Performances of Masculinity: A Review of Rock, Paper, Grenade by Artem Chekh

July 21, 2025  |  in Reviews  |  by mk zariel

Rock, Paper, Grenade is . . . a novel about how masculine social dynamics can transform and change its characters’ emotional lives.

Rock, Paper, Grenade by Artem Chekh, translated from the Ukrainian by Olena Jennings and Oksana Rosenblum, Seven Stories Press, 2025

When men talk about other men in the world of Artem Chekh’s Rock, Paper, Grenade, there is an external sense of kinship coupled with a subtle hostility—a language of insults and mockery that permeates every interaction. And within this, nothing is more feared and ever-present than the specter of queerness. Felix, the stepfather of protagonist Tymofiy and a prominent character throughout the novel, had experienced a “fulfilling and, by and large, carefree childhood,” yet still casually criticizes his brother for a perceived femininity. From comments about his choir involvement and “sailor suit” to the accusation of being a “faggot and wimp,” his familiar descriptions of his brother are laced with casual homophobia.

Throughout the novel, the F-slur is routinely thrown about when a male character behaves with vulnerability, and any feminine quality in men is roundly scorned; as such, Rock, Paper, Grenade is, at its core, a novel about how masculine social dynamics can transform and change its characters’ emotional lives. Felix’s presence is emotionally fraught for Tymofiy; when the two meet, Felix provides a role of care, yet he also uses hegemonic, power-driven masculinity—and its undercurrent of homophobia—to cause profound harm. In Chekh’s world, this duality of male vulnerability and aggression is of utmost importance, creating dramatic tension between the characters while underscoring the broader point that patriarchal behaviour profoundly traumatizes the emotional lives of men and boys.

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Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

July 18, 2025  |  in Dispatches, News, Weekly Roundup  |  by Alton Melvar M Dapanas, Christina Chatzitheodorou, and Sofija Popovska

The latest from North Macedonia, the Philippines, and Greece.

In this week’s round-up of literary news, our editors bring news of resistance, commemoration, and solidarity. In North Macedonia, a powerful literary prize pushes back against repression by celebrating marginalised voices. In the Philippines, a local organisation is using independent publishing to express solidarity with Palestine and push back against the industrial market complex. In Greece, a new publication celebrates the brief life of a communist activist. Read on to find out more!

Sofija Popovska, Editor-at-Large, reporting from North Macedonia

Štefica Cvek, a regional literary contest open to Macedonian, Croatian, Serbian, Bosnian, and Montenegrin authors, recently announced the twenty-two titles of its 2025 longlist. Held for the fourth year in a row, the contest highlights the best books written from queer, feminist, decolonial, class-conscious, and ecology-minded perspectives. Akin to this year’s Budapest Pride march, which drew historic crowds despite governmental repression, the celebration of queerness at the core of the Štefica Cvek contest remains a controversial issue within the greater Macedonian cultural context.

Noting that Macedonian LGBTQ+ activists operate within “one of the most regressive anti-gay regimes in Europe,” the British human rights activist Peter Tatchell has praised them as “heroes and heroines.” Not only are same-sex marriages still unrecognized under Macedonian law, but queerness itself is actively demonized in both political and cultural spheres. As recently as February 2025, both the Macedonian government and its opposition have weaponized accusations of queerness to discredit their political rivals, and only a month prior, the Orthodox Church—with the endorsement of many prominent Macedonian politicians and writers—reviled gay marriage as “a violation of the holy will of God . . . and a prerequisite for the dissolution of the family.” READ MORE…

Beyond that Southern Sky: An Interview with Seo Jung Hak and Megan Sungyoon on the Korean Prose Poem

July 17, 2025  |  in Interviews  |  by Alton Melvar M Dapanas

Wouldn’t it be enough for poetry to remain as something that doesn’t really serve any function, something without a definite meaning?

