Happy Friday, Asymptote. Hard to believe a week has already passed since the American Literary Translators Association conference in Tucson, Arizona—but it has, and the National Translation Award-winners have been announced: prose honors went to William M. Hutchins’s translation from the Arabic of The New Waw: Saharan Oasis, and Pierre Joris’s iteration of the later poems of famed German poet Paul Celan—collected in an edition titled Breathturn into Timestead—won the poetry bid.
Meanwhile, the Lucien Stryk Prize, which focuses on Asian-language translations, went to Eleanor Goldman, who snagged top prose honors for her translation of Something Crosses my Mind by Wang Xiaoni, translated from the Chinese (be sure to read some of Goodman’s Wang Xiaoni translations in our July 2014 issue here!). And the Italian Prose in Translation Award went to Anne Milano Appel, for her translation of Blindly, by Claudio Magris. Congrats to all!
If you missed it this week, our Translation Tuesday—also featured on the Guardian—was absolutely star-studded: Lydia Davis and Susan Bernofsky translating none other than the inimitable Swiss writer Robert Walser. We’re happy more readers get to read some translated gems, because there’s so much to be gained in translation—Irish publishers at the gosh-wow ginormous Frankfurt Book Fair might agree.
Speaking of awards (we’re always speaking of awards, aren’t we?): Korean fiction writer Mah Chong-gi and poet Hwong Jeong-eun won the country’s prestigious Daesan award, which grants the two 50 million apiece (here’s hoping their work is translated, and soon). And Canadian author Ruth Ozeki received the Russian Yasnaya Polyana award from Vladimir Tolstoy—Leo Tolstoy’s great-great grandson. And the Sharjah Book Fair promises (promises!) a big award for the best English-language translation from the Arabic.
Looking for a read to cozy up in? Look no further than The Big Green Tent, by Ludmila Ulitskaya and translated from the Russian by Polly Gannon (take that, David Brooks). And speaking of great Russian literature: how can we best get rid of Ivan Ilych’s old Brooklyn stuff?