Thomas Bernhard, The Loser: A Novel, translated from the German by Jack Dawson, afterword by Mark M. Anderson (New York: Vintage International, 2006).
Jeremias Gotthelf, The Black Spider, translated from the German by Susan Bernofsky (New York: New York Review Books, 2013).
Bohumil Hrabal, Closely Watched Trains, translated from the Czech by Edith Pargeter, foreword by Josef Skvorecky (Evanston, Il.: Northwestern U. Press, 1990).
Hans Keilson, Life Goes On: A Novel, translated from the German by Damion Searls (New York: Farrar, Straus & Giroux, 2012) (From the 'Afterword' (1981): "Literature is the memory of humanity. Anyone who writes remembers, and anyone who reads takes part in those experiences. Books can be reprinted. The fact is, there are archival copies of books. Not for people." Id. at 265.).
Natsuo Kirino, The Goddess Chronicle: A Novel, translated from the Japanese by Rebecca Copeland (New York: Canongate, 2012) ("But once Izanami had died, the value of the pairing was lost and she became associated only with the dark half: earth, woman, death, night, dark, yin and, yes, pollution. It might be presumptuous of me to suggest it, but what had happened to her was not unlike my own fate. On Umihebi Island, I had been assigned the role of yin, and was named 'impure'. I understood Izanami's anger and bitterness." Id. at 130. "It was Iznami's task to select who would die--a thousand people every day. And whenever she set about it, I was always at her side, waiting to serve her, silently watching a she scattered the drops of black water over the map." Id. at 135.).
Ma Jian, The Dark Road: A Novel, translated from the Chinese by Flora Drew (New York: The Penguin Press, 2013) (See Emily Parker, "Signs of Protest," NYT Book Review, Sunday, 8/4/2013.).
Henning Mankell, ATreacherous Paradise: A Novel, translated fro the Swedish by Laurie Thompson (New York: Knopf, 2013) ( "I live in a black world in which the whites use up all their energy deceiving both themselves and the blacks, she thought. They believe that the people who live here wouldn't be able to survive without them, and that black people are inferior because they believe that rocks and trees have a soul. But the blacks in turn fail to understand how anybody could treat a son of God so badly that they nail Him onto a cross. They are amazed by the fact that whites come here and rush around all the time in such a hurry that their hearts soon give way, unable to cope with the never-ending hunt for wealth and power. Whites don't love life. They love time, which they always have far too little of." "What kills us off more than anything else is all the lies, Ana thought. I don't want to become like Ana Delores who really is convinced that black people are inferior to whites. I don't want it to say on my gravestone that I was somebody who never appreciated the value of black people." Id. at 315.).
Dacia Maraini, The Silent Duchess, translated from the Italian by Dick Kitto & Elspeth Spottiswood, Afterword by Anna Camaiti Hostert (New York: Feminist Press at City University of New York, 1998, 2000).
Dacia Maraini, Train to Budapest, translated from the Italian by Silvester Mazzarella (London: Arcadia Books, 2010).
Dacia Maraini, Women at War, translated from the Italian by Mara Benetti & Elspeth Spottiswood (New York: Italica Press, 1988).
Andre Maurois, Climates, translated from the French by Adriana Hunter, with an Introduction by Sarah Bakewell (New York: Other Press, 2006, 2012) ("But our fates and our wishes almost always play to a different rhythm." Id. at 367.).
Herta Muller, Traveling on One Leg, translated from the German by Valentina Glajar & Andre Lefevere (Evanston, IL: Northwestern U. Press, 1992, 1998).
Amos Oz, Between Friends, translated from the Hebrew by Sondra Silverston (Boston & New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2013) (From "The King of Norway": "Luna said, 'Why do you take all the sorrows of the world on your shoulders?' And Zvi replied, 'Closing your eyes to the cruelty of life is, in my opinion, both stupid and sinful. There's very little we can do about it. So we have to at least acknowledge it.'" Id. at 1, 8-9. From "Esperanto": "Then he took off the mask and said, 'Man is by nature good and generous. It's only the injustices of society that push him into the arms of selfishness and cruelty.' Then is added, 'We must all become as innocent as children again.' From where she stood at the door, Osnat replied, 'Children are spoiled, cruel, selfish creatures. Just as we are.'" Id. at 153, 160.).
Jose Saramago, Raised From the Ground: A Novel, translated from the Portuguese by Margaret Jull Costa (Boston & New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2012).
Snorri Sturluson, Edda, translated and edited by Anthony Faulkes, introduction, bibliography, indexes and textual editing by David Campbell (North Clarendon, Vt: Everyman/Tuttle Publishing, 1987, 1995).