Appearing first in its Korean original as 동네에서 제일 싼 프랑스(Seoul: Moonji Publishing) in 2017, The Cheapest France in Town (World Poetry Books, 2023) is avant-garde poet Seo Jung Hak’s second collection, and his debut in the Anglosphere. To me, as a writer and reader of prose poetry and its permutations from the Arabic qaṣīdat al-nathr to the Japanese sanbunshi, Seo’s writings move with the silken grace of the Korean sanmunsi tradition. Forged by turn-of-the-century poets like Han Yong-un, Jeong Ji-yong, and Joo Yo-han, the sanmunsi found fertile ground when Ivan Turgenev’s ‘Threshold’ was rendered into the Korean as ‘Munŏgu’ by the poet and publisher Ch’oe Nam-sŏn, published in the October 1914 issue of the literary journal Ch’ŏngch’un (Youth). The sanmunsi later became, as The Columbia Anthology of Modern Korean Poetry notes, a ‘notable . . . form, redolent of the aestheticism then intriguing Korean writers’.

Seo Jung Hak reimagines the sanmunsi through ‘paper box’ poems and absurdist tales, crafting language and aesthetics to uncover the poetic in the mundane and to confront globalisation’s homogenising agenda. His translator, Megan Sungyoon, frames his work as a recycling of ‘the rhetoric of outdated ideology and bureaucracy, late capitalism and unrelenting consumerism, and hyper-commercialized culture industry to make an ironic patchwork of languages of the past and present’. 

In this interview, I spoke with Seo and Sungyoon, both in Seoul, about the sanmunsi, The Cheapest France in Town, and the ways in which one can resist linguistic homogeneity.

Alton Melvar M Dapanas (AMMD): Jung Hak, can you take us through the years between 1999—when the earliest poems in The Cheapest France in Town began taking shape—and 2017, when the collection was first published? What was your process while putting these poems together? 

Seo Jung Hak (SJH): I have been writing poems since 1991. It took me a few years to publish my first poetry collection, and eighteen more years would pass until I published my second. Personal things happened in the meantime; I got married, had a child, wrote poems on commission for literary magazines, earned some money, bought a car, lost someone, and played lots of video games. Indeed, these things are not very interesting to talk about. My personal history may mean something to me, but not to most of the people reading this interview. I’ve just lived along the currents of the world, with enough swinging and swaying. READ MORE…

Singing, Electric, Body: A Review of bruno darío’s Lantana or, the indissoluble exhalation

July 16, 2025  |  in Reviews  |  by Daniel Yadin

The glee and daring of darío’s style, his technicolor whiz-kid pyrotechnics, induce an especially poignant and headlong involvement. . .

Lantana or, the indissoluble exhalation by bruno darío, translated from the Spanish by Kit Schluter, Ugly Duckling Presse, 2025

Lantana or, the indissoluble exhalation is bruno darío’s mesmerizing monument to literature. Published as a tripartite collection by the Brooklyn-based Ugly Duckling Presse, it is both a posthumous triumph and an instance of translation as friendship, as a kind of company-keeping in one’s journey across states. When the Mexico City-based darío wrote these beguiling poem sequences during his twenties, he was suffering, then living, then dying of brain cancer, which ultimately killed him at the age of twenty-nine in 2022. The accomplished translator Kit Schluter recounts in his introduction that he was a good friend of darío’s (who insisted on presenting his name in lowercase since the laws of publishing would not allow him to publish wholly anonymously); the two of them, Schluter writes, “had become friends the way poets working in different languages so often do: by translating each other’s work.”

The Lantana trilogy, 153 English pages in all, recounts the doomed, fatal, gorgeous love story between one speaker, “the Inconsolable,” and his beloved, the terrific and terrifying Anfitriona, who kills herself in the first part of the sequence, “feast, fright,” then stays silent in the second, “airsickness,” as the Inconsolable writes letters about her, his life, and his work. Finally, in the third section, “raze,” she is able to speak a bit before the voice of Gravity—the gravity that pulls her deeper into the earth, into her final destination as earth—takes the final word.

There are several paths into darío’s work; I’ll start with Walt Whitman. Leaves of Grass is referred to frequently throughout the book, the magnum opus of the poet of the body facing the cryptic missives of a young poet approaching death. “I sing the body electric,” darío quotes in English in one of his poems, and he does—he sings the body electric, but he sings the body as it disappears from the realm of bodies past, the body as it crumbles or effloresces into the realm of the intellect and the image. These, more than the flesh, are the guarantors of eternity, and darío takes us on a tour of the seam between them and the real.  READ MORE…

Translation Tuesday: Two Poems by Danae Sioziou

July 15, 2025  |  in Translations  |  by Panagiota Stoltidou

the locking of the door, the alarm, / and my own passage from fire to ice.

