Welcome to the 19th installment of The Millions' annual Year in Reading series! YIR gathers together some of today's most exciting writers, thinkers, and tastemakers to share the books that shaped their year. What makes the series special is that it celebrates the subjectivity of reading: where yearend best-of lists pass off their value judgement as definitive, YIR essayists take a more phenomenological tact, focusing instead on capturing the experience of the books they read. (I'm not particularly interested in handing down a decision on "The 10 Best Books of 2023," and neither are this year's contributors.) This, of course, makes for great, probing essays—in writing about our reading lives, we inevitably write about our inner lives. YIR contributors were encouraged approach the assignment—to reflect on the books they read this year, an intentionally vague prompt—however they wanted, and many did so with dazzling creativity. One contributor, a former writer at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, arranged her essay like an art gallery, with each book she read assigned a museum wall label. Another, whose work revolves around revolutionary and utopian movements in history, organized her year by the long-defunct French Revolutionary calendar. Some opted to write personal narratives, while others embraced the listicle format. Some divided up their reading between work and pleasure; for others, the two blended together (as is often the case for those of us in the literary profession). The books that populate this year's essays also varied widely. Some contributors read with intention: one writer of nonfiction returned to reading fiction for the first time in 13 years; one poet decided to read only Black romance in the second half of 2023. For two new parents, their years in reading were defined by the many picture books that they read to their infants. There were, however, common threads. This year, contributors read one book more than any other: Catherine Lacey's novel Biography of X, which chronicles the life of a fictional artist against the backdrop of an alternate America. Also widely read and written about were Dan Sinykin's Big Fiction, an analysis of the conglomeration of the publishing industry, and the works of Annie Ernaux (a star of last year's YIR as well). I'm profoundly grateful for the generosity of this year's contributors, the names of whom will be revealed below as entries are published throughout the month, concluding on Thursday, December 21. Be sure to bookmark this page and follow us on Twitter to stay up to date. —Sophia Stewart, editor Emily Wilson, classicist and translator of The IliadVauhini Vara, author of This Is SalvagedJenn Shapland, author of Thin SkinDamion Searls, writer and translatorLaToya Watkins, author of Holler, ChildIsle McElroy, author of People CollideTaylor Byas, author of I Done Clicked My Heels Three TimesKristen Ghodsee, author of Everyday UtopiaJames Frankie Thomas, author of IdlewildJoanna Biggs, author of A Life of One's OwnAthena Dixon, author of The Loneliness FilesChristine Coulson, author of One Woman ShowPhillip Lopate, author of A Year and a Day
When it comes to this year's Winter Olympics, it's almost Biblical: in the beginning there was Twitter, and the tweets were about toilets. Whether as a result of poor planning and corruption — or whether as a call-back to the uniquely Soviet production quota issues that led to backwards high heels and sticky raincoats — the facilities in Sochi have been the butt of jokes across the internet since the first reporters touched down weeks ago. The issues are legion: there are missing pipes; there are innovative seat covers; and everywhere there are reminders that privacy is a lie. (Of course, these superficial issues belie much more systemic and widespread problems, and I hope that the journalists decrying the last-minute paint jobs are going to be equally vocal about Russia's deeply unsettling human rights issues.) Yet and still, I'll admit that my Millions colleague Janet Potter and I have indulged our affinity for Schadenfreude by cataloguing some of the more outrageous entries popping up on our Twitter timelines. (The best typically bear the hashtags #SochiProblems and #RatchetOlympics.) All the while, I've found myself subconsciously pairing the absurdities with their analogues from the canon of Russian literature. And as I've come to learn, the Russian masters saw the writing on the wall well before the Olympic torch made its way to the Black Sea's coast. Below, I offer a brief compendium of classic quotations paired with some of the more incredible and regrettable sights that Sochi has to offer. “Such complete, absolute ignorance of everyday reality was touching and somehow repulsive.” – Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot https://twitter.com/gourev/status/430917040464220160 “Death can only be profitable: there’s no need to eat.” – Anton Chekhov, "Rothschild's Fiddle" https://twitter.com/lizclarketweet/statuses/431294909744959488 “There was no answer to any of these questions, except one, and that not a logical answer and not at all a reply to them. The answer was: 'You'll die and all will end. You'll die and know all, or cease asking.'” – Leo Tolstoy, War and Peace https://twitter.com/espnWD/statuses/431274562006028288 “It is no use to blame the looking glass if your face is awry.” – Nikolai Gogol, The Inspector General https://twitter.com/StephStricklen/status/431467338651545600 “By words a man transmits his thoughts to another, by means of art he transmits his feelings.” – Leo Tolstoy, What Is Art? https://twitter.com/STcom/status/431358865485991938 “'No strangers allowed. Go away.' 