Juan Gabriel Vasquez, The Sound of Things Falling: A Novel, translated from the Spanish by Anne McLean (New York: Riverhead Books, 2011, 2012) ("Adulthood brings with it the pernicious illusion of control, and perhaps even depends on it. I mean that mirage of dominion over our own life that allows us to feel like adults, for we associate maturity with autonomy, the sovereign right to determine what is going to happen to us next. Disillusion comes sooner or later, but it always comes, it doesn't miss an appointment, it never has. When it arrives we receive it without too much surprise, for no one who lives long enough can be surprised to find their biography has been molded by distant events, by other people's wills, with little or no participation from our own decisions. Those long processes that end up running into our life--sometimes to give it the shove it needed, sometimes to blow to smithereens our most splendid plans--tend to be hidden like subterranean currents, like tiny shifts of tectonic plates, and when the earthquake finally comes we invoke the words we've learned to clam ourselves, accident, fluke, and sometimes fate. . . We know it, we know it very well; nevertheless, it's always somewhat dreadful when someone reveals to us the chain that has turned us into what we are, it;s always disconcerting to discover, when it's another person who brings us the revelation, the slight or complete lack of control we have over our own experience." Id. at 222-223. Also, see Edmund White, "Requiem For the Living," NYT Book Review, Sunday, 8/4/2013.).
Jiri Weil, Life with a Star, translated from the Czech by Rita Klimova with Roslyn Schloss, preface by Philip Roth (Evanston, IL: Northwestern U. Press, 1989, 1998) ("I longed to be an animal. From the windows of the garret I saw dogs playing in the snow, I saw a cat creep slowly across the neighbor's garden, I saw horses drinking freely from buckets, I saw sparrows flying about whenever they felt like it. Animals don't have to rack their brains about which streets they are allowed to enter." Id. at 28. "I knew all about the circus... During the intermissions I looked at the exotic animals, animals I didn't know. They looked wretched and sad. I never thought about it, though, because they were always forced out into the arena (I thought they went there by themselves), and then everything was different; they performed only for me. They walked, danced, jumped, and did all sorts of tricks under the artificial lights, to the sound of brassy music and the cries of the tamers. I never thought it was a difficult thing to be an animal in the circus, since I was sitting on a wooden bench with a canvas canopy about me. I looked at the sawdust that covered the floor and at the braziers full of red-hot coals. When I watched the seals pushing a ball with their snouts I didn't know it was a bad thing to be an animal in the circus. It never occurred to me that it was something seals did not usually do. I had also never seen a dog walk on two feet, with a little hunting cap on his head and a gun over his shoulder. But it was amusing to look at him as he walked around the circus arena. The circus was a wonder, exciting place, where things happened that I had never seen. It was thrilling to sit comfortably on the wooden bench an watch the acrobats." "But when I myself was to perform in the circus, I didn't like to remember the sound of the whip and the cries of the tamers. I didn't want to remember the horses running around and around or the dog jumping through a large hoop covered with paper. I wouldn't lift my head to look at the ropes under the ceiling when I myself had to walk a tightrope and look down at the gaping faces." Id. at 104-105. "'There are worse things they've made us do. Not long ago someone at our cemetery said that man was so powerful he could be forced to do anything but that nobody could force a horse to do something. And yet look, they've forced the horses, so why should you blame yourself?' But the miller wouldn't listen. He said goodbye to me. I watched him as he slowly walked beside his horses. I saw that they really did move unwillingly, both the horses and the man." Id. at 167. "It was much easier to believe in being helpless and obey them, to let oneself be driven to death, than it was to stand up to them, face to face, with a gun or without one, It was true that there was nothing to die for, but it was also true that there was nothing to live for... But, still, I had stepped out of line and there was no returning." Id. at 172. "'It's high time you did something about that cemetery of yours,' said Materna. 'You live like a horse with blinders. You'll have to confront things head on, or do you want to duck out again and just wait until they come to get you?'" Id. at 194. "There was no one to ask for advice and there was no one to pray to, because now I had to cross the line." "But at that moment I already knew I would cross it. Because I have overcome death, and it was a good thing to overcome death." Id. at 208.).
Jiri Weil, Mendelssohn Is on the Roof, translated from the Czech by Marie Winn (Evanston, IL: Northwestern U. Press, 1991).
A. B. Yehoshua, The Retrospective: A Novel, translated from the Hebrew by Stuart Schoffman (Boston & New York: Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, 2013) (See Robert Pinsky, "Screening History," NYT Book Review, Sunday, 3/31/2103.).
