📗 "Wanneer de wereld slaapt: verhalen, woorden en wonden uit Palestina" by Francesca Albanese, translated from Italian into Dutch by Manon Smits & Pieter van der Drift

Available in English as "When the World Sleeps: Stories, Words, and Wounds of Palestine", translated by Gregory Conti.

Happy 'Let's all boycott Eurovision 2026 together' week. I used to love watching Eurovision, but not anymore. Eurovision is dead set on platforming Israel, a settler state that's currently committing genocide and waging war. I'd rather not spend my time watching spineless clowns claim to be united through music while whole populations are being decimated. Are you looking for something else to do this week as well? A great alternative would be reading this book.

This book focuses mainly on Albanese's work as United Nations Special Rapporteur on the Occupied Palestinian Territories. It discusses the horrific crimes against humanity that are being committed by Israel against the Palestinian people, but more than that it explains how difficult it can be to speak about it. It's so obvious that we're dealing with occupation, genocide and war. But even with millions of people protesting in the streets, mentioning Israel's atrocities can still make you a controversial person. The memoir parts of the book show it clearly. Albanese tells about events of hers that have been cancelled, the countries where she has been shunned, and the endless campaigns that have been set up against her.

Despite talking about the difficulties of her position, I don't think it takes away the spotlight from the Palestinian voices she includes in the book. There are many examples taken from the past years to illustrate why we shouldn't be talking about a 'conflict' and shouldn't support general both-sideism. Albanese speaks eloquently, admits mistakes she's made in the past, explains why she approaches things the way she does now and never compromises on ethics.

The original Italian cover and the Dutch translation feature an artwork by Malak Mattar. I saw online that it's in the English edition as well, on the endpapers. The full art piece can be seen amongst others on this page: https://gallerygirl.co/2023/09/20/podcast-gallery-girls-meets-malak-mattar/

I'd highly recommend this book, especially for people trying to learn more about Palestine but who might feel a little intimidated by books that dive right into politics or history. I think this is an approachable text. It's personal, with depth and with emotions.

I'm not sure if this is the case for all translated editions, but the proceeds from the Dutch translation go to charities of Albanese's choice that offer legal assistance to people who are being oppressed because they stand up for the rights of Palestinians.

#AmReading #FreePalestine #WomenInTranslation

📘 "The Passengers on the Hankyu Line" by Hiro Arikawa, translated from Japanese into English by Allison Markin Powell

Another mixed feelings read for me this week. This is a fairly short work of fiction about a few passengers on a train. It's about how their lives briefly intersect and how that changes them. It reads like something right in between a slice of life novel and interconnected short stories.

What I really liked about the book was its structure and general train ambiance. The way the text travels one way and then back again does exactly make you feel like you're making a round trip yourself. Very creative, very satisfying to read.

I also liked how to character stories got woven into each other. Unfortunately, what I liked less were the characters' stories themselves. Every romantic plotline did not feel sweet to me. An adult man dating a high school girl. Two unexperienced youths explore love together, but we learn that the girl has been grimacing through all their sex activities until she received advice on how to experience less pain from other women in her life. Apparently the boy never saw a reason to question this before. In a different newly formed couple, the young man keeps sulking because his girlfriend can hold her liquor so well, how could he ever make a move on her when she's this clear-headed? All of these scenarios are presented as kind of funny, I just find them sad.

There's a tale about a woman taking revenge on her ex-fiancé for cheating and marrying someone else. Fun, except that her hatred started to be solely focused on the other woman as someone who seduced her clueless man away. Combined with multiple other scenes that are filled with women being catty to each other (and it being thought of as typically feminine), it kind of let me down.

A few chapters focus on public humiliation as a method to teach people social etiquette. These scenes left me feeling awkward. Have you ever seen any of these online videos in which people try to teach their pet that something is bad, by doing the thing themselves and then acting like they're really hurting or dying? The pet is supposed to react like: 'oh damn, better not do that thing, look at what happened to that guy'. This novel was the author doing the dramatic reenactment of what happens when you're rude on public transport, and I as the reader was the uncomfortable pet. I get it, but also, I'm not eight years old.

For me, this book read like a showcase for a community where sexism is common and where you better focus on behaving according to the established norms or else. The trouble is that I don't think this book is meant to be read like that. It's supposed to be cute, it's kind of cozy. To me it's vaguely sad. Sad, but with an original and fun storytelling structure. Not a bad read, but maybe not the escapism I was hoping for either.

#WomenInTranslation

📘 "If We Cannot Go at the Speed of Light" by Kim Choyeop, translated from Korean into English by Anton Hur

This book isn't out yet, but will be next week! I received a digital ARC for it (thanks!).

This is an interesting, reflective collection of sci-fi short stories. I enjoyed my time with it, but also have some mixed feelings. I think this collection could have been great, but it's 'just' good enough.

The stories have intriguing plotlines. The ideas are good and engaging, you can see them shine in the centre of every tale. The stories take common sci-fi tropes and build on them, branching out and daring to ask difficult questions about people's motives. It doesn't shy away from uncomfortable emotions. The variety of characters and views add on to this, creating a collection that will make anyone introspective.

