Rigoni Stern\u2019s Giacomo\u2019s Seasons<\/i>, a Banff International Centre Translation Residency, and a PEN<\/span>\/Heim Translation Fund Prize from the PEN<\/span> American Center for Antonio Tabucchi\u2019s Tristano Dies<\/i>“:http:\/\/archipelagobooks.org\/book\/tristano-dies-a-life\/ (forthcoming with Archipelago Books). She teaches creative writing (fiction) at the University of North Dakota.<\/i><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

With the 2013 Nobel Prize in Literature going to Alice Munro and George Saunders\u2019 nonstop prizes for his recent collection (his latest, the \u00a340,000 Folio Prize\u2014the equivalent of $67,000), we might say that the short story in English is having a very good year. Likewise, in the selections for the Best Translated Book Award, we\u2019ve seen some remarkable story collections, and I think Stig Dagerman\u2019s Sleet<\/i><\/a> (David Godine Publisher), in Steven Hartman\u2019s beautiful translation, tops the list. This is not a collection pretending to be a novel, not a series of linked short stories. It\u2019s just a collection, one beautiful story after the other. Dagerman may not be famous in the US (yet), but he was the darling of Sweden, a prolific post-WWII<\/span> fiction writer and journalist, whose collected articles on the aftermath of war in Germany, German Autumn<\/i><\/a>, were considered a brilliant examination, according to Hartman, of the \u201cvery nature of human suffering and the moral complexities of justice.\u201d Dagerman\u2019s suicide in 1954 at the age of thirty-one was considered a national tragedy.<\/p>\n

Dagerman has been compared to literary giants like Anton Chekhov and James Joyce. Alice McDermott, in her preface to Sleet<\/i>, ties Dagerman to Joyce, especially, with his \u201cability to depict the intractable loneliness of childhood, but time and again\u2026[Dagerman] tempers this loneliness with brief gestures of hope, connectedness\u2026.There are tears in these stories, for sure, cruelties, eruptions of violence, but none of this is offered without pity\u2026\u201d There is humor here, too, often mixed with sorrow, and there are the beautiful, beautiful details that create the vivid worlds of Dagerman\u2019s stories, the rural and urban, working-class Sweden of the 1940s and 50s. <\/p>\n

The title story, \u201cSleet,\u201d is a fine example of the power of Dagerman\u2019s short fiction. It is a beautifully crafted story, subtle in structure, and told from the point of view of a child as so many of these stories are, with a narrator whose voice\u2014in no small part due to Hartman\u2019s translation skills\u2014is remarkably vivid. Here is an example of the charming, vibrant voice of the story, from the opening paragraph, as the narrator tells us:<\/p>\n

So here we are, sitting in the barn, cutting the tops off big muddy carrots. If you want to, it\u2019s easy to pretend other things, like how it\u2019s not really carrots that are losing their heads but something totally different, like kids at school that you don\u2019t like, or even vicious animals. <\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\nThis boy, Arne Berg, who is painfully self-conscious about being fatherless, tells the story of the day when there was sleet in the forecast and his grandfather\u2019s younger sister, \u201cthe aunt from America,\u201d returned to Sweden after twenty years away from home. The beauty of the story is that its conflict lies partly outside the narrator\u2019s understanding, in the gaps of time this aunt has been gone, and what this has meant for her and for her brother, the narrator\u2019s grandfather, now grown very old. Before the aunt arrives, this grandfather stares \u201cat himself in the shaving mirror. And at last I guess he must figure he looks pretty horrible, because then he starts to sob a little. \u2018I ain\u2019t seen her for twenty years,\u2019 he says. And his face gets so scrunched up from all the sobbing that Alvar cuts his cheek.\u201d All that time apart, the isolation of these siblings, their losses and struggles in life, are portrayed not by an explaining, understanding narrator but suggested by the story\u2019s details that the narrator observes and are also reinforced by the dismal weather report, the repetition of the word, \u201csleet,\u201d throughout the story, that\u2019s tied as well to the alliterative \u201csigh-sigh-sigh\u201d\u2014Hartman\u2019s magnificent translation choice\u2014of the milk separator in the barn. By story\u2019s end, the narrator\u2019s shame and loneliness over his own missing relative, his father, is achingly rendered, yet also sweet: the aunt, this foreigner, traumatized by seeing her aged and now feeble brother, has fled to the barn, where the narrator sits with her and tells her family stories; she calls him, \u201c\u2019Poor little boy without a father,\u2019\u201d and his response to this: <\/p>\n

