Look Back at London

It was quite the fairytale of a book fair. In the spiffy Victorian palace of consumerism that is Kensington Olympia, the Literary Translation Centre hid round the back, its face streaked with cinders from keeping the fires of international literary transfer burning. With the fat cats away buying and selling rights et cetera, the mice played and played in what seemed like more space than usual, although chairs were at a premium. But we had our own little stage and nice toilets not nearly as frequented as at any other book fair I have ever attended. I didn't have to queue a single time, I kid you not. There was much socializing, some gossiping and some mourning of colleagues lost this past year, the occasional actual meeting – just the typical hard work to which the kitchen maids of the publishing world are accustomed.

And then came the big night. Our heroine had packed a party gown in a nutshell, so as to change out of her rags for the big ball. Heads turned as she made her entrance, conversations lulled and the like, but then Eugen Ruge distracted everyone at the ambassador's ball by talking about politics, literature and families pre- and post-89. There followed the usual spread of hazelnut-encrusted treats on trays, when lo and behold, three fairy godmothers in the guise of foreign rights ladies whisked our heroine away in a shiny black coach to an establishment in an Earl's Court basement.

There was a band playing, a raggle-taggle group of beasts who had escaped, at least temporarily, from the publishing industry and set out to play music and find something better than death. And that they did. There was some excellent guitar and a saxophone played so enthusiastically that its clip-on microphone fell off twice over. And the singing! The magic fairy dust apparently sprinkled in the ambassador's lemonade prompted our heroine to be a tiny bit over-critical when talking to one of the amazing singers in the break. What she meant to say was, please play more soul and blues and less Fleetwood Mac, because you really rock the soul and blues with your amazing vocals and I don't like Fleetwood Mac but I am having a bizarre but lovely time nonetheless. Tragically, though, our tongue-tied heroine heard the clock striking eleven. Eleven, you say? To which I reply: eleven, if you happen to be staying with your mum at the very end of the Central Line and then have to catch a bus from the station. The noble partygoers no doubt whispered amongst themselves, wondering who the mysterious unknown woman in the vintage-look Belgian dress was who had to leave so suddenly and smiled so beatifically when the barman tried to short-change her.

As she tripped outside, our heroine found her shiny black carriage had vanished and so she stumbled onto a Picadilly Line train. The night was so late that it even stopped at Turnham Green, followed by a trundling bus journey edging her further and further away from the dizzying lights of the international publishing industry cover band, past scores of fried chicken retailers puzzlingly restyled as "Peri Peri chicken" shops and the all-night supermarket that boasts Halal meat and Polish bread under one roof, surely something found in neither Warsaw nor Medina.

Oddly, our heroine didn't lose her shoe until two days later, at which point a friendly ice-cream man at Marble Arch magically produced a tube of superglue to stick the heel back on. But he wasn't much of a prince and she had a birthday party to go to.      

Lazy

It's the school holidays this week, which makes me instantly relaxed and slows me down. Rather a blissful state, to be honest. And next week I'm going to London to do three things:

First of all there's a one-day event called Translating Around the World at the Society of Authors, on Monday. It's sold out though, so I'll see you if I see you. I'm going to be on a panel about continuing education for established translators, with Ros Schwartz and Sarah Ardizzone.

Then on Monday evening I'm holding a (cough) "masterclass" at the London Review Bookshop, called Spot the Translation. That's sold out too, apparently. Which is nice.

And after that it's the London Book Fair, where I'll be having a lovely time all round, I hope, and also taking part in a panel called Where Are the Women Writers in Translation? on the Thursday, with Joanna Walsh, AM Bakalar and Carmen Boullosa.

So I'm probably not going to blog.

Talks on Work

Two lots of talks: one in London organised by the Translators Association and featuring my pal Jamie Lee Searle and me talking to translators about how to get the kind of work you want to get and not the kind you don't want. That's on 18 November but you can book now.

And before that a whole day's worth in Berlin, called Paths to Publishing and featuring all kinds of other more publishing-y people talking about publishing issues. All on 6 October.

Several Things in One Go

A quick round-up of all sorts of things:

The Prize of the SWR Bestenliste - an annual riff on the monthly SWR Bestenliste, a list of top recent fiction compiled by critics - has gone to Ulrike Edschmid for her work in general and the novel Das Verschwinden des Philip S. in particular. I must admit the book had slipped under my radar. It's about a couple in 1960s West Berlin, and what happens when the man becomes a left-wing terrorist. In July it also won the Grimmelshausen Prize, bagging Edschmid €10,000 for a narrative work that deals with contemporary history.

This coming weekend, the Goethe Institut New York is holding a series of talks, I think, about Berlin and New York and translation and literature and the all-round wonderfulness that is the Literary Colloquium Berlin. It's called Shining Island and you should go, if at all possible, because it features some fantastic people.