Where I think the work falls short is in its narrative style. On a sentence by sentence basis, it's okay. Not a writing style to rave about, but also not anything to be disappointed by. However, the way every story unfolds was very jarring to me. The flow, the reveals, the twists, the pacing - it was off. Most stories are told in parts that go together, so you as the reader can understand what happened in the past that led up to what's going on now, and what some of the consequences will be. I think these parts are created too artificially and are fit together like puzzle pieces that don't fully click. I find it such a pity, because most stories could've made a more hard hitting impact if only they'd been restructured to have a better flow.

Most of the story endings were a hit for me, there was only one I actively disliked, the others made me very content. My favorite story was definitely the last one, 'My Space Hero'. I also think 'The Materiality of Emotions' has a high discussion/ book club potential.

Although I may sound a little disappointed, I still think it's a collection worth reading. I'll keep an eye on the author and her next release, because I expect her to improve with every story written and I'm curious to see what ideas she'll come up with next.

#AmReading #WomenInTranslation

📘 "The Witch" by Marie NDiaye, translated from French into Jordan Stump

My very last International Booker Prize 2026 read. I love this one, I'm glad it made it to the shortlist. It has a terribly low average rating on Goodreads and I haven't seen much excited feedback about it yet, so let me add to the small pool of positive reviews.

The Witch is banal and magical. It's a family drama in which we follow a woman dealing with a failing marriage, the divorce of her parents, her uncomfortable family in law, the nosiness of the neighborhood tiran, and raising her twin daughters. On top of that she has, like all women in her family line, a magical gift that she passes on to her own daughters.

I'm not sure how to hype this book up. The story within is so everyday, but the closer you look, the more witchcraft you'll see. With beautiful prose the reader can look at family dynamics, miscommunication, the fear of being left behind, misdirection of emotions, womanhood, insecurity, simply rolling with the punches of life and all sorts of other discomfort. Somehow it's about being ordinary and about being extraordinary and the unease that can come with both.

The narrative voice is flowery and clear. I remembered every character easily and I feel like I know them well. How did the author do that, in so few pages? I've only read it last week, but I already feel the urge to reread it. I think this novel is one that gives more upon every reread.

I've downloaded every other translated book I could find by Marie Ndiaye onto my ereader. I'm now convinced all of the other low average ratings for her books on Goodreads must be unjust as well!

#InternationalBooker2026 #WomenInTranslation

📘 "Kallocaïne" by Karin Boye, translated from Swedish into Dutch by Bart Kraamer

Available in English as "Kallocain", translated by David McDuff.

Although I wish to spread the love of reading all the time, sometimes it's difficult. Especially now, when books feel simultaneously more important than ever in this fascist landscape, but also frivolous to focus on when war is waging. I've also been distracted by a new health issue that sadly requires some medical attention (I'm fine), filling my head with new questions like "will there still be gas to drive to the hospital?" and "what if the bomb drops when I'm under sedation?". Every day I feel overwhelmed, scared, angry and upset.

Instead of screaming about the US and Israel and their allies and all of the horror that they've been causing, and all the other countries who passively stare at it all (please EU, just follow Spain's lead), let me just scream about this book instead of spiraling even more. This novel that unfortunately fits so well in this terrible year.

I was surprised that I had never encountered this book before, since it's a dystopian classic that could (should!) be as well-known as 1984 and Brave New World, but sadly isn't (yet!). In it we get to read the written report of a chemist, living in a totalitarian state that is supposedly at war with a neighboring state. It's a collectivist society with long work hours and barely any opportunity for free will. The protagonist has just invented a serum that forces people to express their true inner life, effectively making thought crime something that can be acted upon.

This is obviously a sad book, but it has so many strong points. Despite its deeply developed, bleak world, there's no info dumping. As the reader you slowly learn about how the state is run throughout the novel, and every time you realize something new about its inner workings, no matter how much it's in line with everything, it's still shocking. The protagonist is just as interesting as the worldbuilding: utterly convinced of the righteousness of the state, proud to be a cog in the machine, yet ever so self-centered and hypocritical. What an interesting, complex combination of a personality.

There was one scene that I can't get over, it was so artfully done. Being vague to avoid spoilers, it's essentially a scene in which the protagonist thinks he'll gain total power over another person. But it plays out differently, in such a way that the power dynamics completely switch around, and the protagonist is the one figuratively stripped naked and vulnerable. I was just as surprised as the main character was at that point. Loved it. People could be writing 20-page essays about just that one scene.

In an odd way, I think the book is not only depressing, but also hopeful. Not in a pushy way, but... a truth serum could be a double-edged sword. What if everyone's truth in a bad regime is that they're afraid, tired and miserable? What does this knowledge do to another person, especially if you're used to a world that's so dangerous that you've never been able to know anyone's true thoughts besides your own? Food for thought (secretly, in the privacy in your own head -for now).

Kallocain was written and published in 1940, clearly inspired by the war, by Hitler and Stalin, maybe even by their divvying up of parts of Europe. Dark times, not unlike now. The author committed suicide in 1941. Reading that made me sadder than reading the book. Do you feel like this too, like we're always losing the good ones, the ones who understand and can pierce through the nonsense of this world, the ones who are needed the most?

I feel like after all that heaviness, I should conclude with something optimistic, but I can't think of anything right now. Maybe people will come to their senses. Maybe something good will come of resisting. Maybe certain people will have a deadly heart attack soon. Maybe we'll encounter the man in the high castle, and he will ask us to transport a tape, and on that tape we'll see...

A girl can dream.

#WomenInTranslation

📘 "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

📘 "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

📘 "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