'I don't understand...' 'Understanding is strictly forbidden. Even dreams have the right to dream. Isn't that so? Now go away.'” ― Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky, Memories of the Future https://twitter.com/AtlanticCities/status/431511368223580160 “Always to shine, to shine everywhere, to the very deeps of the last days, to shine— and to hell with everything else! That is my motto— and the sun’s!” ― Vladimir Mayakovksy, “An Extraordinary Adventure...” https://twitter.com/USFigureSkating/status/431819393031766016 “In fact, I'm beginning to fear that this confusion will go on for a long time. And all because he writes down what I said incorrectly.” – Mikhail Bulgakov, The Master and Margarita https://twitter.com/rubesita/status/426991310810411008 “Your health is bound to be affected if, day after day, you say the opposite of what you feel.” – Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago https://twitter.com/SeanFitz_Gerald/statuses/431330870403035137 “Are some less lucky, or do all escape? A syllogism; other men die But I am not another: therefore I'll not die” – Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire https://twitter.com/JohnnyQuinnUSA/statuses/432080536232665089 https://twitter.com/JohnnyQuinnUSA/statuses/432080704776962048 “And over the village slipped the days, passing into the nights; the weeks flowed by, the months crept on, the wind howled, and, glassified with an autumnal, translucent, greenish-azure, the Don flowed tranquilly down to the sea.” – Mikhail Sholokhov, And Quiet Flows the Don https://twitter.com/Sochi2014/status/428547088205377536 “And everything that he saw before him / He despised or hated.” – Mikhail Lermontov, “The Demon” (Note: Russian) https://twitter.com/MarkConnollyCBC/statuses/431289211245715456 “—The point is Americans are always scared about something—frightened they’ll be kicked out of their job or their wife’s going to get raped or their car stolen…they’re scared stiff the whole time… —Still, they don’t have these queues. —No, they don’t have the queues, that’s true.” – Vladimir Sorokin, The Queue https://twitter.com/tyomson1/status/431805520195108864 “Respect was invented to cover the empty place where love should be.” – Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina https://twitter.com/JeanessaPR/status/432725667936239616 “If you have pain in one tooth, rejoice that it is not all your teeth that are aching.” – Anton Chekhov, "Life is Wonderful" * https://twitter.com/verge/status/431858246480310272 * Alternate: “The formula 'two plus two equals five' is not without its attractions.” ― Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes From Underground “The illusion which exalts us is dearer to us than ten thousand truths.” – Alexander Pushkin, “The Hero” (as quoted in Chekhov's “Gooseberries”) https://twitter.com/ayush_1901/status/431831230862999552 “...as I was sifting through a heap of old and new 'identity cards,' I noticed that something was missing: my identity.” ― Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky, Autobiography of a Corpse https://twitter.com/LisaLaFlammeCTV/status/431719342460260353
As a judge for an upstart literary award specializing in translated literature, it’s hard not to feel insignificant. After all, aren’t there enough literary awards out there already? And translated literature—what’s up with that? Don’t Americans care far more about the latest celebrity bio than some piece of literature written in Austria? There’s even more to make us feel unimportant. Unlike some awards, we don’t have thousands of dollars of prize money to give to our winner (instead we have very classy bookends). Nor do we have a prestigious history going back decades (we’ve only been doing this since 2008). Heck, in all likelihood our winner won’t even speak English, so we’ll have to use Google Translate to congratulate him or her. Yes, though we've been covered in places like The Guardian and The Independent, there’s a lot to make the University of Rochester's Best Translated Book Award feel inadequate, but there's one very important thing we'll never feel inadequate about: the books—we have outstanding books that most people have probably never heard of. The Pulitzer is all well and good, but does it have a Russian surrealist writing about a commie Eiffel Tower that runs away and commits suicide? Or how about an asshole B actor on a Brazilian soap opera who gets his kicks by giving graphic interviews to innocent female journalists? Does it perhaps have a metafictional novel told in the form of an interview about said novel? Or even a comic, quasi-philosophical romp about an Argentine high-rise apartment building that’s under construction and infested with