And when I think of how they know all over America\u2014all over that incredibly big America, on the other side of the Atlantic\u2014how Arne Berg in Mjuksund, Sweden, hasn\u2019t ever seen his daddy, then I can\u2019t help it. Suddenly I don\u2019t see the green carrot tops anymore and the tears drop slowly down the chaff-cutter.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\nThe final line of the story is exquisite, tender, and beautifully balanced and shaped in Hartman\u2019s translation, pulling the child\u2019s story of longing and isolation to the grownups\u2019 long history of separation, and playing these off the setting detail, the impending sleet, like Joyce\u2019s snow \u201cfaintly falling through the universe,\u201d as the aunt asks the boy if he is crying: \u201c\u2019No,\u2019\u201d he responds, \u201cand I dry and dry till the carrot-top glistens green again, all freshly cut in the lamplight. \u2018\u2026It\u2019s just a little sleet.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n

There isn\u2019t a story in the collection that doesn\u2019t have this same level of detail and character development, this same level of artistry. Equally impressive is the stylistic variety here. Every story\u2019s voice is decidedly different, the points of view and tones vary from the distant, chilling, rhythmical third-person voice of \u201cTo Kill a Child\u201d (the most famous story of the collection and also placed perfectly, our first taste of this author is this little masterpiece); to the intimate and heartbreaking third-person voice of the story of a shared secret between mother and son, \u201cThe Surprise\u201d; to the first-person plural voice of impoverished farm children in \u201cThe Stockholm Car\u201d (there is a single narrator, but he barely exists, blurs into the impoverished in general, the unnoticed); to the extremely colloquial, brutal, self-destructive first-person voice of the final novella-length \u201cWhere\u2019s My Icelandic Sweater?\u201d <\/p>\n

In reading these stories, I was perhaps struck most by this stylistic variety: there are great short story writers\u2014Flannery O\u2019Connor, for example\u2014whose books you must set aside for a time before their stories begin to bleed together. Not so with Dagerman. He\u2019s simply a master of the form\u2014and Hartman, too, must be considered a master, for he is the one who recognized what was there in the originals and then created all these nuances of voice and character and style in the English.<\/p>\n

For you to get a taste of Hartman\u2019s work on voice in the stories\u2014his work at creating these voices\u2014let me just show you a passage from the dark ending of \u201cTo Kill a Child.\u201d This classic story, originally commissioned by the National Society for Road Safety in order to promote safe driving, was to become, as Hartman points out in his translator\u2019s note to the collection, one of the greatest of Swedish short stories, as Dagerman, the consummate artist, took this \u201credressing of a particular social problem as the starting point rather than as an end in itself and out of these mundane materials created a poignant tale of choice, chance, and human loss that rises to the highest levels of art, literary balance, and philosophical concision.\u201d <\/p>\n

Here is the rough, literal version of the final lines of the story:<\/p>\n

For it is not true that time heals all wounds. Time does not heal a killed child\u2019s wounds and it heals very badly the pain of a mother who forgot to buy sugar and sends her child across the road to borrow and just as poorly does it heal the angst\/anxiety of a once happy man who killed it.
\nFor the one who has killed a child does not go to sea. The one who has killed a child drives slowly home in silence and beside him he has a mute woman with her hand bandaged and in all the villages they pass, they do not see a single happy person. All shadows are very dark and when they separate it is still in silence and the man who killed the child knows that this silence is his enemy and that he will need years of his life to defeat it by screaming that it was not his fault. But he knows this is a lie and in his night\u2019s dreams he instead will wish to get a single minute of his life back in order to make this one minute different. <\/p>\n

But so mercilessly is life against the one who has killed the child that everything afterwards is too late.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\nAnd here is Hartman\u2019s gorgeous, final version of this passage:<\/p>\n

Because it\u2019s not true that time heals all wounds. Time does not heal the wounds of a dead child, and it heals very poorly the pain of a mother who forgot to buy sugar and who sent her child across the road to borrow some. And it heals just as poorly the anguish of a once cheerful man who has killed a child.<\/p>\n

