Place: India

Elementalia: Chapter V Space

Drawing the sun and the moon at the same time, drawing emptiness and fullness.

Humans throughout history have been fascinated by the elements. Unfathomable forces of nature, they entered our myths and minds aeons ago. There’s no time when we’re not in their thrall. Drawing from the vast store of our collective imagination across mythology, philosophy, religion, literature, science, and art, I present Elementalia, a series of five element-bending lyric essays that explores their enchanting stories and their relationship with the word—making, translating, and transforming meaning and message. This is not an exhaustive (nor exhausting) effort that covers every instance of and interaction with each element, but rather an idiosyncratic, intertextual, meditative work—a patchwork quilt of conversations with other writers, works, and texts across space and time. 

Fire. Water. Earth. Air. Space. Fall in.

 

*1

*

Everything written symbols can say has already passed by. They are like tracks left by animals. That is why the masters of meditation refuse to accept that writings are final. The aim is to reach true being by means of those tracks, those letters, those signs but reality itself is not a sign, and it leaves no tracks. It doesn’t come to us by way of letters or words. We can go toward it, by following those words and letters back to what they came from. But so long as we are preoccupied with symbols, theories and opinions, we will fail to reach the principle.

But when we give up symbols and opinions, aren’t we left in the utter nothingness of being?

Yes.

–Kimura Kyoho in Kenjutsu Fushigi Hen (On the Mysteries of Swordsmanship), 1768, epigraph found
in Robert Bringhurst’s The Elements of Typographic Style

 

Drukpa Kunley, the Master of Truth, himself said,
‘If you think I have revealed any secrets, I apologise;
If you think this a medley of nonsense, just enjoy it!’
Such sentiments, here, I fully endorse!

The Divine Madman, The Sublime Life and Songs of Drukpa Kunley, compiled by Geshe Chaphu,
translated from the Tibetan by Keith Dowman and Sonam Paljor

READ MORE…

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

The latest literary news from India, Bulgaria, and Mexico!

This week, our editors-at-large interview an Indian translator to better understand the local impact of international prizes, report on the opening of an Umberto Eco-inspired bookstore in Bulgaria, and celebrate a major 20th-century writer in Mexico. Read on to find out more!

Sayani Sarkar, Editor-at-Large, reporting from Kolkata

The literary community in India has been celebrating this week because Heart Lamp, written by Banu Mushtaq and translated from Kannada by Deepa Bhasthi, has won the 2025 International Booker Prize. This marks the second time that a book translated from an Indian language has received this prestigious award. The first was Tomb of Sand by Geetanjali Shree, translated by Daisy Rockwell, which won in 2022. Anton Hur, one of the judges this year, described Heart Lamp as “daring, textured, and vital.” I wanted to find out how the book has been received in the translation community in India, so I briefly spoke with Sayari Debnath, a culture journalist at Scroll and a translator from Bengali and Hindi to English.

I asked her how the translation of Heart Lamp stands out to her compared to other recently translated books in various Asian languages. Sayari mentioned that she was quite surprised by the translation when she first read the book. “There are plenty of phrases that were translated literally and Deepa Bhasthi chose to retain some of the Kannada words too,” she said. “It took some time to get used to but as I read on, I realised what it was doing to my own tongue – there was a “chataak” in the language, or what one could also call spice/sourness/pungency. My mouth was imbued with a flavour I couldn’t really place. I thought that was quite an interesting feeling. However, I did tell Deepa that at first, I wasn’t sure about what she was trying to do. She told me she ‘translated with an accent’ — that’s new, I think.” READ MORE…

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

The latest from India, Hong Kong, and Sweden!

This week, our editors are introducing a generous new anthology that illuminates India’s capital, the winners of prestigious Swedish literary awards, and a feature of Hong Kong poets. Read on to find out more.