For this week’s Translation Tuesday, we bring you two poems from the Greek writer Danae Sioziou, translated by Panagiota Stoltidou. In the first, “Athenian Days”, we’re transported into the commotion of daily life in the Greek capital. Sioziou balances familiar images (insects, breakfast, untrustworthy-seeming people you encounter in the streets) with a more mystical register: “kaleidoscopic / entropies, shells of dreams”. In a melancholic voice, the city hints at an inner vitality, buried by long years of decay.  The second poem, “Tropicalities”, is a philosophical meditation on paradoxes, and impossibilities reminiscent of Heraclitus. Various objects are listed in turn, but they are defined by their inability to fulfill the functions for which they were designed. In contrast, time’s incessant march seems all-powerful.

Athenian Days

Athenian days: flirtations
of cockroaches and shady characters,
eggs sunny side up, totems, kaleidoscopic
entropies, shells of dreams.

I know nothing of rising
stars, the eye is fixed on the first
hour, I am the center of the city,
the bustle, you say, of the here and now.

And if I saw you yesterday, my little light-eating
nightmare, boomerang, brought back
from nothing, shining messenger,

you, moon, I remain dead
only in terrible depths does the drowned
tree of life shine within me.

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What’s New in Translation: July 2025

July 14, 2025  |  in New in Translation, Reviews  |  by Anna Mebel, Jason Gordy Walker, Jordan Silversmith, and Kaelie Giffel

Newly released titles from Morocco, India, Norway, Haiti, Spain, Austria, Argentina, Egypt, Brazil, Germany, and Chile!

This month, we’re delighted to present eleven titles from eleven countries, including a lyrical litany of dreams from a Nobel laureate, a psychologically thrilling fiction-study of domestic violence and complicity, a rollicking novel on poverty and police repression in a Brazilian favela, a sharp and surrealistic collection that deeply probes the connection between death and poetry, and much, much more. . .  

1

Writings on Translation by Abdessalam Benabdelali, translated from the Arabic by Marouane Zakhir and Christian Hawkey, Seagull Books, 2025

Review by Jordan Silversmith

“What is at stake in translation,” Moroccan philosopher Abdessalam Benabdelali writes, “is the strangeness of the other.” In Writings on Translation, a slim but resonant volume translated with clarity and philosophical sensitivity by Marouane Zakhir and Christian Hawkey, Benabdelali argues not only that translation is foundational to the development of Arabic and European thought, but that it constitutes a mode of ethical relation—a hosting of the stranger.

Composed of essays selected from two earlier Arabic-language works, this collection positions translation not as the failed transfer of meaning between stable tongues, but as a generative rupture in the myth of linguistic purity. Echoing Derrida and drawing on classical Arabic poetics, Benabdelali deftly critiques the nationalist drive to see language as a closed identity. “The instrument of translation is a living language,” he writes, “and its mirror is condemned to be broken.” It is in this shattering that thought is permitted to migrate.

What emerges then is a meditation on translation as both inheritance and resistance. Benabdelali revisits the Abbasid-era Bayt al-Hikma, critiques 18th-century French Orientalism, and confronts the ambivalence of Arabic literary modernity, where some authors write in expectation of translation while others fear its erasure. His essays resist binary framings of colonizer and colonized, instead advocating for a polyglossic hospitality in which meaning is always provisional and always in motion. READ MORE…

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

July 11, 2025  |  in Dispatches, News  |  by MARGENTO and Veronica Gisondi

The latest literary news from Italy, Romania, and Egypt!

This week, our editors-at-large report from prize ceremonies and literary festivals, exploring the entanglement of the literary establishment with the cultural industry and uncovering innovative artists fostering transnational collaboration. Read on to find out more!

Veronica Gisondi, Editor-at-Large, reporting from Italy

Since 1947, on the first Thursday of July, the mannerist nymphaeum of Rome’s Villa Giulia has hosted the award ceremony of Italy’s most closely followed literary prize, the Strega Prize (Premio Strega). Its beginnings date back to 1944—just before the capital’s liberation from Nazi occupation—when a group of intellectuals, writers, journalists, and artists, self-named “Amici della domenica” (Sunday friends) and led by Maria Bellonci, began holding a series of informal meetings that, in the aftermath of WWII, gradually evolved into the literary prize we know today, bringing major works of fiction to national attention.

