Our project - whose goal is very well expressed by the statement of the writer and editor Gheorghe Erizanu: "Romanian literature has a huge potential for export" - is more than the analysis of a literary success or an exercise in admiration. In fact, by contacting translators and publishers to find out what led them to promote a Romanian author, we propose elements of reflection on how Romanian literature can be made known in the world. More precisely, the texts we will gather reveal only the first part of this process: how is a Romanian author discovered, how is he chosen to be translated and promoted abroad?
We decided to start our project with Tatiana Țîbuleac, whose success on the international literary market - from the Republic of Moldova to Brazil - is such a surprising story, with a rather unpredictable trajectory, from a marginal position to a central one. . His two novels, Summer in which his mother had green eyes and The Glass Garden, were published by Cartier Publishing House in Chisinau in 2017 and 2018, respectively. benefited in some countries from a remarkable reception. In an interview with Cosmin Perța, via PressOne, the author already mentioned ten editions of her first novel in Spanish. The last translation, chronologically speaking, appeared in November of this year, at the Croatian publishing house V.B.Z., the translator being Ivana Olujić. Other translations already published or ready to be published are signed by Mauro Barindi (Italian), Jarmila Horáková (Czech), Attila Joo (Hungarian), Dominik Maleciki (Polish), Aleš Mustar (Slovenian), Manuela Sota (Albanian), Ernest Wichner ( German).
Some of the foreign editors who contributed to the first file of the project emphasize the essential role of the translators they collaborate with (we even urge you to note the flavor of the Romanian language in which the translators express themselves; the editors' contributions were translated from English by the undersigned). We learn, for example, from Enrique Redel (Spain) the decisive role that Marian Ochoa de Eribe played in compiling the catalog of Impedimenta Publishing House and in penetrating Romanian literature on the Hispanic book market. František Malík (BraK Publishing House, Slovakia) is grateful to translator Eva Kenderessy. Some publishers such as Olimpia Verger (Syrtes Publishing House, Switzerland) and Signe Prøis (Camino Publishing House, Norway) are themselves interested in translation, and from this position they are more sensitive to publishing news in the languages they speak.
We can therefore see that at least the first stage of the complex mechanism that is set in motion for the promotion of Romanian authors abroad, namely their discovery, weighing their value, has a favorable ground: among the most active and subtle readers of literature There are more and more Romanian translators into foreign languages. Of the growing number of groups since 2005, a few have gained enough legitimacy and persuasive power to gain the trust of publishers.
The quick retrieval of Tatiana Țîbuleac's novels from one country to another, from one language to another shows us how translation into a language of international circulation becomes an open door to other book markets. In this case, it seems that the Spanish edition was the first link in a chain of revelations.
However, we note that, despite the increasing number of publications and certain advances in visibility over the last 20 years, due to institutional steps such as the TPS translation program of the Romanian Cultural Institute or FILIT editions and programs for foreign translators, literature Romanian remains a niche literature in the book markets abroad. Prestigious success rarely turns into public success. There are many relatively new names among receptive publishers, some at the very beginning of the road - which can be an advantage when they are eager to grow with the authors they publish and resort to effective promotion strategies.
The interest and attractiveness of a literature multiplies with each of its valuable representatives. Or, as Gheorghe Erizanu, the first editor of Tatiana Țîbuleac, puts it: “Translations from a good Romanian writer open the way for other translations of Romanian writers. Tatiana Țîbuleac paved the way for other Romanian writers ".
We will return, therefore, with new Romanian writers and with the opinions of their translators and publishers from abroad.
Thanks to the editors who put the translators' names on the cover
Tatiana ȚÎBULEAC
When I think of translators, I think of my father and his shelf. In my parents' library, there was always a shelf with only three books, which we were not allowed to mix with the others. These were the books he translated from Ukrainian, a language he loved deeply. I remember the confused feeling I had when he said "my books", although the name of his name was not on the cover, but of some strangers. But it was his books. The translations were for my father the most important reward and reconciliation with his own unwritten work. Many times I wrote his name in pencil on the inside cover to avenge him.