The new issue of New Books in German is out, all purple and regally full of recommended books. Very soon, they'll also have English sample translations from all six novels shortlisted for the German Book Prize. What they already have is a sweet little feature by Romy Fursland, I believe, about new publisher (and friends of mine) Readux Books. Where you can now place advance orders, by the way, and probably ought to.

Translators Canan Marasligil and Nicki Harman are revving up for their London discussion on International Translation Day by stating their positions on whether or not translators should write forewords and footnotes, on the Free Word Centre website.

London Book Fair Fun

The London Book Fair just finished and thousands of publishing people put their hands to their shrunken wallets in relief. Phew! Now we can go back to paying less than £3.50 for a small Coke. The highlight was obviously the Literary Translation Centre, where the events came thick and fast and there was free cake at lunchtime. The downside was that there were so many great people there that it was hard to concentrate. 

I was duly inspired by a panel on promoting literature in translation - hell, why not suggest events to bookshops? I think I will. Susan Bernofsky, Rosie Goldsmith and Katrin Thomaneck had all sorts of other ideas that are still swishing around my head. I left after the beginning of the panel on What Publishers Want - because I decided I'd rather not know what publishers want. And I enjoyed the panel on innovations in literary translation, including some information on TL hub, an online tool for collaborative translations. It's free and sounded fairly flexible - if only I had a project to use it for. 

Oddly, that particular event highlighted one of the difficulties of the Literary Translation Centre. It's part-sponsored by Amazon, who are making waves with their Amazon Crossing programme. Now Amazon is not all that popular at the moment so I can understand people in the audience raising issues with their editor during the Q&A. Certainly, talk of improving efficiency by speeding up the translation process sounded rather worrying, although it seemed to refer to the publisher's end rather than the translator's. And another point that wasn't answered was how translators can make measured decisions on whether to sign up for royalty-heavy deals if sales information is not provided. But I don't know whether one person from a huge corporation can be held to account for their tax payment practice, for example. I picked up a general sense of unease from many in the audience, while others were quick to leap to Amazon's defence. For me, it boils down to this: we can choose who we work for so if we don't like the conditions a large corporation offers we don't have to take them. Particularly in the case of Amazon, who invite people to "audition" for translations on a special platform rather than approaching them directly. Unfortunately, the centre itself doesn't seem to be bombarded with sponsorship offers. I'm glad it exists and I hope it continues to do so in future. I just wish we lived in a world where something as wonderful as the Literary Translation Centre could thrive without corporate sponsorship - because then there'd be more opportunity for open discussions on subjects like this without anyone getting scared. 

The centre's other problem is that it's just too small and was constantly bursting at the seams. Presumably this issue can't be addressed until Bombay Sapphire offers to take over as sponsor.

What else happened? I moderated Clemens J. Setz at the Austrian Embassy, which was plush but had the world's smallest snacks. Clemens J. Setz was fantastic and entertaining and puzzling and very easy to moderate, requiring only a quick prod now and then to send him off into the next interesting reverie. Serpent's Tail will be publishing Indigo in Ross Benjamin's translation next year. Clemens read some of it and it was truly beautiful. There's a picture at Lizzy's Literary Life showing me looking bemused in my magical confidence dress. Lizzy was lovely and very glittery around the bottom half. There was some schmoozing over wine and miniscule snacks. Frisch & Co launched with a party I couldn't attend, but I hear it was very good. I also talked on a panel about how to become a literary translator, which was short but sweet. Organiser Danny Hahn very kindly announced - at the end, mercifully - that it was my birthday, at which point I was showered with wishes and even one impromptu gift from the obligatory strange person. I met lots of passionate people and got leaned on by a publisher with a different measure of personal space to my own. I saw a lovely baby bump that made me very happy. And I had a birthday G&T slightly too early in the afternoon, with one of the first people to put faith in me as a translator. 

To round off, all this talk of birthdays may make me sound like a bit of a masochist. Who'd voluntarily fly to a book fair for their birthday? Two answers: firstly, it felt rather wonderful to have "arrived" to such an extent as to be invited onto a panel, which is a good feeling to have on a special date. And secondly, don't forget that London is where my family lives, so it wasn't like I was going back to a lonely hotel room and a chocolate cupcake. Also, I genuinely enjoy book fairs, at least up until the tipping point from which I loathe them.

LBF Literary Translation Centre

Most of the programme for the Literary Translation Centre at the London Book Fair is now online. I want to go to every single event. I'll be talking about becoming a literary translator with Jamie Lee Searle, Tom Bunstead and Anna Kelly on the 16th of April, which also happens to be my fortieth birthday. I can't think of a better way to celebrate.