Last week, Andrea Bajani’s autobiographical novel L’Anniversario (The Anniversary, forthcoming with Penguin Press) was announced as this year’s winner. It tells the story of a family whose emotional life is underpinned by the delicate interplay of violence and subjugation—a story whose end, however, is marked by the writer-narrator’s drastic decision to “abandon” his parents for good. Deprived of psychological and emotional depth, the mother—who willingly gives up on life—functions as the novel’s narrative pivot; for Bajani, her entrenched passivity becomes the vantage point from which to observe the father, a “normal” man—that is, a controlling, aggressive, short-tempered provider—in whom the claim to authority, the shame of failure, and the need to be loved converge in a lifelike if partial portrait.

Bajani’s language is clean, precise, composed; inclined to circumlocution and upheld by an affable disposition, its coldness—along with the frequent use of ellipses—echoes the hollowness of a home where silence reigned, a “perfectly functional, closed” family system, akin to a “carceral” facility. While Bajani’s intent is to reject a 20th-century patriarchal legacy (first by breaking the yoke of secrecy, then by severing ties with his parents), the trajectory of his distancing remains nebulous—suggesting an unwillingness, or an inability, to envision an alternative. READ MORE…

“I will never die. I will dance. . .”: On Apotheosis of Music by Witold Wirpsza

July 10, 2025  |  in Reviews  |  by Katherine Beaman

Wirpsza’s work may provide some guidance as to what the artist’s role could be in the face of humanity’s darker moments. . .

Apotheosis of Music by Witold Wirpsza, translated from the Polish by Frank L. Vigoda, World Poetry, 2025

In the fourteenth century, writing from a state of political exile from Florence, Dante gave us an allegorical tour of the afterlife with an imaginary Virgil as his guide, presenting a cast of historical and mythic figures re-imagined. It isn’t hard to make the connection between him and the twentieth-century Polish poet Witold Wirpsza, who, as he contended with World War II and its subsequent outfalls, wrote from a state of exile in West Berlin and introduced his own cast of mythic figures: Dante, Bach, Mozart, Beethoven, Stalin. Now, from Frank L. Vigoda—the nom de plume of translator husband-wife duo Gwido Zlatkes and Ann Frenkel—comes Apotheosis of Music, a selection of Wirpsza’s cerebral and exuberant oeuvre in an indulgent, cheeky, rhythmic English, at times originating its own pleasant musicality. Where Zlatkes lends his native Polish perspective, Frenkel’s background in musicology allows for an execution of the musical structures and themes prevalent throughout Wirpsza’s work.

Born in Gdańsk, Poland in 1918 and educated in music and law, Wirpsza was drafted into WWII, held as a prisoner of war in a German camp, and, after initially being a supporter of communism following the war, eventually defected from the Polish United Workers Party (PZPR) in objection to its policies. After publishing an essay critiquing nationalist identities called “Polaku, kim jesteś” (Pole, who are you), he was banned from publication in his native Poland—a sentence that lasted until 1989, four years after his death. He then settled in West Berlin, where he lived for the remainder of his life; there, he brought works of Polish literature to a German audience and vice versa, translating works like a biography of Bach and a novel about Mozart from German into Polish.  READ MORE…

Ukraine’s Linguistic Front: A Review of Ordinary People Don’t Carry Machine Guns by Artem Chapeye

July 9, 2025  |  in Reviews  |  by Sam Bowden

By focusing on the ambiguity of his new life at war, Chapeye resists Russia’s invasion on a psychological level.

Ordinary People Don’t Carry Machine Guns by Artem Chapeye, translated from the Ukrainian by Zenia Tompkins, Penguin Random House, April 2025