In the last year, The summer when my mother had green eyes and the Glass Garden has been translated into over ten languages. This excites me. I know that now my books are not just mine. They also belong to the translators, they also sit on their shelves, as they deserve. I talked to some of them often, others never. We became close friends with a few, and our friendship transcended the boundaries of literature. I understand and respect everyone's way of working. Thank you all for choosing Summer and the Garden for their worlds. But most of all, thank you to the publishers who put the translators' names on the cover.
Tatiana Țîbuleac was born in 1978 in Chisinau, Republic of Moldova. She has a degree in journalism. She became known in 1995 as the author of True Stories in the Daily Flux. In 1999, he joined the PRO TV Chisinau team as a reporter, editor and news presenter and worked in Moldova for UNICEF. He has lived in Paris since 2008. She made her debut as a writer in 2014 with a collection of short stories, Fabule Moderne, at Urma Ta Publishing House, Chisinau. In 2017, her first novel, Summer in which her mother had green eyes, appeared, Cartier Publishing House. He received the prize of the Writers' Union of Moldova, the prize of the literary magazine Cultural Observatory of Bucharest and the Lyceum prize at the FILIT festival in Iași. In Spain, the novel was awarded the Booksellers Recommend 2020 for fiction and the Calamo Prize. The Glass Garden is her second novel and has won the 2019 European Union Prize for Literature.
Tatiana Țîbuleac was a prose writer when she did not know that she was a prose writer
Gheorghe Erizanu (Cartier Publishing House, Chisinau)
I need the author's trust and distance from me
Fernando Klabin (translator, Brazil)
About 30 years ago, driven by the curiosity to deepen the German language and the atmosphere as oppressive as the appeal of Georg Trakl's writings, I began to translate. Maybe I started translating even earlier by other means when I wanted to decipher the small inscriptions on the stamps of my collection started at the age of 7 or the age of 11 making up the family tree with exotic names and locations.
During my informal, slow but sure translation, I had a moment of enlightenment full of innocence, in a course offered by Casa Guilherme de Almeida in São Paulo. There I realized that translating is much more than a claustrophobic exercise and that the translator today is much more than an anonymous medieval monk. I realized that in Brazil the names of translators had begun to emerge from the shadows and appear on the covers of books. I learned about Antoine Berman and Henri Meschonnic and began to understand the role that the translator does not necessarily need, but can play in the literary and cultural landscape, according to his craft, talent and intentions.
So that I am more and more convinced of the translator's right to autonomy as wide as the writer's autonomy. Because, in the end, translating is creating again, regardless of the methods and intentions are chosen.
I'm telling you all this to try to give you an answer related to the writer-translator tandem. That's why I don't usually work with texts by living authors. Tatiana Țîbuleac, who had been warmly recommended to me by Gheorghe Erizanu from Cartier in Chisinau and hugged at least as warmly by Silvia Naschenveng from Mundaréu in São Paulo, was a happy exception. Maybe I bothered her about two or three times with some punctual questions. Otherwise, to work freely, I need the author's trust and distance. I can't feel her breath in the back of my head, I need room for manoeuvre so that I can transpose, in my native culture and in her way of perceiving reality, the foreign text, recreating it so that it can be accessed by the Brazilian reader. Tatiana was always available and at no time did she want to exert any influence on my labour, as a mother aware that her child is following the second life of her own.
And if a translation can never be identical to the original anyway, why not try to make it at least as perfect, if not improved? Here I believe that a close collaboration between author and translator can be as fruitful and decisive as that between composer and conductor, although the translator still dares - or is sometimes even forced - to change notes or instruments.
Fernando Klabin was born in São Paulo, Brazil, and graduated in Political Science from the University of Bucharest, where he lived for sixty years. He is a translator, writer, actor, photographer, travel guide and, in 2016, he was awarded the Order of Cultural Merit of Romania in the rank of officer. He studied for a master's degree in Letters at the University of São Paulo. He translated into Portuguese works signed by Mircea Cartarescu, Mircea Eliade, Max Blecher, Emil Cioran and Lucian Blaga, among others.