Zohra Salih, Editor at Large, reporting from India

It has been a harrowing week in this part of the world. We are still, very cautiously, coming to terms with the ceasefire that was finally declared to de-escalate tensions between India and Pakistan, the consequences of which have been disproportionately and brutally borne by the residents of occupied Kashmir (one of the most militarized zones in the world). Things are now supposedly returning to ‘normal’, yet the fact that war was blatantly invoked, justified, and celebrated by fellow citizens has created an atmosphere of unease around writing about India in its aftermath, to say the least.

If he were alive today, one person would have found the words to make something meaningful and urgent amidst this fog of madness: Saadat Hasan Manto. Born in India and forced to make a second life in the newly formed Pakistan, the fiery writer and chronicler of Bombay was considered prophetic for his stories that anticipated with stark-eyed clarity the savagery awaiting the two nations post-Partition, a decision he vehemently opposed. May 11 is the 113th anniversary of his birth, and there is no better time to return to his short story, ‘Toba Tek Singh, or his collection Mottled Dawn: Fifty Sketches and Stories of Partition, than now. Those in Mumbai have also been able to experience his stories—many of them excluded from the usual anthologies—as part of an audio theatre piece performed by Katha Khana at the iconic Prithvi theatre on May 13.

I would also be remiss to not mention The World With Its Mouth Open by another journalist turned author, Zahid Rafiq, which came out in December last year. Rafiq’s debut short story collection vividly and humanely renders the lives of the people of Kashmir as they go on with what has come to be called ordinary life, marked by precarity. There is a quietness to the writing that allows Rafiq to enter your mind and transport it to the valley, blocking out all the noise that obscures its image in the mainstream imagination. Needless to say, it is essential reading for the times we are living in today. READ MORE…

Elementalia: Chapter IV Air

There was more to the word than Indra thought. There was more in the air.

Humans throughout history have been fascinated by the elements. Unfathomable forces of nature, they entered our myths and minds aeons ago. There’s no time when we’re not in their thrall. Drawing from the vast store of our collective imagination across mythology, philosophy, religion, literature, science, and art, I present Elementalia, a series of five element-bending lyric essays that explores their enchanting stories and their relationship with the word—making, translating, and transforming meaning and message. This is not an exhaustive (nor exhausting) effort that covers every instance of and interaction with each element, but rather an idiosyncratic, intertextual, meditative work—a patchwork quilt of conversations with other writers, works, and texts across space and time.

Inspire, from the Latin inspirare, in- + spirare, to breathe.

 

* READ MORE…

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

The latest on book festivals in Nairobi, a spotlight on Indian crime fiction, and changes to publishing norms in Sweden.

In this round-up of literary news, our editors inform on the dialogues and contemporary themes surrounding literary festivals in Kenya; an event celebrating genre fiction in India; and what publishers are doing to switch things up in Sweden. Read on to find out more!

Wambua Muindi, Editor-at-Large, reporting from Kenya

Book festival season is back in Nairobi, and first in line is—as always—Alliance Française’s Nyrobi Book Fest. The fourth edition of this festival, held from April 11 to 13, was a vibrant celebration of Kenyan storytelling, drawing a significant attendance under the theme “A Decade of Kenyan Stories: Past, Present and Beyond.” The festival offered a rich program, including writing masterclasses, storytelling sessions, book launches, and engaging panel discussions, between which attendees had the opportunity to connect with a diverse array of exhibitors such as Writers Space Africa-Kenya, eKitabu, Mvua Press, NAICONN, Mystery Publishers, NuriaBookstore, Writers Guild Kenya, and Jahazi Press, as well as interact with acclaimed authors like Peter Kimani, author of Dance of the Jacaranda; Billy Kahora, editor of Let Us Conspire and Other Short Stories; Iman Verjee, author of Who Will Catch Us if We Fall; Wangari the Storyteller; Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor, author of Dust; and Remy Ngamije, author of The Eternal Audience of One. The three-day festival particularly celebrated the creativity of young Kenyan writers, fostering inspiring conversations and discussions that underscored the dynamic landscape of Kenyan literature.