The centre is a marvellous place full of fantastic people. See you all there.

Masterclasses and Translating Sex

London is rather nice in the spring, you know. And if you're going anyway you could sign up for a translation masterclass at the London Review Bookshop, in collaboration with the British Centre for Literary Translation. Here's what they say:

Each half-day session focuses on a single language and will be structured around close work on texts sent in advance to participants. Discussion will centre on the differences in approach evident in variant translations of the same texts. Participants should have a good working knowledge of the language and will be invited to prepare their own translations of the texts under discussion.

The workshop leaders are pretty stellar, too: Edith Grossman, Anthea Bell, Howard Curtis... and at  £75 a pop the sessions are affordable compared to longer affairs. 

Plus, not only to grab your attention, the bookshop is hosting a live translation event on Translating 
Sex. Out of French, naturellement. With two babes of the translation world, Polly McLean and 
Adriana Hunter, going head to head on a specially commissioned saucy short story by Emma 
Becker. With Sarah Ardizzone in the middle, they'll explore the delights of translating erotic fiction,  getting down to the nitty gritty of sexy voice and vocabulary. Then the next day both lovely ladies will give a masterclass (each) to let you have a go at doing it too.

Zweig Lovers' Night

Or perhaps you're in London or thereabouts and it's cold and you feel the need for a dead white Austrian writer in your life. No need to raid the cemetery - you can go to Zweig Lovers' Night instead. On Valentine's Day, no less, at the Austrian Cultural Forum, featuring live and kicking Zweig fans Ali Smith, Anthony Beevor and Amanda Hopkinson raving and reading from Anthea Bell's translations. This one has free wine and chocolates. But as you know you should go anyway.

Residing in the Untranslatable

I believe I've written about it before, but I'm still admiring London's Free Word Centre's translation residency programme. This time around the resident translators are Ollie Brock (French and Spanish) and Canan Marasligil (Turkish). Ollie is currently collecting untranslatable words, which will feature in the first event he's organising for the residency. You can read more about the plan on the website. Book early for the event starring three poets (ticket price includes a drink!) - and email your word, plus its unique definition, to freeword@olliebrock.co.uk, or tweet @freewordcentre or @Brockollie; or else just contribute it on the night. The best untranslatable words will be mentioned at the event, and discussed in a Free Word podcast.

I am just about to send spießig, which drives me around the bend every time I have to translate it.

Six-Hour Drama Marathon, Anyone?

Sport, eh? Most bookish types will agree it's a bit crap, or at least the participatory bit. Stops you thinking weighty thoughts, what with concentrating on getting a small round object into a hole or whatever. Usually involves a little too much physical exertion. And I'm sure I'm not the only bookish type for whom the best thing about school Physical Education lessons was thinking up creative excuses for not taking part.*

Top enraged Austrian writer, Nobel laureate and playwright Elfriede Jelinek, however, gives us a number of other reasons not to like it, which are summed up in her six-hour play Sport. To wit:

Jelinek explores the marketing and sale of human bodies and emotions in sports with angry wit, questioning our obsession with fitness, body image and high performance at any cost. Sport is seen as a medium for fanaticism, as a form of war in peacetime.

And what better time to stage the play, in Penny Black's translation, than during the London Olympics? A two-finger salute to all that "our GDP is bigger than your GDP" medal-grabbing and competitive Union Jack displaying. So catch it this coming Sunday in a staged reading at the Soho Theatre - you can stroll in and out as you please during the six hours, but do watch out for the 200 kilos of toy stuffing. Team GB merchandise will not be on sale in the foyer.

Should you be too far away to attend, the very good German lit blog Litaffin has a useful list of books to read that feature sport.

*My sister came up with the frankly fantastic "I've got a shard of broken glass in the sole of my foot" and managed to evade at least two sessions in the school gym, where we had to go barefoot, until the PE teacher Mr. O'Sadist began to get suspicious. I was also - literally - scarred for life when I ran into my friend's raised hockey stick. I still have a dimple in my left cheek from that incident, but rather stupidly took Mrs. Humourless-Brisk's advice to get straight back in the saddle and onto the playing field.

