📘 "The Duke" by Matteo Melchiorre, translated from Italian into English by Antonella Lettieri

My final read for the IBP longlist (of the books that have been released so far). I don't think this book would have caught my attention in the wild, so I'm glad I picked it up because of the prize. I had a great time.

Summarized in the most ridiculous way, this is a book about a rich guy with a lot of time and the village bully with a lot of resources getting into a long fight over a piece of land. More seriously, this is a book about conflict, borders, identity, self-doubt, reparations, revenge, legacy, the aftermath of inequality, and what it might mean to belong. It's about a buzzard and a crow and: what does it mean for the present, the way things were in the past?

I loved how old-fashioned and contemporary this book felt at the same time. The writing style feels classic, but is also incredibly readable. The setting of the novel, a small village in the mountains, shares this duality. There's reading by candlelight at night and not one smartphone can be spotted, but there's also farming equipment with ergonomic seats and extreme weather due to climate change. The book embraces this oddly satisfying combination that matches the themes of the book well.

The narrative voice is formal, witty and broody. It's super distinct, you could easily pick out this protagonist from a writing lineup of dozens of characters. I can imagine it being difficult work for a translator to carry such a strong voice from one language into another, but I can only imagine that it was done very well. At times I was (guiltily) cheering on protagonist's worst ideas: yeah, let's go, let's do this shit!!! Other times I thought he was insufferable and I wanted nothing more than to stop him. It was always interesting to observe his reasonings and mood swings.

There's mystery, intrigue, village politics... There's conflict over borders and local control, but zoomed in until we're at this tiny scale. Two men are creating trouble and all villagers are indirectly carrying the weight of the consequences, whether they want to or not. But did the trouble really start with these two?

There's no opt-out button from the people who own the ground you're standing on or who can destroy your livelihood with a snap of their fingers. But can you opt out when you're at the other end of that stick?

A timely book.

#InternationalBooker2026 #ClimateFiction

📘 "Small Comfort" by Ia Genberg, translated from Swedish into English by Kira Josefsson

This title was released earlier this month. I received a digital ARC for it from the publisher (thanks!).

Some days I can shift my focus from the burden of seeing how my access to money has directed every single choice in my life to reading a good book about how fictional people's access to money is directing every single choice in their lives. I fear there's a metaphor in there somewhere.

This is a short story collection about wealth, class and the individual awareness of financial inequality (and of course the yearning to be free of it -or look away from it- once you notice it). I call them stories, but rather they're an interview, a letter, a speech, research notes turned diary, and prose sprinkled with a character's ideas jotted down in a note app. I really liked this unique structure with lots of variety.

To my delight these were interconnected short stories. Characters and items from one story will make an appearance in another, the happenings of one are news in the next, and if I stretch it a little more, I think there are also consequences, words and ideas that travel from story to story.

I flew through this book and laughed often. Yes, it's about money, its value, and our (societal) attitude towards it, but it's also very much about people and their relationships and the hoops they jump through in life, willingly or not. The third and fifth story were my favorites, but I liked all of them.

I think the stories are silly and self-aware enough to be funny, without ridiculing the seriousness of the topic of inequality. Maybe they're a little too on the nose, a little straightforward, but sometimes that was what made it amusing. A tragicomedy that never let itself wander too far away from being light-hearted.

#AmReading #InternationalBooker2026 #WomenInTranslation

📘 "The Director" by Daniel Kehlmann, translated from German into English by Ross Benjamin

I'm sorry in advance to everyone who loves this book. It's my absolute least favorite of the IBP longlist. I'm even mad that I finished it. I feel extra salty about it because this book has already been nominated for other awards and comes so highly recommended, but I think it's lacking a lot.

This novel is based on G.W. Pabst, a director from Austria who fled Nazi Germany by going to the US, only to struggle with his status as an immigrant, stumble through the English language and fail to make it as a famous director. Fortunately he's good at sticking his head in the sand, so he can convince himself to return to Austria with a poor excuse. Of course he has to bring his wife and child along, otherwise he'd have to face the fact that what he's doing is risky and irresponsible. Oh no, now he's stuck due to the war and forced to work for the Nazis with the Sword of Damocles hanging over his head and a massive budget for movie production in his pocket. Weak moral dilemmas about the integrity of art under fascism ensue.

Every chapter is a slice of life snapshot of Pabst, often from a different point of view of people who are around in his life. It creates kind of a distant overview that I think is supposed to be subtle, but remains mostly superficial and annoyingly paced. I got to see some of what happens in the regime (arrests, camps, brainwashing, tense atmosphere) but I barely got to see any of the emotional depth that comes along with that. In that regard, this book offers nothing new.