Following the Book Fest, Nairobi’s literary scene will continue to thrive with the fourth Nairobi Litfest, a festival of ideas by Bookbunk and Hay Festival, which is scheduled for June 26 to 29. Curated by Wanjeri Gakuru under the compelling theme of “exploring alternative knowledge systems,” this year’s edition will activate public spaces across the city, taking place at the McMillan Memorial Library, Eastlands Library, and Kaloleni Library. Building on the success of previous NBO Lit Fests, this edition promises a “thrilling experience” that will gather readers, thinkers, and writers for deep reflection, radical imagination, and collective action, addressing the urgent need for fresh perspectives in today’s world. READ MORE…

Translation Tuesday: “The Boat” by Rabindranath Tagore

Who is that approaching, singing, rowing to the shore? / When I set my eyes on her, I think we’ve met before.

For this week’s Translation Tuesday, we bring you a lyrical meditation on longing, loss, and ephemeral encounters by India’s eternal poet laureate, Rabindranath Tagore. Set against a monsoon-drenched landscape, “The Boat” captures a moment of solitude as the narrator, tired after a long day of harvesting, watches a mysterious boatwoman pass by. There is a haunting nostalgia in the stranger’s presence, yet she vanishes as quickly as she arrives, leaving behind empty hands and unanswered questions. Tagore infuses his songlike verses with his signature blend of natural symbolism and emotional subtlety. Translated gracefully from the Bengali by Anushka Sen, the poem illuminates a world where human connection is as fleeting as the rains.

The Boat

Through thickets of thunder runs the rapid rain.
I sit alone and helpless by the shore.
The harvest heaped in heavy rows,
draws my labour to a close.
The brimming river grows
to a sickled roar.
The rains arrived as I was threshing grain.

I sit alone in a little field of rice
with little rivers rippling all around.
Smudged against the distant stroke
of watersky, a village glows
through forest fog and cloudy smoke—
So it was I found
myself alone in a little field of rice.

Who is that approaching, singing, rowing to the shore?
When I set my eyes on her, I think we’ve met before.
She hurtles past with streaming sail,
never glancing either way
as desperate waves assail
her boat and turn to spray.
I see her, and feel as though we may have met before.

READ MORE…

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

Literary updates from Bulgaria, Ireland, Spain, and India!

In this week of updates from around the world, our Editors-at-Large in Bulgaria, Ireland, and India cover events and awards around key figures in their countries’ respective literary traditions, from the legacies of monumental writers to the emergence of new and impassioned voices. 

Andriana Hamas, Editor-at-Large, Reporting from Bulgaria

I discovered Viktor Paskov, a Bulgarian writer and musician, in my early twenties. His books, which without fail reminded me of harmonically complex jazz compositions, left me enthralled and, unsurprisingly, with a wonderful melody stuck inside my head. Despite Paskov’s untimely passing at the age of 59 in 2009, his legacy is very much alive, and his work continues to inspire and stimulate the minds of his readers.

A recent example of his lingering influence is The Literature and Translation House’s announcement of the official launch of a new translation award under his name. The initiative has been made possible through a collaboration with Sofia University and, specifically, its Master’s degree program in translation and editing. According to the organizers, among them Marie Vrinat-Nikolov, a French translator specialized in the Bulgarian language, “the award’s goal is to honor texts that demonstrate an excellent command of the Bulgarian language in all of its expressive possibilities, coherence, and an ethical approach to the original text—to its rhythm, language(s), registers, historicity, images, and worlds.”

READ MORE…

Elementalia: Chapter III Earth

What does Earth know that Word does not?

Humans throughout history have been fascinated by the elements. Unfathomable forces of nature, they entered our myths and minds aeons ago. There’s no time when we’re not in their thrall. Drawing from the vast store of our collective imagination across mythology, philosophy, religion, literature, science, and art, I present Elementalia, a series of five element-bending lyric essays that explores their enchanting stories and their relationship with the word—making, translating, and transforming meaning and message. This is not an exhaustive (nor exhausting) effort that covers every instance of and interaction with each element, but rather an idiosyncratic, intertextual, meditative work—a patchwork quilt of conversations with other writers, works, and texts across space and time. 