Because the man who has killed a child does not go to the sea. The man who has killed a child drives home slowly, in silence. And beside him sits a mute woman with a bandaged hand. And as they drive back through the villages, they do not see even one friendly face\u2014all shadows, everywhere, are very dark. And when they part, it is in the deepest silence. And the man who has killed a child knows that this silence is his enemy, and that he will need years of his life to conquer it by crying out that it wasn\u2019t his fault. But he also knows that this is a lie. And in the fitful dreams of his nights he will try instead to gain back just a single minute of his life, to somehow make that single minute different. <\/p>\n

But life is so merciless to the man who has killed a child that everything afterward is too late.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\nI won\u2019t go into much detail here about Hartman\u2019s choices, but I think they were very wise and have created an astoundingly dramatic, heart-wrenching story in the English. Hartman\u2019s impulse seems to have been to pare down the Swedish even more in order to heighten its emotional impact, to break up sentences for dramatic effect as well, and to play off the sounds of English for increased musicality, especially toward the end of the story: his use of assonance does this, for example, with his decision to emphasize the long \u201ci\u201d sound used so often in the story with the repetition of \u201cchild,\u201d carrying this sound into his ending even more, using it over and over in the story\u2019s last lines so that it begins to sound almost like a pealing funeral bell—\u201csilence,\u201d child,\u201d \u201csilence,\u201d \u201clife,\u201d \u201ccrying,\u201d \u201clie,\u201d \u201cnights,\u201d \u201ctry,\u201d \u201clife\u201d and \u201clife\u201d and \u201cchild.\u201d As a result of Hartman\u2019s sound, gut-level choices as a writer of English prose, I think he\u2019s given Dagerman\u2019s original story a very good chance of becoming a classic in English as well.<\/p>\n

And Hartman, along with his skills in bringing Dagerman into English, has played another very significant role in creating this book: he\u2019s the one who selected the stories and put them together as a collection. As Hartman told me, he arranged the stories roughly according to the age of the protagonist as well as according to what he sees as a \u201cthematic arc\u201d to the book and according to \u201catmosphere and stylistic variation, which has a certain ebb and flow throughout the collection.\u201d There is also, he points out, a general split between rural stories and those set largely in working-class Stockholm. Hartman speaks to the thematic unity of the work, how all the stories are \u201cto some extent about the death of childhood, whether literally\u201d as tied to child protagonists or \u201cpsychically\/spiritually among the other adults in the same story.\u201d Hartman goes on to say:<\/p>\n

The (often premature) death of childhood is evident in different ways in the collection, sometimes in painful glimpses of emotional trauma\u2026sometimes in exposing the tyranny of circumstance and situation…. Even in the case of a couple of stories that may seem less obviously to fit this mold, “Men of Character\u201d and \u201cIcelandic Sweater,\u201d the adult characters have to let go\u2014however imperfectly, belatedly, and unwillingly\u2014to childlike illusions that can no longer be sustained in worlds hostile or indifferent to their needs.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

\nHartman\u2019s thoughtful thematic and stylistic ordering of the Dagerman stories has created a collection, then, where the individual stories\u2014which are consistently very, very strong\u2014are arranged in such a way as to be made even stronger; no, this is not a \u201clinked\u201d collection per se, but like the best story collections\u2014as we find with great poetry collections\u2014these stories do speak to one another, resonate off one another, and create a unified and very beautiful whole. <\/p>\n

Dagerman and Hartman\u2019s Sleet<\/i> is an extremely strong story collection at a time when story collections in English seem to be increasingly respected. A collection has never won The Best Translated Book Award. Maybe that\u2019s about to change. <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Elizabeth Harris\u2019s translations from Italian include Mario Rigoni Stern\u2019s novel Giacomo\u2019s Seasons (Autumn Hill Books) and Giulio Mozzi\u2019s story collection, This Is the Garden (Open Letter Books). She has won a 2013 Translation Prize from the Italian Ministry of Foreign Culture (Rome) for Rigoni Stern\u2019s Giacomo\u2019s Seasons, a Banff International Centre Translation Residency, and a […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":186,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[67486],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-296906","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-articles"],"acf":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/296906","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/186"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=296906"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/296906\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":338406,"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/296906\/revisions\/338406"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=296906"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=296906"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.rochester.edu\/College\/translation\/threepercent\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=296906"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}