Tag: International Booker Prize Longlist

Ismail Kadare: A Dictator Calls

When the International Booker Prize longlist was announced this year, I was thrilled to see the name of its inaugural winner with another nomination. A copy of A Dictator Calls was immediately secured. 

Having first encountered Ismail Kadare through Palace of Dreams, a book that warns against authorities who take away even the freedom of dreams, it was enough to make me want to read more.

This was eventually followed by The Three-Arched Bridge, which contrasts Ivo Andrić’s rich and lengthier The Bridge on the Drina by having the texture of a fable, making it easier to read despite the dark subject matter that this reader understood as a chilling metaphor for the new worlds and ideals founded on blood and, perhaps, a disturbing reminder of what is often sacrificed in the name of progress.

This resulted in a back-to-back reading of The Siege wherein I felt amazed to have been held in thrall by the intricacies of fifteenth century military strategies. The “necessary” presence of architects, engineers, poets, chroniclers, astrologers, and the harem on the battlefield added to the madness of war. The Kadare usually straightforward with prose was suddenly generous with details, and delightfully ridiculed war and testosterone, bringing to mind a line from Svetlana Alexievich who wrote, “War smells of men.” The Siege also makes us realize that even though warfare might have evolved greatly since then, man hasn’t. But what makes The Siege my favorite among the Kadare books that I’ve read is the twist of creativity in which the narrative is focused on the besiegers: With this brilliant move we are made privy to the thoughts and intents of those who intend to conquer or wipe out an entire people — “We could take their language,” or their religion: “You can’t call a country conquered until you have conquered its heaven… everything that has to do with the soul.” Trust Kadare to embed a powerful message in an easily overlooked passage, a lesson in what a people must guard and defend — everything that has to do with the soul.

These stories continue to be remarkably resonant. The allegories of tyrannies and parables about the threats of imperialism are redolent of current events, and I believe that even though his novels might need new translations, it also needs new readers.

But please allow me to be blunt: A Dictator Calls is not the best place to start if you’re new to his work.

For readers who would like to geek about a specific moment in Russian/Soviet literature that look into its literary figures and their associations, it can be an entertaining book. But for this fan’s expectations, and the looming promise of examining the relationship between writers and tyranny, it fulfills little and leaves this reader feeling that the book could have been so much more, especially from a writer of such magnitude as Kadare. 

Cheon Myeong-Kwan: Whale

This book does not say anything about Egon Schiele. But it very well could have been written by him, had he been a novelist instead of a painter.

An unexpected turn inside the Belvedere Museum in Vienna once brought me face to face with enormous paintings by Schiele. When you go to a place for Klimt and be confronted by Schiele, it is a staggering experience you will not easily forget.

Haunting eyes, naked and exaggerated anatomies, comical expressions, grotesque scenes, and dark humor — whether you like it or not, you cannot look away. Even if you eventually manage to, you will be forced to take another look, and another.

Because by some bizarre and compelling artistry, the artist wraps you around a strangely proportioned finger, the way Cheon Myeong-Kwan does in this whale of a tale.

So, do not let the cover design of the Archipelago Books edition with its happy colors fool you. Or maybe, let it fool you; so that it startles you, the way some skillful art and literature should. Maybe take that turn and be confronted by something you normally would not seek out.

Oftentimes, the art that we find grotesque are missives from a mind sensitive to how the world truly operates. For isn’t this book a critique on justice, economic, and social systems; and even on American influence through Hollywood? And aren’t these political caricatures in the guise of troubling characters and a metafictional storyline?

I would think twice before criticizing this book for what it seems on the surface, lest I become akin to that judge in 1912 who set fire to one of Schiele’s drawings at a trial wherein Schiele was accused of indecency.

“Reader, you will believe what you want to believe. That’s all there is to it.”