Earth is cracking along her fault lines. And most of these fault lines are now human.

 

*

[William of Baskerville, a Franciscan friar-turned-detective:] “This is what we need: a way to get into the library at night, and a lamp. You get the lamp. Linger in the kitchen after dinner, and take one…”

[Adso of Melk, his protégé, a Benedictine novice:] “A theft?”

[William:] “A loan, in the name of the greater glory of the Lord.”

[Adso:] “If that is so, then count on me.”

– Umberto Eco, The Name of the Rose

 

READ MORE…

The Movement of Language: Matt Reeck on the Best Unexpressed

But holding two languages ‘open’ at once is imperfect . . . you can get lost in between these two natures.

Matt Reeck’s rich, sonically layered translation of Olivier Domerg’s psychogeographic writing, from Portrait of the Puy de Manse, was published in Asymptote’s January 2025 issue as part of its special feature on new forms. In the piece, we leap from prose to verse, stepping with each new utterance from alignment to alignment, just as the puy becomes a stream becomes another mountain. “Collapse: debris,” writes Domerg in Reeck’s precise, pensive hand. Does translation depend on a similar, geological rhythm of change? In this interview, Asymptote’s Senior Assistant Editor of Fiction Michelle Chan Schmidt speaks with Reeck about his translative art, the sonic aura of language and space, and the process of decolonising knowledge.

Michelle Chan Schmidt (MCS): In an interview with Asymptote from 2014—eleven years ago!—you state that your translation philosophy is ‘best left unexpressed’. Yet in a brilliant 2019 essay for Public Books, ‘Translation’s Burden’, you highlight what you call the ‘Hermeneutic Truth’, deconstructing the cliché of ‘semantic invariance’, or the so-called untranslatable element—apparently intrinsic to each text—that causes their translations to wither. How would you express your translation philosophy today? What role might ‘unnecessary original language words’ play in translated texts?

Matt Reeck (MR): First, I have to say that while I know people use the word ‘philosophy’ in this context, I tend to avoid it; why does everything have to have a philosophy when ‘practice’ would do, when intelligence and sensitivity would do? That word also tends to make ‘practice’ appear uniform and to regularise what is naturally variable. Even if there are guidelines, choices are always particular and individual. I think that means translation is an art and not a philosophy (and is not governed by a philosophy).

These days, I think about the role editors take. (Patrick Hersant has a great essay forthcoming called ‘The Third Hand’, translated by me (!), that talks about the role editors play in the publication of translations.) I think about any book’s birth as a collaboration. So many people are involved, and the relationship with editors can be good or bad. READ MORE…

Weekly Dispatches From the Frontlines of World Literature

The latest literary news from Kenya, India, and México!

This week, our editors-at-large take us to India, Kenya, and México. From a cross-cultural poetry retreat to a crime writer’s conference, read on to find out more!

Réne Esaú Sánchez, Editor-at-Large, reporting from México

Not so long ago, I was talking with some friends about the Guadalajara International Book Fair and how, for many locals, an event like that was actually their only chance to find certain books, meet certain authors and even reflect upon their literary activities. Despite the importance of the Fair, literary circulation remains centralized in Mexico City, while book commercialization in other places like Guadalajara, Monterrey, or Oaxaca is always secondary.

