Porter House Reads: Literature in Translation

For me, one of the greatest pleasures of reading literature is getting the chance to glimpse into the lives—both inner and outer—of others. It’s a cliché, but it’s true. Reading allows us to visit places we’ll never go, meet people who’ll never be, and extend our empathy in directions we might not otherwise have known even existed. There’s an almost perverse thrill to be found in reading about experiences that are completely unlike our own—as well as something deeply comforting in recognizing familiar feelings and sensations in those same experiences. Perhaps no type of literature allows more opportunities for this kind of imaginative adventuring than works translated into English from other languages. 

Whenever I read stories or poems produced by cultural contexts other than my own, I am struck by the fact that the contemporary American perspective is just one of an uncountable number of ways of relating to the world. Each of these distinct vantage points can offer us unique insights, problems, and ways of making sense (or not) of life’s endless mysteries. They give us the chance to see things with fresh eyes and to consider many of the conversations we’re having amongst ourselves from a new perspective. Every culture also has its own storytelling and poetic traditions, which often lend works in translation a surprising, and at times, unpredictable quality in comparison to the English-language books we’re used to reading. Plus, the sheer volume of unfamiliar historical and cultural allusions that crop up while reading works from around the world is, in my experience, anyway, a surefire way to get lost down some very fruitful Wikipedia rabbit holes. 

In the spirit of expanding our horizons, the editors here at Porter House Review have collected a list of recommendations for some of our favorite literature in translation. We hope you check some of them out and, no matter what, enjoy wherever your reading happens to take you.

Snow Country by Yasunari Kawabata (Translated from the Japanese by Edward G. Seidensticker)

Yasunari Kawabata’s Snow Country is best read in autumn. Beautiful and sad like falling maple leaves, the story focuses on Shimamura, a wealthy man; Komako, a geisha with whom he has a doomed relationship outside his marriage; and another woman whom he idolizes. Although Shimamura is the protagonist, the work focuses on Komako. Through her, the author explores the challenges hot springs geishas faced, like alcoholism and the likelihood they would go “to seed” before finding a patron to support them. Despite the couple’s widely different social positions, they share the heartbreaking realization that much of their lives are “a waste.”

Kawabata’s prose is vivid and emotional. His literary line harkens back to seventh-century haiku masters, who contrast motion and stillness and lean into diverse senses, and the narrative evidences this influence: “…a voice so beautiful it was almost lonely,” “It could have been the coldest heartlessness or too warm a passion.” The Nobel committee mentioned Snow Country when it awarded Kawabata the prize in Literature in 1968.

Pick this book if…you liked Memoirs of a Geisha by Arthur Golden, or if you want to immerse yourself in a sorrow so poignant it’s beautiful.

Kathleen Morrish, Assistant Fiction Editor

Such Small Hands by Andrés Barba (Translated from the Spanish by Lisa Dillman)

There’s an immeasurable value in the state of mind a work of fiction puts you in. Weaving the “continuous dream” is a spell that Barba knows well. Reading this work, I was hypnotized, moved, and disturbed. The dark places this small novel explores are layered in beautiful shadows. The language remains vivid in my mind well after reading the words. I desire to return to this world once I can understand its original language, to illuminate those shadows, again, and confirm how much more captivating they glow in that magic light.

Pick this book if…you want to explore the haunted forest of your early childhood.

Cameron Busby, Fiction Editor

Convenience Store Woman by Sayaka Murata (Translated from the Japanese by Ginny Tapley Takemori)

I read this book while undergoing an identity crisis in the depths of 2020. I was practicing unwanted solitude and would listen to the audiobook during my daily walks. The book follows Keiko, a woman who has been working at a convenience store for the last eighteen years, much to the dismay of her family. The story is short and twisty and confronts the idea of what is conventional and what is acceptable. The book was released in Japan in 2016 and translated to English in 2018. In an interview with the translator, Takemori said that short novels are often published in Japan, but that English publishers originally wanted it to be published in a collection as a novella. It wasn’t until the translation was complete (at 160 pages) that they decided it was strong enough to stand on its own, and for this I am thankful. There is something impactful about the short book existing as its own being, and I have found myself considering it—and my identity, and the conventions of daily life—ever since.

Pick this book if…you are trying to unravel expectation from personal desire.

Riley Welch, Managing Editor

 

Night Train by A.L. Snijders (Translated from the Dutch by Lydia Davis)

 A.L. Snijders was a Dutch writer of who coined the term “zkv’s” (short for zeer korte verhalen, or “very short stories”), a type of fiction he mastered over the course of some 1,500 published examples, most of which are not longer than a single page. The ninety zkv’s that comprise this collection were translated into English by Lydia Davis, one of America’s masters of the very short story, and are by turns meditative, funny, wise, and downright bizarre. No matter what mode Snijders happens to be working in, though, his stories nearly always surprise with the way their apparent brevity and lightness conceal a depth of profundity not found in many door-stopping novels. It’s like someone wrote down all your most “where did that come from?” thoughts and then published a well-edited compendium of them—one that politely declines to explain what their greater significance might be. To give you an idea of what that looks like, I’ll offer one of my favorite Snijders-isms, which comes from the final lines of his story “Banana”: “If I ever, God forbid, end up in an old people’s home, that will be my glory, that I’m the only one of the mumblers who knows how a pig eats a banana.” On the Snijders scale, that’s about a six out of ten in terms of how wonderfully strange it is.

Pick this book if…you like mischievous wildlife, dream analysis, eavesdropping in public, one-liners, or late-night conversations about thought-provoking questions.

John Ambrosio, Field Notes Editor

The Butterfly’s Burden by Mahmoud Darwish (translated from the Arabic by Fady Joudah)

The Butterfly’s Burden by Mahmoud Darwish is a collection of poems that will plant itself deep into your soul like the olive trees of Palestine are unmoving. Darwish describes the centuries-long loss and exile of a nation of resilient people in a stunning way, using images and meanings in Arabic that the English language just can’t comprehend—but translator Fady Joudah does justice to Darwish’s magic by honoring his words beautifully in English. 

Pick this book if…you’d like to soften your heart and open your eyes to the plight of Palestinians.

Isra Cheema, Poetry Editor