Mars by Asja Bakić, translated from the Croatian by Jennifer Zoble, Feminist Press, 2019
From a journalist reporting from inside a cult village to children who are convinced their neighbor is a forest monster, the characters portrayed in Mars, the debut short story collection by Bosnian poet, writer, and translator Asja Bakić, are forced to figure out how to survive in their strange realities. Bakić, playing a role reminiscent of Rod Serling in “The Twilight Zone,” carefully pushes aside the curtain on these parallel universes to underscore the uncanniness of everyday life. Each story in the collection takes place in a world that looks and feels familiar at first, but becomes stranger and more foreign the longer you spend in it.
Bakić was born in Tuzla, Bosnia, where she obtained a degree in Bosnian language and literature, two themes deeply explored in the collection. Mars, originally published under the same title in 2015, was shortlisted for the Edo Budiša Award. The stories shift seamlessly in genre from science fiction to dystopian horror, and Bakić deftly combines aspects of speculative fiction and realism to form a cohesive collection that explores universal issues. Bakić has a unique, perceptive voice and was selected as one of Literary Europe Live’s New Voices in 2017. Her work has been translated into seven languages. She currently lives and works in Zagreb, Croatia.
The first story, “Day Trip to Durmitor,” introduces many of the major themes present throughout the rest of the collection. This story begins shortly after the narrator, a writer, dies. Two angels of death force her to write a masterpiece so that she can proceed to the so-called “second phase” of death. Her writing will let her return to the land of the living—as the angels of death tell her, “Literature is . . . the primary link between life and death”—but not exactly as a living person. Rather, she returns to earth as a zombie and sets out on a search for human brains. Bakić injects an ironic sense of humor into many of her stories to satirize modern life: the zombies “practiced etiquette and respected the hierarchy,” as they did in their former human lives, allowing more famous writers to get the first brain; the narrator is told that “God slipped in the tub”; and rather than going to heaven, most people “simply stay wedged in the ground, like a potato.”
Bakić also explores the relationship between literature, life, and death in “Heading West.” The story centers on a starving family who is planning to leave their poverty-stricken, decaying city. Desperate for food, the two children spend their time pretending to eat. Literature gives them the means to live, as they recite lists of food items from Zola’s The Belly of Paris as consolation for their empty bellies. Contrary to the humor in “Day Trip to Durmitor,” “Heading West” displays an increasingly uncomfortable sense of irony, as “instead of being devoured by curious children, [the books are] being devoured by flames” for warmth. In a twist typical of Bakić, we learn that the family is fleeing Europe, trying to reach Africa in search of a better life. Bakić highlights the unexpected ending and mirrors her reader’s surprise in the last line of the story: “The waves pounded the boat on all sides mercilessly—as if they wanted to turn the passengers’ world on its head.”
The theme of exile also emerges in “The Underworld,” the final story of the collection. Employing the trope of a Martian colony, Bakić explores a world in which writers have been forced to renounce their work or live in exile on Mars. For the protagonist, who has always felt a connection to Earth’s moon, being forced to live on Mars—named for the god of war and the male counterpart to Venus—makes her sick: “What had made us humans on Earth had quickly disappeared on Mars.” Forcefully separated from the femininity and literary creativity the moon inspires in her, she feels as though she’s on the brink of death. After finding a book called Mars, she begins having apocalyptic dreams that involve a strange, curved substance and the destruction of Earth. While the resolution is unclear, it seems as though the protagonist accepts Earth’s annihilation because the moon would be relocated to the Martian sky, thus restoring the connection to her femininity.
Our expectations of normalcy are also overturned in “The Talus of Madame Liken.” The titular character uses language to manipulate the police after they find a dead body covered in lichen close to her house. When questioned, she gestures to her medicine bottles, as if anyone with medicine bottles could never be a killer, and feigns innocence. However, this manipulating murderer is confronted and manipulated in turn by someone who knows her secret—that she is in fact guilty of the murder. In both instances, the women’s words point to one thing but mean another: Madame Liken says it’s a “relief” when the clearly incompetent police officers say they have everything under control; the stranger says, “I don’t like debts” when returning the sweater she borrowed when she actually means she has exacted her revenge by murdering a young man close to Madame Liken.
Bakić also plays with tropes from science fiction to point out the absurdity of everyday life. One example shows up in “Abby,” the story of a woman who repeatedly loses her memory. She struggles to remember who she is and whether she is actually married to the man who claims to be her husband. She remembers wanting to be a different person, but she never imagined she would have to start from scratch to do so. After some digging, she discovers that she is a sex robot whose memory is regularly wiped clean. While the female robot is a common trope in science fiction—it appears in Metropolis, Blade Runner, and Ex Machina—Bakić’s portrayal sticks out for providing us a story told from the robot’s perspective and opening a window into her head. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Abby feels many things that a real woman would feel if she found herself in the same situation, dealing with emotional abuse. Bakić’s work is refreshing, as it offers us a look at these tropes from a woman’s point of view. This allows her to reveal a feminine sensibility, something underrepresented in the genre.
Similarly, female clones are the focus in “Asja 5.0.” The protagonist, one of five Asjas, is employed to write hardcore porn for a man who hopes to be the first man to achieve an erection in “god knows how many years.” The protagonist communicates with another Asja, raising the question of originality: who is the real Asja, and which four are the clones? However, neither the reader nor the Asjas know the answer. In the end, it doesn’t matter because, as the protagonist Asja says, “my guest is merely one of my variants, a person unto herself.” This is also related to the question of the “original” in translation. The source text is often held up as being pristine and perfect, while the translation is considered a watered-down replica. Like the clones, however, translations are “completely different,” not better or worse. Bakić also blurs the line between author and narrator by giving the clones her own name. By inserting herself into the story, she further complicates the distinction between fiction and reality.
What makes these stories shine is Bakić’s matter-of-fact style, as if she is simply telling you about her day. She doesn’t make the message garish or blatantly obvious. Rather, the stories are almost understated, which makes the twists even more attention-grabbing. In her translation, writer and translator Jennifer Zoble is careful to create a parallel experience for English readers, maintaining a steady tone and pleasant reading experience throughout. I even had to remind myself a few times that the book was translated, as it reads so smoothly, and the themes are truly global in scope.
Bakić’s array of genres allow her to explore a vast array of universal issues, with everything from social to existential implications. From the very first story, the exciting plot lines and thought-provoking topics keep you reading and wanting more; however, this book is best taken slowly, with time in between to savor each story.
Andrea Blatz is a copy editor with Asymptote and a doctoral student in French Studies at the University of Texas at Austin, where she studies early science fiction and colonialism. She’s also an emerging translator working on her first book-length translation.
*****
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