Over at Catapult, Idra Novey writes on how her experience as a translator changed how she approaches her own work as a novelist. Pair with Magdalena Edwards’s Millions essay on reading Clarice Lispector in English.
Taking Risks on the Page
Night Shade Books Gets Shady
A publishing flap in three parts, with colons. 1: Publisher’s Weekly details unsettling allegations about Night Shade Books — an unwillingness to answer calls from writers or their agents, stolen digital rights, and missing royalty statements. 2: Night Shade issues an apology. 3: A wronged writer responds.
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Burrito Lit: A Review
We know the internet’s been full of buzz following the announcement of Chipotle’s new burrito lit, but the Los Angeles Review of Books’ “Review of Cups” by Maria Bustillos has us laughing. After all, there’s nothing like a timely and slightly irreverent review to legitimize a new genre. And for more fun with reviews, be sure to check out The Millions’ own “Worst Book Review Ever.”
Found in Translation
“The night of the typhoon, the sky was full, the world destroyed.” Eleanor Goodman is one of 13 translators who won the PEN/Heim Translation Fund this year. Goodman won for her translation of Chinese poet Wang Xiaoni’s collection, Something Crosses My Mind, which will be published by Zephyr Press.
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A Hypothetical Country
You never need an excuse to read new words written by Edwidge Danticat, but in case you did, here’s an excerpt from her introduction to the forthcoming edition of James Baldwin’s classic, semi-autobiographical novel Go Tell It On A Mountain.
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Where Has the Venom Gone? Pls RT.
Jacob Silverman tackles the niceness epidemic besieging literary criticism at the moment. Where have the hatchet jobs gone? Is social media’s “communalism” robbing critics of their fangs? Each time a publication refuses to print a negative review, the act amounts to “a victory for a publicist, but not for readers,” he writes. (Just a few notes: Silverman’s piece is based on a blog post he wrote recently; Emma Straub has responded on her own blog; and, for what it’s worth, our own Michael Bourne’s recent review of Richard Ford’s Canada was pretty toothy.)
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