A successful career in Latin America
Silvia Naschenveng, (Mundaréu Publishing House, São Paulo, Brazil)
Editing Tatiana Țîbuleac's book, Summer in which my mother had green eyes, in order to be published in Brazil, offered me a strong literary emotion. I received the Spanish edition of the book, published by Impedimenta, at the Frankfurt Book Fair in 2019. I was so excited and surprised that I immediately signed a contract with Cartier Publishing House in Chisinau.
The novel is not only exceptionally good but also out of the ordinary, standing out in the main literary currents of recent times. And this is due to the literary choices made by the author (especially that of depicting a deeply emotional love story from the relationship between a mother and an adult son, but which begins in an abominable way), especially in the current context in which it is published. many stories about pregnancy and motherhood from the perspective of mothers with young children. Nothing is conventional in the Summer when my mother had green eyes - to start with the atypical narrative.
Mundaréu publishes European narratives "from the Center to the East", such as those signed by Ernst Toller, Joseph Roth and Mircea Cărtărescu. However, I would prefer to include Summer in which my mother had green eyes alongside other books we publish, written by Latin American women, such as Hurricane Season by Fernanda Melchor and Don't accept sweets from strangers by Andrea Jeftanovic . And I should add others because Latin America has witnessed the emergence of many bold and talented writers besides Melchor and Jeftanovic: María Fernanda Ampuero, Ariana Harwicz, Samanta Schweblin. The list is long! Even taking into account the differences between these writers, I see in their group Tatiana Țîbuleac, a writer with strong narrative control skills and an alert rhythm. The Romanian author is not afraid to approach sensitive and complex topics, she does not necessarily look for simple and direct answers, she has a bold voice and a keen eye for what it means to be a woman in today's world, but especially a great sensitivity to beauty, even if it is in agony or surrounded by garbage or tragedy.
Being a small and independent publishing house, I really want to be able to present The summer in which my mother had the green eyes of a wider audience in Brazil because Tatiana Țîbuleac fully deserves a fruitful career in Latin America.
The first novel I translated from Romanian
Sindre Andersen (translator, Norway)
The summer when my mother had the green eyes of Tatiana Țîbuleac was the first novel I translated from Romanian. The contact with the writer herself helped me a lot, although I only communicated by e-mail. I waited before sending him the questions; I gathered a lot, but initially, I tried to find solutions without involving the writer. Anyway, Tatiana explained a lot of important details to me and helped me avoid some misunderstandings.
I also had access to the French and Spanish translations of the book, and I discovered some differences between them. For example, in the book, summer - in fact, the summer of the narrator's life - is imagined as "relentless as a nun." In the French version, the nun became a "bonne soeur", a woman living in a monastery. In the Spanish version, the translator chose "mantis", meaning the "mantis" insect. In such a metaphor, it would be possible to use the word in a double sense, but Tatiana confirmed to me that the French solution is true to the original.
There was also a bit of confusion regarding the word "staves", more precisely with some "rusty staves" described in the book. To me, staves are the wooden parts of a barrel. How can they be rusty? Tatiana explained to me that in Bessarabia, the "staves" are actually the metal parts, not the wooden ones. A linguistic heritage from her grandmother - the only regionalism in the Republic of Moldova found in the book. Of course, it is important for a translator to have access to collaboration with the writer, even if they are not in contact very often.
This fall I will translate The Glass Garden, Tatiana Țîbuleac's second novel, a more difficult text than the first. I imagine that this time I will have many more questions.
Sindre Andersen (born 1982) is a poet, translator and literary critic. He lives in Oslo.
In Norwegian culture, hatred is not a familiar subject
Sign PRØIS (Camino Publishing House, Gressvik, Norway)
The Romanian to Norwegian translator Sindre Andersen came to me and suggested that I read Tatiana Țîbuleac's novel, Summer in which my mother had green eyes. Fortunately for me, the novel had been translated in Spain, where much had been said about it. As I am a translator myself (from Spanish), I had the pleasure of reading the novel from the very beginning. What a book! I hadn't read anything like it before - and I'm just used to South American literature, which is my main source of reading.
I immediately fell in love with Tatiana's direct and unprejudiced way of approaching mother-child relationships, mental health issues, our choices to belong to a family or a society.