The chapters about movie creation had me in tears from boredom, they were a true struggle to get through. It wasn't made any easier by every famous person from the 1930-40s making an appearance. Most were there for just a few pages and were not much more than cardboard cutouts. Look at this actor, look at this writer, look at this guy! I get it, you did your research and you're passionate about the topic! This is low-quality bulking!

What totally made me lose it is the ending, or more correctly, the last few chapters. The reveal in the very last chapter was obvious, but I'm not even complaining about that. It's the cave reveal that has me so annoyed. Yes, sure, it could represent the evil that lives in humanity, sure, it could represent a deal with the devil, sure, it might be fascism sucking creativity dry, think of whatever interpretation you want, I don't care anymore. It's the most frustrating 'twist' I've read in years and it plays into the trope of disabled, disfigured and ugly people representing evil. What an unpleasant trope to use in a book that's supposed to be critical of an extremely eugenicist regime...

This all makes me sad, because I can see something shimmer deep inside the book, buried almost completely. A few scenes were fantastic, they made me feel like I was stuck in a fever dream. But these great scenes can't hold up a whole book of never-ending name-dropping, bad pacing, mediocre exploration of ethical questions, bland emotional depth, a predictable ending and a caricature of a gaunt man with crooked shoulders, three missing fingers and "blotchy skin, large pores, and shifty little eyes" looming evilly over it all. Ridiculous.

The strongest thing this book has going for it, is that it's about an important topic at an important time. That might be criteria enough for an essay, but not for good fiction.

#InternationalBooker2026

📘 "Taiwan Travelogue" by Yáng Shuāng-zǐ, translated from Mandarin Chinese into English by Lin King

With all that I had heard about this book (it's cutesy, it's food writing, it's cozy), I feared I wouldn't like it. I gave it a try anyway because of the IBP longlist and wow, this book completely won me over.

The book 'pretends' to be a book written by a Japanese author who visited colonized Taiwan in 1938, rediscovered, translated and republished with several notes and add-ons. It's an original structure that added another dimension to the novel, it was my favorite part of it. Nothing made me as emotional as the meta layer of the book that we only truly got to see fully at the end.

The text does start with the tone of one of those cozy Japanese novels I have frequently complained about on here -they're really not my thing. But looks can be deceiving. The story follows an author who has come to stay in Taiwan for a while for the purpose of her writing. Although she has declined to go for the explicit purpose of promoting Japan's expansionism, she's still there (whether she realizes this or not) indirectly in some formal capacity, being received officially as an esteemed visitor from the colonizer that should be served as well as possible by the local authorities. She is appointed a Taiwanese interpreter who accompanies her. At a glance, this is the story of their relationship.

If you want to explore the novel yourself without any expectations or further knowledge, leave my post here. I don't think there's much to spoil, but I do discuss the relationship dynamics a little below. I think the core of the novel is slowly getting a better understanding of that relationship and then zooming out and being to apply the interpersonal on a bigger level. The novel did that very well. Off you go now, dear reader who hasn't read the book yet but wants to!

I wrote so many notes during my reading. It was an emotional read. The author and interpreter have great banter together and undertake fun activities, but so much is also soured. Their relationship is uncomfortably unequal, understandably so. From one of the very first interactions in which the author nicknames her interpreter, to one of the last where she's confused about her interpreter's unease at her praise of some of the consequences of Japan's invasive, colonizing action on the island. Painful to observe.

The Japanese author disagrees with her country's expansion and mourns the local cultures that are suppressed and lost, but she also fully profits from it -how else could she have this luxurious time abroad? She defends her interpreter's position as an equal, but continues to treat her as a personal assistant herself as well. She calls the interpreter her best friend, but after six months still doesn't know what she can and can't eat. She's self-absorbed and never puts two and two together.

The book contains a lot of food talk, something which I initially thought I wouldn't enjoy because that doesn't interest me much. But this book made it interesting with its dynamics. It's always the interpreter feeding the Japanese author, the author gorging on all the island has to offer. Oof. Not only that, while the author tries to appreciate the local food culture, she constantly compares it to what she knows (Japan's cuisine) and reflects on what's in front of her as a fun, exotic thing. And as readers we get pulled into this dance of orientalism! It's easy to get excited and go 'ohhh, ahhh!' at her descriptions. I felt complicit. But then there are all these footnotes to combat it, with in-depth information, blurring the lines: what version of the book is talking to you right now?