This is why I find it important to celebrate events like the Yucatán International Reading Fair (FILEY), which will conclude this Sunday, March 30. This year, it has hosted important authors including Cristina Rivera Garza, Verónica Murguía, Brenda Lozano, Jorge Comensal, and Xita Rubert. At the Fair, the 2025 José Emilio Pacheco Award for Excellence in Literature was presented to Alberto Ruy Sánchez, a prolific novelist who, in his unique style, shared the reasons behind his writing:

I write to know, to explore vast dimensions of reality that only literature can penetrate. I also write to remember, but no less, I write to forget. I write to extend my body, my senses, to experience the sensuality of the world day after day. I write for pleasure, for desire, for rage. To expose the falsification of icons, the abuse of public power. I write to be hated and to be loved, more so, to be desired. I write to propose new spaces in this world, to create places.

As its name suggests, FILEY has also been a space to reflect on why, how, and from where we read, something essential if we want to address the problem of cultural centralization. As María Teresa Mézquita, the Fair’s director, said in her opening remarks at the festival, beyond numbers and sales, the event is driven by a desire to foster personal growth, learning, and a cultural environment enriched precisely through reading.

It is good, as Ruy Sánchez’s remarks suggest, to know why we write; just as important is knowing why we read.

Wambua Muindi, Editor-at-Large reporting from Kenya READ MORE…

Translation Tuesday: Seven Poems by Manglesh Dabral

Opening the invisible doors of air, water, and dust, you have left for a mountain, river, or star, to become a mountain, a river, a star yourself.

For this week’s Translation Tuesday, we bring you a selection of works by Indian poet and journalist Manglesh Dabral. Dabral wrote in deceptively simple yet precise language; his artistic sensibility, which comes across as modest and humble in its ambitions, inquired into some of the most pressing questions of postcolonial India. Ranging from social themes, like the way postcolonial modernity blinds itself to its own past, to themes of personal memory, the experience of displacement, and the unending longing for home, Dabral embraced a vast spectrum of human emotions. A line from “In Memory of my Father” could serve as a statement for his poetic vision: “Within empty containers[,] torn-up books[,] and things infested with granary weevil, whatever life was left in them[,] you used to believe in it.” Translated from the Hindi by Nisarg P., the seven poems featured here are perfect representations of Dabral’s poetics―in their language, their form, and the themes with which they engage.

Here was that River

She wanted to reach there in haste
the place where a man
was heading for a bath in her water
a boat
was waiting for its travelers
and a line of birds
were approaching in search of her water

In that river of our childhood
we used to see our faces moving
on her shore were our houses
always over-flooded
she loved her islands and her stones
days used to begin from that river
her sound
audible at all the windows
her waves knocking on the doors
calling us incessantly
we remember
here was that river [,] in this very sand
where our faces once moved
here was that awaiting boat

now there is nothing
except at night when people are asleep
a voice is sometimes heard from its sand.

READ MORE…

What’s New in Translation: March 2025

Reviews of eleven newly published books from Argentina, India, Austria, France, Japan, Chile, Bulgaria, Sweden, and Denmark!

This month, our selection of noteworthy titles include a collection of revolutionary Hindi poetry, an erotic thriller from an extraordinary Chilean modernist, an incisive novel concerning the disabled body in contemporary Japan, an intimate socio-philosophical contemplation of a loved one’s life and death by one of France’s foremost intellectuals, and more. 

bazterrica

The Unworthy by Agustina Bazterrica, translated from the Spanish by Sarah Moses, Scribner, 2025

Review by Xiao Yue Shan

There’s something seductive about the nightmare, perhaps because fear is the most vivifying sensation, perhaps because beauty and horror are so finely intertwined. In Agustina Bazterrica’s The Unworthy, the night-terror has never looked so exquisite, so shimmering. With an eye for the luminous and ear for the otherworldly, familiar gothic tropes are here relieved from their muted gloom; a chimeric language sings the shadows awake, and in this chorus even the most basic signifiers of darkness regain their fearsomeness, mysticism, sensual enthrallment. The cockroach has a gleam, a crunch; a derelict cathedral is as diaphanous as a dragonfly’s wing. There are the recognisable plot-pieces—violent sacraments, echoing halls, and a wasted world—but those who command fear’s aesthetic know that the most disturbing capacity of pain and transgression lies not in their repellence, but their strange and unpronounceable allure. It is not the torturous that Bazterrica is adept at bringing to life, but the smile that slowly creeps across the face of the tortured, when they are somewhere we can no longer reach.