Three Things To Do

Here are three interesting things to do, wherever you are:

1. If you're in Berlin, you should obviously go to the Lange Buchnacht in der Oranienstraße tomorrow. Berlin's second-coolest street plays host to zillions of readings and literary events. There are 48 different venues, for goodness' sake! It starts with stuff for kids and teens in the afternoon (including love german books favourites Zoran Drvenkar and Tamara Bach). Then you can catch a myriad of other top writers, from Nicol Ljubic to Alistair Noon to Tanja Dückers to Edgar Rai to Jan Peter Bremer to Olga Grjasnowa to Bernd Cailloux to Jakob Hein to Jan Brandt to Thomas Melle. Then there's music and dancing and performance and multimedia and discussion and all sorts of shenanigans. Or you could visit my buddies at the Videodrom-Shop for a totally rock'n'roll fanzine geezer called Gary Flanell. Don't forget to spend lots of money on DVDs, books and vinyl while you're there.
The Lange Buchnacht is *always good*. You should go if you can, and you should get yourself a beer and wander from one event to the next, or maybe pick a focus area like postmigrant culture or music writing or crime or food and go hopping to the relevant events. It's very well curated if you ask me, or perhaps that's a by-product of the fact that Oranienstraße is Berlin's second-coolest street, chock-a-block full of passionate people who care about (sub)culture.

2. If you're in London, you should sign up for this intriguing night class on free speech and translation, run by English PEN. In six Monday-night sessions, they say

...we’ll consider the politics, economics and aesthetics of literary publishing and translation. Dour detectives will meet the Arab Spring, as images, slang, poetry, and shared identity are not lost in translation. All this will be explored, with translators, editors, critics, publishers, and booksellers as special guests. 

No previous knowledge required!

3. If you're not in either of these places (or indeed if you are in London or Berlin), you should watch this long video of an event at New York's PEN World Voices festival on the subject of reviewing translations. It's always a tricky subject because translators and critics don't seem to see eye to eye (and although I've met a few critics I do see eye to eye with, I have to admit I have the same general problem). Translators want to be at least mentioned and actually valued, treated like the star of the show or at least granted an adjective on the quality of our work. Whereas reviewers often face the problems of a lack of space and a lack of confidence in judging translation quality. Or that's the upshot of the debates that took place in Germany a year or so ago. I haven't actually watched the whole of the video yet but I shall do so now and possibly post some more information a little bit later.

London Book Fair Fun

I just got back from the London Book Fair. It's only the second time I've ever been, for some reason. Possibly because on my first visit, it felt a bit shoddy in comparison to the Frankfurt Book Fair. Much, much smaller, much, much scruffier, and I stay over at my mum's house which makes it infinitely less glamourous.

Now, however, they have a Literary Translation Centre. It says here it's "a hub for learning, debate and networking for all those passionate about the art and business of literary translation". And it so is! It's a little walled-in area for sitting around - with free sandwiches!! - and for attending excellent panel sessions. It's a place to go and relax and chat to awesome people and a place for inspiring input. Also they had a larger-than-lifesized photo of me on the wall because I won a translation prize - which was excellent in terms of giving a face to translators, etc. but also very freaky indeed, especially as complete strangers automatically thought I looked terribly familiar and kept smiling at me. All the time. The only bad thing about the LTC, as we in the know call it, is that it's too damn small.

So, these are some things I garnered from the discussions I saw:

- Publishers sort of appreciate sample translations to help them assess books' quality if they can't read the originals – but only if they're well done. If they're badly done by the writer's third-cousin who went to Wales on an exchange in 1993 they're worse than useless.

- When translators and writers work together closely (the lesson came from Maureen Freely, who translates Orhan Pamuk), they need to lay out the ground rules first. For me that would mean: the translator's in charge of the end product.

- Don't take the "villa in Tuscany" approach to marketing international literature, it's a big turn-off: "If you appreciate fine wines you'll like our vintage Serbian novel," said Boyd Tonkin, really gets on his tits. He didn't put it like that.

- Novels set in New York but not written by Americans are "not always horrible," said Barbara Epler of New Directions (NY). But they usually are, and she gets sent about a dozen of them every year.

The best comic moment was when a whole panel of people were slagging off AmazonCrossing for allegedly not editing and then one of the AmazonCrossing people stood up in the audience and said, "Thanks for mentioning us and by the way, we do use professional editors."

I had two other highlights: seeing Caitlin Moran, The UK's Coolest Woman, and attending a reception at the German Ambassador's Residence. It was exactly like this! Totally and utterly posh, with thick carpets (even in the ladies') and tapestries and oil paintings and drinks and nibbles brought round on shiny trays. My favourite nibble was the small frankfurters with a pot of mustard to dip them in - warm frankfurters, mind you. And at last a worthy excuse to be overdressed, with little birdies. For some reason the other ladies weren't quite as overdressed as I was, except for Meike Ziervogel from Peirene Press, of course, who gave me a run for my money in a gorgeous green number. Ah, and there was a reading and discussion beforehand by Meike's author Matthias Politycki, who seemed to have a lot in common with his interviewer Nicholas Lezard - most notably a love of pubs and black humour, which made for an entertaining event.