ghosts? After a long year of reading and judging the best literature translated into English in 2009, we—the few, the proud, the obscure judges of the Best Translated Book Award—are proud to announce our ten finalists. Anonymous Celebrity by Ignácio de Loyola Brandão - Translated from the Portuguese by Nelson Vieira. (Brazil, Dalkey Archive) The Confessions of Noa Weber by Gail Hareven - Translated from the Hebrew by Dalya Bilu. (Israel, Melville House) The Discoverer by Jan Kjaerstad - Translated from the Norwegian by Barbara Haveland. (Norway, Open Letter) Ghosts by Cesar Aira - Translated from the Spanish by Chris Andrews. (Argentina, New Directions) Memories of the Future by Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky - Translated from the Russian by Joanne Turnbull. (Russia, New York Review Books) Rex by José Manuel Prieto - Translated from the Spanish by Esther Allen. (Cuba, Grove) The Tanners by Robert Walser - Translated from the German by Susan Bernofsky. (Switzerland, New Directions) The Twin by Gerbrand Bakker - Translated from the Dutch by David Colmer. (Netherlands, Archipelago) The Weather Fifteen Years Ago by Wolf Haas - Translated from the German by Stephanie Gilardi and Thomas S. Hansen. (Austria, Ariadne Press) Wonder by Hugo Claus - Translated from the Dutch by Michael Henry Heim. (Belgium, Archipelago) These books, of course, include all of what I’ve just laid out above, plus a number of equally compelling books that didn’t so easily lend themselves to single-sentence summarization. In many cases they were among my favorite reads in all of 2009—translated or otherwise—and in all cases they are fine works of literature that I would absolutely recommend to a friend. But if I did recommend them, would they be read? For as small a field as translated literature is—we constantly hear that only 3% of books published in English are translated—it has nonetheless generated a remarkable number of clichés and myths, most of them negative. Two of the most pernicious are that American readers just don’t care about literature from beyond the United States and that translations are somehow lesser copies that would be a waste of time to read. As to the first one, I believe myself and the other judges are all the proof you will need to put that myth to rest. In no cases were we reared by families of translation-lovers who instilled in us an ethic to read beyond our national borders. We don’t read these translations because we view it as social work, nor because we’re all bleeding hearts who have made these books our crusade. No. We are simply lovers of great literature, readers just like anyone who visits The Millions wondering what to read next. True, somehow we happened to discover all that one misses out on if—for some mysterious reason—you constrain yourself to books created solely by others who happen to speak the same language that you do. But I don’t really believe in the existence of these translation-averse readers that I keep hearing about. Quite frankly, if translated literature was bad enough to cause a generation of readers to retch at the very sight of it, you couldn’t get me to give up my reading time to wade through a pile of it every year. I just wouldn’t do it. But the reality of the matter is quite the opposite (and I think I speak for all the judges when I say this): we judge this prize because the books are incredibly good, and it’s a treat to have publishers and our fellow judges vying to place so many excellent books before us. As to the second myth, that these translations we read and judge are somehow an adulteration of the original. I suppose there are some stuffy, absolutist authors out there who actually believe this nonsense, but in all the time I’ve corresponded with translators and the authors they translate, I’ve never found a single person to espouse that opinion. Quite the opposite. Very frequently authors will see the translation as a unique creation in its own right, neither greater nor lesser than the original book. (In fact, Jose Manuel Prieto, whose novel Rex graces our list of finalists, endorses this opinion right in his book.) Some very famous authors have even claimed that they like the translation better than the original. Even if some authors will say that they prefer the original to the translation (and wouldn’t you, knowing you wrote the original?), they will be quick to add that ninety percent of, say, Tolstoy is better than zero percent, which is what most of us would have if we had to read it in Russian. So now that we have spent a year to put this list of finalists together, I encourage everyone to give at least one of these titles a shot and see if they aren’t refreshed and inspired by reading beyond our language’s borders. (To help you pick, you can see write-ups of all the finalists.) These are all books that explore the possibilities of language and literature in exciting and innovative ways, they are all books that offer fresh perspectives, and most of all, like any good work of literature they are all books that offer the chance to see things we didn't know we wanted to see. And remember to check in for the announcement of the Best Translated Book for 2009 on March 10.