The Unworthy is a post-apocalyptic convent story, wherein the only known patch of livable land is occupied by the House of the Sacred Sisterhood, a cult that is at once spiritually vacuous and deeply devotional, with its faith reserved more for the House’s singular rites, rituals, and rules than any principle or entity. As is the standard for any secluded sect that positions oblivion as the only alternative to obeyance, the Sisterhood’s hierarchy is strict and immovable, the leaders are mysterious and merciless, the eroticism is violent, the violence is erotic, and the practices are senseless but methodical. The founder and head of the House is a man, but in the name of Sisterhood, all his acolytes are woman: some are servants, some are the Unworthy, some are Chosen, some are Enlightened—and only this latter group is given contact with the one known only as He. One guess as to what that means. Our nameless narrator wants to rise through the ranks, but stubborn fragments of selfhood prevent her from completely assimilating into the Sisterhood’s processions. She still has memories, desires—though they are but frayed remains. READ MORE…

Elementalia: Chapter II Water

The more I try to hold it, to shape it, the more it slips away from me, laughing at my hubris that tries to contain water.

Humans throughout history have been fascinated by the elements. Unfathomable forces of nature, they entered our myths and minds aeons ago. There’s no time when we’re not in their thrall. Drawing from the vast store of our collective imagination across mythology, philosophy, religion, literature, science, and art, I present Elementalia, a series of five element-bending lyric essays that explores their enchanting stories and their relationship with the word—making, translating, and transforming meaning and message. This is not an exhaustive (nor exhausting) effort that covers every instance of and interaction with each element, but rather an idiosyncratic, intertextual, meditative work—a patchwork quilt of conversations with other writers, works, and texts across space and time.

Water above and below.
Water outside and inside.
Water of the past and water of the future.
Water of the world and water of the word.
Water always finds a way.

 

READ MORE…

Taking a Stand: How the Jaipur Literature Festival Fails to Deliver as A Space For Dialogue

The question thus becomes whether the JLF . . . will continue to grow into an increasingly overt vehicle of privilege, elitism, and capitalism.

Branded as “the world’s grandest celebration of books and ideas” and “the greatest literary show on earth,” the Jaipur Literature Festival has grand ambitions for storming the world stage as a thoughtful and progressive interchange of literary excellence and social engagement. Now in its eighteenth edition, however, the festival has shifted towards an alignment with pro-establishment sponsors and government entities, initiating questions on how a necessarily commercial event can serve to dismantle exclusive hierarchies and status quos. In the following dispatch, Matilde Riberio discusses the various shortcomings of the festival in its conduct and programming, as well as its ideological evolution over the years.

The Jaipur Literary Festival (JLF), India’s largest literary event and one of its first to attract an international audience, has long positioned itself as a confluence of ideas, texts, narratives, and genres—a place where, as the academic Soni Wadhwa wrote after the 2024 edition: “Nobody tries to distance themselves from it. All are welcome.” At the same time, the festival has always been a space of political contest, and nearly every edition has been caught up in controversies involving the stifling of free speech, corporate sponsorship by companies with markedly unethical practices, and sexual misconduct allegations against various panelists and the cofounder, William Dalrymple.

The question thus becomes whether the JLF can transcend these roots to actually become a junction of subcontinental voices, or whether it will continue to grow into an increasingly overt vehicle of privilege, elitism, and capitalism as the years pass. Unfortunately, the issues that have mired the 2025 edition, taking place over January 30 to February 3, suggest that the festival may have finally shed any pretensions of being anything other than a business-friendly, upper-caste Hindu-dominated, and state-sanctioned “tamasha,” as the journalist and activist Aakar Patel described an earlier edition, using the Hindi and Urdu word for “spectacle.” READ MORE…