All of the Japanese author's white knighting is what ultimately breaks the possibility of the development of a true bond. What worked in the book's favor, I think, are the gender dynamics. Both characters are women dealing with sexist societal expectations about what they are allowed to do with their lives. If the author had been a man, the red flags would have been more obvious, and sooner.

I like subtle novels, but I also like what the last quarter of this book did. It makes everything explicit. Just throw it out in the open! The protagonist learns to self-reflect and even though it might be too late to change and save the relationship, it's still important and opens the door for the fantastic afterwords and notes. Maybe not everything was as sweet as we thought at the start, and maybe not everything is as bitter as we thought by the end. It's bittersweet.

I can only recap this as a good book with symbology, wordplay, layers, footnotes, an interesting meta aspect -all beautifully wrapped. I hope it makes the shortlist.

#WomenInTranslation #InternationalBooker2026

📘 "We Are Green and Trembling" by Gabriela Cabezón Cámara, translated from Spanish into English by Robin Myers

Another IBP longlist entry. This book was okay for me. It's well-crafted and I enjoyed reading it enough to continue until the end, but I didn't feel that invested or connected to it. It happens, I'm certain this book will be others' favorite.

This is a a reimagining of Antonio de Erauso's life with magical realism. He was born a girl in 16th century Spain and was meant to become a nun, but he escaped the convent, became a fugitive and started living as a man. He traveled to South America and was honestly a menace (albeit an interesting one). The book shows us a sweeter side of his personality and changes history somewhat, although it would be a spoiler to reveal how.

The story is told in two timelines that eventually wind up together. I think that odd structure was fun to experience. I also liked the ending. It really grabbed me, which was a pity, because by then the book had already ended. Still, I think it was worth it to have read the book to reach that ending and to see the way the story evolved towards it.

I've seen quite a few complaints online that this novel is too difficult or requires too much of a reader. I don't think it's an easy book, but I also don't think it's too demanding either. Here are three tips from me that I think will help if you wish to read this title but feel intimidated:

- Read the Wikipedia page about Antonio de Erauso. It gives a lot of context for the book and the protagonist, without spoiling much of the novel. His life was wild, with dozens of twists and turns and identities and adventures and crimes. It's a good read.

- Keep in mind the structure of the book. This explanation is not 100% accurate, but portrays it most clearly I think: imagine time as starting at point A and reaching point D, the end, by going through point B and C. Narrative One moves from point C to point D. Narrative Two moves from point B to point D, so in there you get to see what happened before and caused the events of Narrative One. But what happened before Narrative Two? In Narrative One the protagonist also writes letters, these letters go from point A to point B. So while all plot is moving forward towards point D, it's also constantly giving you looks into what led up to everything. It becomes easier to understand and more cohesive the further you are into the book.

- Don't get stressed out by seeing a language you don't understand. The conversations are clear and repetitive enough that you'll pick up on the words you need to know to understand everything soon enough. Keep in mind how small children speak and are forever curious.

Overall I do think it's a good book, just one I didn't fully love the reading experience of. It's a painful look at conquering, imperialism and domination, partially through the eyes of someone who's essentially part of that threat, but who's also vulnerable in their own way. It's an interesting dynamic. I can see why it was picked for the longlist.

#WomenInTranslation #InternationalBooker2026

📘 "The Deserters" by Mathias Énard, translated from French into English by Charlotte Mandell

From all of my IBP longlist reading, this book is my second favorite so far (right behind "The Remembered Soldier").

Its story is almost impossible to recap. There are two narratives. In one we follow a man who's trying to desert from a war, fleeing, when he meets two unexpected individuals on his journey. The point of view warps between him, his thoughts, the other, their thoughts. In the other storyline we learn about Paul Heudeber, a communist who survived the Buchenwald concentration camp, and who became a famous East-German mathematician and public supporter of socialism. All this we learn through the eyes of Paul's daughter, through letters and files she's reading, a memorial event she's thinking back on and youth memories she's recollecting.

At first this is overwhelming, like listening to music made with ten instruments all doing their own thing. But the more you listen, the more you realize it's harmonious and it all clicks, it starts making perfect sense. It's the same with this book. The chapters, the anecdotes, the moral dilemmas, they all slide into place and subtly connect. The reveal at the end surprised me, but looking back with hindsight, it was so obvious! I love it when that happens.

For a short novel I felt surprisingly involved with all characters. Paul is not some big Soviet evil or poor propaganda victim, he's a complex human. Certain but also unsure, passionate but also disillusioned. The same depth is given to all other characters in the novel. And the same goes for the research. I don't know much about the mathematics in here, but I think the integration of history and politics was done very well. I was often moved.