Since Russia’s full-scale invasion of their country, Ukrainian writers have brought the resistance into their language. Some who once worked in Russian have switched to Ukrainian; others stopped capitalizing the invader’s name, rendering it as puny russia (росія). This is about reducing Russia, ejecting it from a language it has tried to claim as its own, as if in anticipation of Moscow’s physical expulsion. In his latest book—equal parts memoir, treatise, and document of the first three years of the invasion—Artem Chapeye rejects not only Russia, but the cruel logic of war. Throughout Ordinary People Don’t Carry Machine Guns, Russia—and the grief, fear, uncertainty, guilt, and shame its war brought upon Ukrainians—is referred to as “Gloom.” It is Gloom that encroaches upon Ukraine, Gloom against which Chapeye, who joined the military shortly after Russia invaded, takes up arms alongside his countrymen. Gloom is both Russia’s literal tanks and missiles and the psychological conditions Russia’s invasion forces upon Chapeye—at once the monster and the terror it inspires. Yet Ordinary People does more than chase Russia from its language. Chapeye, rendered in affable English by Zenia Tompkins, resists the affect of war itself. Through Tompkins’s frank translation, which favors a colloquial, musing style, Chapeye remains irrepressibly human as Gloom tries to change him. The result is a surprisingly warm and compelling text that insists on rising above Russia’s war, even as it acknowledges the urgency of the real-world struggle to end it. READ MORE…

Translation Tuesday: An Excerpt from That Any Might Be Saved by Panni Puskás

July 8, 2025  |  in Translations  |  by Austin Wagner

I told them no mercy, you must be destroyed, because violence is the only path to happiness

Ready to dig deep? The narrator of Panni Puskás’s novel That Any Might Be Saved is, as demonstrated by this dizzying excerpt, brilliantly translated from the Hungarian by Austin Wagner. Asked by their psychotherapist to recall their childhood, the narrator draws up their very first memory: a tantrum provoked by their inability to find a plastic ball to play with. From here the narrator’s monologue unfurls in a dazzling spiral, transitioning seamlessly from their childhood recollections to their frustrating relationship with their perpetually unemployed friend and finally to the liberatory violence of vandalism and of the destruction of their mother’s possessions—an apparent rejection of their own richly remembered past, which frees them from the strictures of polite society and psychotherapy alike. Read on!

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An Interview with Mary Jo Bang on Translating Paradiso by Dante Alighieri

July 7, 2025  |  in Interviews  |  by Tiffany Troy

I wanted my translation to honor Dante’s decision to write the poem in the vernacular instead of in literary Latin.

In her new translation of Dante’s Paradiso, translator Mary Jo Bang has brought to bear an eagle-eyed focus on the power of lyric poetry. This book is the last of the three that form Dante’s The Divine Comedy—the most widely read of the three being Inferno, where the punishment of the sinners in Hell mirrors the nature of the sins committed in their lifetimes. The same process is at work in Purgatorio, although there, punishment is structured instead as restorative penance, which, once completed, enables the souls to enter the blissful realm of the tenth heaven. In Paradiso, then, Dante travels through the nine spheres of the solar system until he arrives at the Empyrean, where he finds the saved basking in the Eternal Light of God’s mind. Speaking to those he meets along the way, Dante becomes aware that bliss isn’t the same for everyone; one’s ability to feel God’s love in the afterlife depends on the qualities of their time spent on earth.

By translating Dante’s language into modern American English and adopting a matter-of-fact authorial tone, Bang retains the elegance of the original diction. Throughout, she adopts a loose iambic structure and preserves the three-line stanza to echo Dante’s terza rima, an arrangement he devised to gesture to the Holy Trinity. All of these measures combine to honor the imagery and meaning of Dante’s original vernacular Italian, while also acknowledging the fundamental differences between the two languages.

Curious to learn more, I spoke with Bang about the act of “carrying” poetry across from one language to another, the nuts and bolts of her translation process, and how Heaven is different for each person lucky enough to have made it there.

Tiffany Troy (TT): What is the act of literary translation for you? And has your view of the possibilities of translation shifted over time?

Mary Jo Bang (MJB): The best definition of translation I’ve encountered comes from tracing the term back to the Latin translationem (nominative translatio), which means “a carrying across.” When applied to a text, the suggestion is that you are carrying a text in one language over into a second language. The Greeks used the word for the work of metaphor, which, like the translation of a text from one language to another, is rooted in equivalency and substitution. In the Old French, translation also referred to carrying the bones of saints from one place to another, as relics. It makes sense to me that the preciousness of such bones would have gotten linguistically intertwined with the precious religious texts copied by clerical scribes. The scribes carried a text from book to book, and sometimes also from one language to another. There have been other uses of the word, from the sacred meaning of being transported (translated) to Heaven, to the secular meaning of moving plantings from one place to another.

