I just finished reading the third and final Fitzcarraldo Editions book that I bought in London last year (after The Observable Universe and Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead). I really like the minimalist cover design and the quality of the paper that they use. The books have heft in my hand, and the pages are sturdy and satisfying to turn. I (and most readers, I’m guessing) don’t normally pay much attention to the physical “style” of a given publisher, so kudos to them for creating such a distinctive ethos.
Fifty Sounds is a memoir by Polly Barton about her experiences as an Englishwoman living in Japan. She’s now known for translating Japanese literature to English, which implies that she’s mastered the language, but as she tells it in this book, there’s a gap that’s essentially impossible to cross for a non-native speaker.
I don’t feel like I can fairly judge this book because I read it during a difficult time. My dog has been having some medical issues and it’s been an emotional roller-coaster. I found myself unable to really connect with anything I was reading. But even through my own numbness, I admired the author’s work.
All Our Ordinary Stories is a graphic memoir by Chinese-Canadian author Teresa Wong, who attempts to bridge the emotional distance between her and her immigrant parents by exploring their histories. Her parents lived through extreme events, escaping from the Cultural Revolution in China by swimming to Hong Kong. Wong struggles to understand their experiences because they don’t talk about their past. Partly, Chinese culture celebrates stoicism, and encourages them to bottle up their traumas; but also, there’s a language barrier between the generations that makes it hard to have any deep conversations.
I also can’t speak the language of my ancestors very well, but I’m uncomfortable speaking English with my parents because it seems disrespectful somehow. Some scenes in this book capture the communication gap so well that it feels both boring and profound at the same time: boring, because I’ve internalized the experience so much that it’s become run-of-the-mill, ordinary; but profound, because someone else has written it down and aired it out and shown how challenging it really is.
It’s a rare occurrence that a book hits this close to home… I may wish to revisit this book sometime when I’m more able to engage with it, but I’m almost afraid to do so because it may destroy me.