The deserters, plural -but in my recap I mentioned only one. I think that is a perfect conversation starter for anyone who's read the book. Who's deserting? When does something count as deserting? Can we desert from family, from beliefs, from reality itself?

Lots to chew on with this book, it'll be digesting in my mind for a while.

#AmReading #InternationalBooker2026

📘 "Women Without Men" by Shahrnush Parsipur, translated from Persian into English by Faridoun Farrokh

This is a book set in Iran in which we follow a variety of women, all with different backgrounds and circumstances, but who are all suffering due to the misogyny that has deeply shaped their lives. With alternating perspectives and a wonderful tinge of magical realism, these characters start moving towards each other. It becomes a tale of women changing their lives for the better with the cards they've been dealt, within the strict confines of their society.

I think it's so skillful to be able to create a story that is serious enough to tackle topics like femicide, sexual violence, suicide and patriarchal oppression well, but that's also funny enough to almost make me snort my drink out of my nose. I loved the dialogues. And I really came to appreciate the character Munis. Her thirst for knowledge, her silent outrage at having been fooled, her frustration slowly warping into despair at some way of knowing and existing being forever out of reach... I loved being part of her transformation.

I think this is a book for people who believe that the best revenge is a life lived well. Even then, it might be hard. Not everyone is or becomes a good person. Some women don't change much. Some women pick lives not many would envy. But I still found it comforting to have seen them come together, to experience their influence on each other and to see them depart again on their own paths. Truly a great read.

#AmReading #WomenInTranslation #InternationalBooker2026

📘 "The Wax Child" by Olga Ravn, translated from Danish into English by Martin Aitken

Another IBP longlist entry that has a unique writing style and structure. I'm really enjoying reading all of these creative, non-conventional ways of storytelling.

This book is told from the perspective of a consciousness that has come forth from the creation of a doll of a child made out of wax. Based on true events, we indirectly get involved with some of the witch trials that happened in Denmark in the 17th century and what lead up to them.

I had a good time with the novel. I loved how the narrator could be both personal and distant, zoom in and zoom out, giving us the view of a fly on the wall or an omnipresent observer. The women, their friendships, their betrayals, the spells, all were great to see. But best of all were the moments that made me go: what the hell?!

I thought the build-up towards the ending was well done and the last paragraph was a welcome, little gut punch. After finishing the book I read a variety of online sources about Christence Kruckow, recognizing scenes from the book directly from real history, which was interesting.

If you liked this book, I'm sure you'll also enjoy Angela Slatter's books that are set in the Sourdough Universe. They have a similar dark atmosphere and a focus on witchcraft in dangerous times.

#WomenInTranslation #InternationalBooker2026

📘 "The Nights Are Quiet in Tehran" by Shida Bazyar, translated from German into English by Ruth Martin

This book makes me scratch my head.

We follow an Iranian family through two generations, in four (well, five) different decades, going back and forth between Iran and Germany in different contexts. The premise sounds good, but peering deeply into the book, it eventually looked quite hollow.

I like it when books take me diving in the wide open sea, drag me to the bottom of the ocean with them and make it worth the perilous journey. It can be done either subtly or overtly. But here neither happens. This book is like floating in a pool, to and fro, gliding in lanes and only sometimes quickly dipping your face below the surface to observe the decorated floor in the two meter deep water.

When I started the first chapter from the perspective of a communist revolutionary, I thought maybe I was reading satire. This character is basically reading Marx in front of a Che poster while dreaming of Cuba and saying yes comrade, Lenin is cool, don't be bourgeois, thinking: religion is such opium. I thought, this is such a caricature, surely it's meant to go so far as to loop back around and actually be a good critique of everyday people getting swept up in movements they don't know much about due to their circumstances and then going along with it while actually not being that political. Surely?

The following chapters keep becoming more apathetic in tone, its characters more apolitical. Although they're different people speaking of different things, their voices sound quite similar to each other. Topics like immigration, disconnect between generations, cultural loss, orientalism, and alienation from what was once familiar pop up in unoriginal ways. Very softly, never loud. When the author worms a firm political point into the text, it sounds off because as readers we're stuck in a character's stream of consciousness and it doesn't always match the character's earlier thoughts or behavior.

You can actually see the characters change through the years, and the contrast between the generations is quite stark. But how, why, when? The story meanders around such interesting questions and developments, seeming to never want to take the bite, keeping it in the background. It never fully engages. It's almost like a cozy book edition of a literary fiction about an emotionally difficult topic. Very tame.

I've only seen rave reviews so far, and I'm starting to feel like I've read a completely different book than everyone else. Still scratching my head.

#WomenInTranslation #InternationalBooker2026