When I began translating the Comedy, I knew little to nothing about translation. I had taken two translation workshops when I was an MFA student at Columbia in the early nineties, working on translating a French novel, but after I finished my degree and moved to St. Louis to begin teaching, the novel stayed in the cardboard box it arrived in. I don’t know that I would have ever gone back to translation except that I read Caroline Bergvall’s “Via (48 Dante Variations),” and marveled at the fact that in forty-seven translations of the first three lines of Dante’s Inferno, no two were identical. This felt like a demonstration of the fact that there is no single “right” way to translate one language into another; that might be obvious to some but for me, it was a decisive revelation and one that has been at the forefront of my mind in all of the translations I’ve worked on since. READ MORE…

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

July 4, 2025  |  in Dispatches, News, Weekly Roundup  |  by Hongyu Jasmine Zhu, Mary Noorlander, and René Esaú Sánchez

The latest in literary news from China, Mexico, and the United States!

This week, our Editors-at-Large take us to literary fairs, readings, and walks around the world, featuring Malaysia as the country of honor at Beijing’s annual book fair, an “in-progress” translation reading in New York, and a thought-provoking reflection on a traipse around sites made famous by the works of Carlos Monsiváis in CDMX. Read on to learn more!

Hongyu Jasmine Zhu, Editor-at-Large, reporting from China

Between June 18–22, the 31st Beijing International Book Fair (BIBF) welcomed over 1,700 exhibitors from 80 countries, with Bangladesh, Belarus, Chile, Cyprus, Ethiopia, Guatemala, Jamaica, Kenya, and Oman joining for the first time. Over 300 thousand visitors of all ages and backgrounds participated in the fair’s multi-sensory literary walk, from family-friendly activities to down-to-business panel discussions.

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REFUGE and Immersive Theater: In Conversation with Vita Tzykun and David Adam Moore

July 3, 2025  |  in Interviews  |  by Ian Ross Singleton

[T]his immersive experience can offer a chance to understand—on a visceral level—the uncertainty and disorientation that refugees so often endure.

In the spring of 2022, Vita Tzykun and David Adam Moore began working on the immersive theater installation REFUGE, “ignited” by Russia’s invasion of Ukraine. Developed and first presented with the support of UC Davis’ Granada Artist Residency, REFUGE is an exploration of the refugee experience and the meaning of home. In a series of interactive, multilingual scenes, audiences are brought into the stories of refugees, navigating the unfolding of events guided only by the dynamic sets, the lights, the voices, and their own intuition. At the end of it, David remarked, “The thing that I want more than anything is for the audience to leave with a changed frame of reference.”

In the following interview, Ian Ross Singleton speaks with Vita and David on the urgency of this project, its development, and its role in uniting disparate refugee communities in a shared narrative.

Ian Ross Singleton (IRS): What was the inspiration when you began this project?

Vita Tzykun (VT): We were awarded a dual Granada Artist Residency at the University of California, Davis during the pandemic, but the closures of live performance spaces meant we couldn’t bring our vision to life. When the world began to reopen, the invitation returned—this time, just two weeks after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine.

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Acts Against Fate: A Review of Cautery by Lucia Lijtmaer

July 2, 2025  |  in Reviews  |  by Maddy Robinson

Refreshingly, in Cautery, the stifling confines of gender in both past and present are treated in a way that defies easy essentialism.

Cautery by Lucía Lijtmaer, translated from the Spanish by Maureen Shaughnessy, Charco Press, 2025

Last October was a particularly busy month for news providers in Spain. Deadly, climate change-induced floods ripped through Valencia; the desperate residents of Barcelona and the Canary Islands continued to protest against unsustainable levels of tourism and unregulated property speculation; and in Madrid, sleazy stories of coercion and coverups involving a prominent young politician rattled a progressive left-wing party to its core. Despite the depressing familiarity of such headlines, it almost seems portentous that all of these subjects appear in one form or another in Lucía Lijtmaer’s 2022 novel, Cautery. An accomplished writer and co-director of the acclaimed feminist pop-culture podcast Deforme Semanal Ideal Total, which tackles everything from critical theory to modern dating, Lijtmaer’s finger is firmly on the pulse of millennial Spanish society.

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