So after a while of everyone enjoying the schmoozing and free drinks and nibbles brought round on shiny trays, it got really quite good. Bonding was done, tipsy discussion of Helene Hegemann and absent publishing friends. They chucked us out at a respectable hour, sadly, with a bust of Willy Brandt frowning at us incongruously as we teetered down the carpeted stairs, apparently reprimanding us for not being able to take our free drink. And then we all went to the pub and got lost three times on the way, but it was worth it because I found out that all the foreign rights ladies from the German literary publishing houses are big buddies, which I found incredibly touching. Like translators, I pronounced drunkenly - we're sort of in competition but we all really love and appreciate each other.

In the end me and one of the foreign rights ladies left the pub by the back door, which felt incredibly louche, and headed for Knightsbridge station, at which point I reached the peak of my drunkenness and presumably regaled her with fascinating tales in my best drunken London accent. Sorry about that.

To sum up: if you're a British or indeed an American translator, you should go to the London Book Fair. And if you get invited round the ambassador's house, you should go.

Best European Fiction 2012

Have I mentioned that Dalkey Archive Press's latest edition of their Best European Fiction anthology includes a story by Clemens Meyer? Possibly in reaction to those accusations of being middle-class and irrelevant, they chose a rather upsetting piece about a murderer, which was no fun at all to translate, and apparently also no fun to write either.

But if it's not fun you're after - and you happen to be in London - then you can catch Clemens himself in conversation with Sanneke van Hassel (The Netherlands) and Duncan Bush (Wales) at the Southbank Centre this coming Monday. I assume the editor Aleksandar Hemon will be there too, who doesn't look quite as pouty and rebellious in real life as he does in the photo, sadly. I attended last year's event and was pleasantly surprised by the range of voices presented, and also by the free glass of wine afterwards.

And speaking of best fiction and London, the wonderful Charlotte Ryland has a guest piece on the Foyles blog. She writes about how German-language fiction isn't what people used to think it was, highlighting a few excellent examples. Foyles, in case you don't know, is an excellent bookshop in London, the kind where you can go to the information desk and ask, "Excuse me, who was it that wrote The Yiddish Policemen's... ummm... Thingy?" and the charming information person will reply at the drop of a hat, "Michael Chabon" - without making you feel like a total fool. And then they'll also have it on their incredibly long fiction shelves. If Foyles were a man, I'd take him home with me. He would no doubt peruse my personal bookshelves with interest and ask intelligent questions that didn't make me feel inadequate. And really, what more could a girl ask for?

Generation Germany Goes UK

Brits! March is the month to catch outstanding German writers on your very own turf! To wit:  Clemens Meyer at Edinburgh's Wee Red Bar on 13 March and Leeds Central Library on the 14th. And before that, Jan Brandt at UCL with Joe Dunthorne and Philip Oltermann under the teeth-hurting title of Generation X Reflects on 7 March.

Clemens Meyer is a super-talented writer with a penchant for all things gloomy. You can – no, you should – read my translation of his short stories All the Lights, to discover how excellent writing lifts you out of a gloom. Joe Dunthorne has written an impressive, witty, entertaining short novel about growing up in Wales which has been made into a film. Jan Brandt has written an impressive, witty, entertaining very long novel about growing up in East Frisia which has been somehow made into a live radio play. Philip Oltermann has written a book I haven't read yet about Anglo-German encounters. 

I believe Mr Brandt will also be holding public readings in Oxford and Cambridge. And also hanging out with students in London. Mr Meyer will no doubt also be out and about sampling the delights of Edinburgh. So keep your eyes peeled!

Inside New Books in German

Everybody knows New Books in German, right? The UK's most fantastic vehicle for promoting literature written in German? To English-speaking readers, translators and publishers? Via two online and print issues a year? Edited by the amazing Charlotte "Energy Bundle" Ryland? Funded by Austria, Switzerland and Germany?

Good. Well, I happened to be in London at the same time as their editorial meeting, and I kind of invited myself along. The idea is, German-language publishers send the cream of their crop to NBG, and a crack team of experts selects about sixty titles that they reckon could work on the British market. Of course nowadays they cooperate with the German Book Office in New York so the American market is covered too. Anyway, the sixty books are sent off to sixty readers who each write a short report on their respective merits - but the idea is to be tough so that not just any old guff ends up in the magazine. And the editorial meeting is there to decide which books to feature on the pages of NBG.

But what actually happens behind the closed doors of the Austrian Cultural Forum in Range Rover Central, London SW7? I hear you ask. Ah, well let me enlighten you.