Prior to publication, Tatiana's novel was selected from the Norwegian Arts Council's exclusive program so that it could be purchased in bookstores across the country. After publication, it had two reviews, both very good. It would have been difficult to get more, partly because the Camino publishing house is a recent publishing brand, partly because of the lack of knowledge or, more precisely, because of the prejudices of Norwegians about everything that comes from Eastern Europe. Plus the fact that the subject of the mother-child relationship is a sensitive one, especially when the main character hates his mother, as Aleksey does at the beginning of the novel.
In Norwegian culture, hatred is not a familiar subject. However, those who read Sommeren mamma had grønne øyne unanimously appreciated the novel. We believe that he will have a long destiny here in Norway, especially since we will give a new "impulse" by publishing, at the beginning of next year, Tatiana's second novel, The Glass Garden. And this is because we agree perfectly with what was recently stated by a journalist in El Correo, namely that Tatiana Țîbuleac is one of those authors who does not look like anyone else!
Walking with Tatiana in her arms through her Chisinau (or Paris). In dream
Eva Kenderessy (translator, Slovakia)
I met Tatiana Țîbuleac's prose for the first time in 2017, finalizing the coordination and translation of texts for the Slovak magazine Revue svetovej literatúry (Revue svetovej literatúry - which no longer appears, unfortunately), number 4, dedicated to Bessarabian literature. Unfortunately, I can't boast that I put together a comprehensive presentation - I even missed Tatiana's prose, which has meanwhile crept under my skin - and I, as a translator, couldn't cope. It was the first postponement of Tatiana's translation.
The second postponement came naturally - we accepted two proposals from the publishers, which is not negligible, given the peripheral status of the so-called small literature in even smaller literature… This time it was of some long-term projects: the novel Solenoid by Mircea Cărtărescu and an Anthology of Contemporary Poetry, the volume coordinated by Claudiu Komartin, totalling no less than 200 poems and 35 poets and poets.
But Tatiana's time has come! We met in person in the summer of 2019, during the Author Reading Month Festival, a series of readings and debates organized by the Czech agency and publishing house "Větrné mlýny" in collaboration with partners from Slovakia, Poland and Ukraine, held in five cities in the four Central European countries, at a reasonable distance, over five consecutive evenings. For an author, an author, of course, a tiring tour.
Tatiana Țîbuleac convinced her Slovak audience both through her text (an excerpt from the novel The summer in which her mother had green eyes) and through the answers and opinions exchanged in the dialogue with the audience. Perhaps even a slight discrepancy between the cruelty of the text and its appearance aroused even more intense interest. The two of us had a late conversation, which resulted, at least on my part, in an immediate sympathy, but also in an exclusivity offered to me, for which I am grateful, for the translation of the novel The Glass Garden into Slovak.
The first impulse, therefore, for the translation and publication of the novel The Glass Garden in Slovakia belongs to me (since we don't have many literary agents): I looked for a suitable publishing house, I found it, I didn't succeed, and, through an imaginary arc, I returned to the BRAK publishing house, with which I had already collaborated on the translations of Nostalgia and the Solenoid by Mircea Cărtărescu. Through its director, František Malík, BRAK Publishing House also took on this project.
Thanks to the Fund for the Support of the Arts in Slovakia, I took advantage of a scholarship for translation, and in February 2021, in the midst of a pandemic and severe restrictions, I enjoyed a two-week residency in the cultural centre "Eleuzína" in the medieval Slovak town of Banská Štiavnica, a new initiative resulting from the collaboration between the Bratislava Literary Information Center and the respective cultural centre, dedicated to authors and translators in general.
I will long remember the special, somehow magical atmosphere of the place, closely related to Tatiana's text, as well as the intensity of the translation, undisturbed by "prosaic" purposes. There I finished the first version of the translation, which to this day is waiting, politely and patiently, for the right time to be reviewed and consulted, I hope, directly, at least through the technique, with the author.
My dream, however - to clarify my topography, the local specifics, the special structure of the sentence, to translate correctly or, on the contrary, to leave untranslated the typical Bessarabian lexicon related to fruits and vegetables, walking with Tatiana in my arms Her Chisinau (or Paris) - dissolved into a pandemic. But who knows, hope dies last…
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