This time there were a record eighteen attendees, a bit of a mixed bag. According to the website, "editorial advisers are brought in for each issue, including a literary agent, a publisher, a translator and a bookseller." That's quite funny actually - but maybe you had to be there - because there was rather a wealth of translators, including - gasp! - Anthea Bell OBE, which nearly made me faint. Luckily there was a tea break for fawning purposes. There were also representatives of a number of cultural bodies, who were great because if there was an Austrian author, for instance, you could ask: Do you know them? Are they OK? And they'd say: Weeeelll, ye-es, not my cup of tea but very popular, or Ohhh, yes, fabulous, or: No, he's a complete vainglorious idiot.* Also, having a bookseller there was great because he knew what people actually buy in bookshops - and what they don't. Of course we translators had something to add too, although it was mostly anecdotes about how terribly nice the writers are.*

Anyway, we waded right in and voted on which books to take, covering children's and young adults' fiction plus non-fiction and fiction for adults. And I found myself talking rather a lot, no doubt unnecessarily, in an attempt to legitimise my presence in some way. But in fact most people had very sensible opinions and it was an object lesson in human nature. There were the eternal optimists, the passionate waverers, and best of all a couple of excellent Eyoreish sceptics. Just so nobody thought they were doing the world a favour.

And then there were the issues to consider. Can you expect kids to take an interest in long-dead political systems in foreign countries? (Probably not.) What percentage of non-fiction titles dealing with Nazis is OK? (Not 100%.) Does anyone give a monkeys about experimental fiction? (Perhaps not but it's still cool.) Are we topheavy on the crime front and low on love stories? (I made that one up but there were some questions of balance raised.) Then there was apple strudel. And then we went to the pub.

What's the point of the whole lot of you reading sixty-odd reports and putting together this very attractive magazine? I hear you ask. Ah, well let me explain.

German-language publishers benefit in a major way if their book ends up in NBG, mainly because it means publishers translating that book into English are entitled to funding. Which means they're more likely to do so in the first place. What doesn't happen is that Amy Editor curls up with a cup of cocoa and a copy of NBG and chooses which German book to publish this season. You still need to call Amy Editor's attention to your book, but its profile will be that little bit higher. Also, people will be that mite more aware of your author, so they're more likely to invite her to the UK and the US for glamorous lecture tours and the like. What you don't want to do, as a German publisher, is submit your third-most-exciting book of the season, on the assumption that your whizz-banging humdinger is going to sell like hot cakes and doesn't need any help. Every book needs help to make it into English. NBG is there to ease the way - and also to showcase just how fantastic writing in German is.

Of course it's not just the book reports. New Books in German is also a useful resource for finding out what's been published recently, and each issue also offers feature articles. This upcoming one is a bit heavy on the pieces written by me, but that's just a coincidence and won't be a regular fixture. I wouldn't want to annoy people. Oh, and they also organise a big flashy party during the London Book Fair, which I shall be attending this year. I already have a new dress and some bargainacious shoes.

* Not really.

Mr Meyer Has A Horse - or: On the Road with Clemens

Four readings in three days and two countries is nothing to be sniffed at. And to launch Clemens Meyer's short story collection All the Lights in my translation, that's what we did. Our first stop was Edinburgh, where we mere mortal translators and publishers were housed in modest surroundings, while Clemens and his fellow And Other Stories writer Juan Pablo Villalobos stayed in palatial hotels at the expense of the Edinburgh International Book Festival. Clemens flew in a day later than I did, so I took him to his hotel (very posh, did I mention that?). But that was at just before one, Edinburgh time, so the 2:30 at Munich was looming large. "Mr Meyer has a horse," I told the receptionist, "and it's racing in half an hour. We need an internet connection, quick!"

I swear I've never enjoyed saying a sentence as much as that one. Actually, Clemens Meyer has a part-share in a horse by the name of Proust. It was called that before he got it, he assures me. But the receptionist in the extremely classy hotel didn't need to know that. He'd arrived a bit early and the room wasn't quite ready, could we perhaps...?

No, we couldn't. So it was off to the nearest bookmaker's. Women don't tend to go to bookies very often, and it was certainly my first time. Heads turned as we strode in and pleaded with a perplexed employee to show us the 2.30 at Munich on one of his screens. No can do. Next bookie: no, sorry, and no, I don't know where there's an internet café round here. D'you know, Doug? No idea love, sorry.

But the seasoned racing veteran has a nose for an internet connection, and Clemens soon sniffed out the Hilton Hotel. It was 2.25 in Munich and he was getting a wee bit jumpy. Excuse me, this gentleman here needs to use a computer, could we possibly...? Why of course madam, just up the stairs to your left, in the business centre. Five pounds for half an hour or three pounds for fifteen minutes? 2:28. Five pounds, you never know. Logged in, online racing channel, selected the right race, and they were off. Proust with the white saddle pad, the jockey in white silks with a green cross. Picture too small and pixelated, no sound, Spanish gentleman looking irritated at the next computer, where is he? Is that him on the inside? No, the silks are green with a white cross. Can't see him anywhere, is that him...? Not among the winners, when do they put the results up, when's the replay coming, good job we paid a fiver, why don't you try this other computer with a sound card, thanks ma'am, ah, here's the replay, oh. That's him near the back, not a bad start but... hmmm, losing speed in the curve, no, the ground's too soft, it's been raining for days, he's no good on soft ground, well the jockey won't push him if he knows he can't make it, hmmm. Well, never mind, at least I only put fifty on him.

Off to the pub for a commiseratory Guinness. Or two. Where we were assailed – or was it wassailed? – by an old Navy man with tales of ladyboys in Singapore and pantaloon-wearing homosexuals in Indonesia. Clemens could tell he was a smoker by his fingers, I could tell by the smell. Lots of nodding and smiling, but no, he didn't know if Robert Louis Stevenson was actually born in Edinburgh, no. A shame. On to Juan Pablo's reading with his lovely and very talented translator Rosalind Harvey and young British writer David Whitehouse. To her shame, the chair negelected to introduce Rosalind properly. So I shall neglect to tell you the chair's name.

There followed drinks and food at a nice pub. I had sausages and mash with onion gravy, which Clemens agreed was very good and not like German sausages at all, and our publisher had haggis pie with whisky cream sauce. I left before the others started sampling their way through the whiskies, but I'm told it was very educational.

The next day was Clemens' own reading with Stuart Evers, chaired by Stuart Kelly. See, I've mentioned his name because he was absolutely brilliant. Great questions about the art of writing short stories and the art of translating them. We came off stage buzzing and things only got better, because while Clemens was signing books two lovely local-ish bloggers came to say hello - Lizzy Siddal and Rob from Rob Around Books. I've been a bit cheeky and linked to their pieces about the event, because they both have actual photos and say nice things about me. And you two - I felt all warm and fuzzy meeting you as well. Plus they started a trend for getting the book signed by me, which made me nearly explode with pride and necessitated a slightly impolite trip to the ladies' (although I used the swanky "Authors Toilet" - have I mentioned that this is a book festival with style?).

There followed drinks and book talk with some lovely people from the reading group at Glasgow's Goethe Institut. And then there was haggis all round but still nobody knew if RL Stevenson was born in Edinburgh. We rounded off the evening in the library of the Scotch Malt Whisky Society, where I learned to love whisky and we left a suitable gift on the shelves.

Down to London on the train bright and early next morning, and yes, after two days of rain it really was bright and certainly was early, with Clemens keeping his promise to make it to the train in the nick of time. I was berated all round for reading Schoßgebete, but I did want to form my own opinion, thank you very much. And in the evening was a joint event to launch Clemens and Juan Pablo's books at the European Bookshop on Warwick Street, well attended and very friendly, followed by free drinks. This time our publisher Stefan Tobler introduced both translators with sufficient gravitas, and we were nearly professionals by this point anyway.

Thursday was our busiest day, starting with an informal reading-come-drinking session at Ritter/Zamet gallery in Whitechapel. There was a request for the saddest story, "All the Lights" - so we got everyone suitably depressed in front of Rigo Schmidt's paintings. A quick dash from Whitechapel (not the classiest part of London - think sari shops and halal fried chicken) to the opulent surrounds of the former East German embassy on Belgrave Square (possibly the classiest place in London - think leafy park surrounded by Edwardian villas with flags flying from them). Where we held our final, triumphant reading to a packed house and used extra swearwords just for the puerile pleasure of saying shit in front of junior diplomats. Then there were more drinks and more signing of books (although this time for my dad and for two lovely young translators whose names escape me because by this point in the proceedings I was having trouble seeing straight).

I'd like to thank the very well organised Edinburgh International Book Festival for inviting us, the European Bookshop, Ritter/Zamet and the German Embassy, and Juan Pablo Villalobos, Rosalind Harvey and Stefan Tobler for the great company on the road. And thanks to And Other Stories and everyone who came along to the readings for making me feel like a star. Thanks too to Clemens Meyer for putting up with me bossing him around and hogging the limelight.

Robert Louis Stevenson was born in Edinburgh.

Upcoming Events

love german books is taking a holiday over the next two weeks. But you can catch me in person at a couple of translation-related events in Berlin, Edinburgh and London.

First of all I'll be talking to Thomas Pletzinger and Ross Benjamin about their book Funeral for a Dog (see my review). Wednesday, 27 July, 7 pm at Soho House Berlin - entry is free but you have to RSVP to the organisers Dialogue Books.

Then it's my first ever trip to Edinburgh, where I hope I'll be on stage with Clemens Meyer and Stuart Evers to help present my translation All the Lights. Tuesday, 16 August, 5 pm at the RBS Corner Theatre. 21st-century dirty realism, they're calling it, and I agree.

On down to London, where we have three readings in two days: Wednesday, 17 August, 6.30 pm at the European Bookshop - with Juan Pablo Villalobos and his translator Rosalind Harvey, then Thursday, 17 August, from 2 pm at the Ritter/Zamet gallery, followed by an evening do at the former East German embassy on Belgravia Square. Again, follow the link above for booking details for the London events, which are free and involve alcohol.

Incidentally, Clemens Meyer is nominated for the Newton First Book Award, which is somehow related to the Edinburgh International Book Festival. It's decided by a public vote - simply go here to cast your ballot online.

(Austrian) Things to Do in London

Do you live in London? Dull, isn't it?

But not for much longer! For a plethora of exciting events will soon take you to Austrian literary heaven. Start on 26 May with the delightful and talented Anna Kim at the Austrian Cultural Forum. She and her translator Mike Mitchell will be reading from her most recent novel Frozen Time. Which is very good. Her latest book in German is an essay on travel and Greenland's colonial history, Die Invasion des Privaten. That's how cool she is.

And then only weeks later, the London Review Bookshop hosts its annual World Literature Weekend from 17 - 19 June, featuring Daniel Kehlmann. He's Austrian too! Plus, and this is particularly cool, my two favourite London publishers Meike Ziervogel and Stefan Tobler have a chat in a cake shop. Neither of them is Austrian, but I thought I'd mention it anyway because Meike is publishing the Austrian author with the wonderful name of Alois Hotschnig soon (translated by my friend Tess Lewis). And Stefan is publishing Clemens Meyer's short stories All the Lights soon, translated by me. Clemens Meyer isn't Austrian either but he once went all the way to Klagenfurt.

Back on the actual Austrian front, you can watch two top translators pitting their wits head to head when Mike The Mountain Mitchell and Shaun Big Daddy Whiteside enter the ring to do battle and fight until the blood flows down their bare fists and one of them starts crying at a live translation event! Or, as the LRB puts it: "with the help of the author and chair, the variations and nuances of the text, in both languages, are brought to light." With Daniel Kehlmann and Daniel Hahn.

Should you be of the translatorly persuasion yourself, you can also sign up for a half-day translation workshop from German, French, Italian, Russian, Spanish or Arabic. I'm only going to mention in passing that it's a bit odd they're all led by men. They're certainly all excellent translators.

So, don't be down in the doldrums, Austrian-literature-loving Londoners! Your time is now.

European Literature Night

I've been away over Easter doing mainly non-German-book-related things. But while I was at it I met the gregarious British journalist and fellow foreign literature missionary Rosie Goldsmith, who was wearing a lovely ring shaped like a big pink rose. We were at the London launch of Dalkey Archive Press's Best European Fiction 2011, where free wine was served in thimbles and I didn't say hello to editor Aleksandar Hemon, even though he seemed eminently approachable. That was partly because I'd cleverly invited more people to come along than I could actually talk to in one go. And also possibly because the thimbles of wine ran out very quickly.

Anyway, the gregarious British journalist with impeccable jewellery taste and a foreign literature mission Rosie Goldsmith was evangelising - as well she might - about European Literature Night. She's presenting the London event - one of 18 consecutive presentations across Europe on 11 May. Information is slightly sparing on the official website, but the British Library tells us the London night will feature "six superlative writers of fiction and poetry, both emerging and established: Emil Hakl (Czech Republic), Nora Ikstena (Latvia), Anna Kim (Austria), Peter Terrin (Flanders) and Bożena Umińska-Keff (Poland)."

Now I let out a little cry of delight at seeing Anna Kim's name on the bill (remember those thimbles - I wasn't sober). Because I've had dealings with the delightful Anna in the past and I didn't even know that her excellent novel Frozen Time had been translated! Ariadne Press, Austria specialists, brought it out last year in Mike Mitchell's translation. The book is beautifully written and shocking stuff, looking at war crimes in Kosovo and what they did to those involved and those on the periphery. As far as I can remember.

So please do go along and be delighted and stimulated by the readings and conversation, as they say. Or indeed attend one of the other seventeen events elsewhere. I'm a little skeptical about the actual benefit of holding readings in eighteen different places at once, but I suppose at the very least it raises a bit of a buzz and saves on separate websites.

Dangerous Translations

Quick! If you're in London you can still book for an event about translating smutty stuff at the South Bank Centre on Wednesday night. Featuring Shaun Whiteside and Polly McLean. Oh, and I see it's a live translation slam. I really want to see how a live translation slam works some day.