My translation of Stênio Gardel’s The Words That Remain quietly came out from New Vessel Press in January 2023. I’d spent months working on the lyrical and rhythmic language of this tender coming of age and coming out debut novel, originally published in Brazil in April 2021, and I was dying to share it with the world. Stênio traveled abroad for the first time for a launch event at McNally Jackson Seaport in New York and we read together. We signed books and a friend brought us flowers. Then we both went back home.
We didn’t get reviews from any major outlets. Our blurbs were modest, mostly from translation-focused websites. We didn’t make any best-of list. I got a royalty statement months later and sales didn’t look good, even for a translation from an indie press. But I was happy: I’d managed to bring a novel from a new writer from rural Brazil into the English language. And this was the first book I’d translated from the part of the country where I grew up, in the Northeast of Brazil, written in the dialect of my childhood, after years of unsuccessfully pitching books from this area to publishers.
I got busy with other things. I translated other books, traveled, finished revising my own novel, let go of any expectations I had for this translation I was so proud of. So it came as a total surprise when the book was longlisted for the National Book Award for Translated Literature in September. Then, against all odds, it was shortlisted alongside some of my favorite books of the year the next month. Publishing is unpredictable. Quiet novels sometimes need time to find their readership, whispering through all the noise. Literature requires patience.
Stênio booked his second international trip ever, we selected an excerpt to read at the Finalists Reading, and I ordered a floor-length black dress online for the ceremony on November 15. It was a last-minute trip and I asked for extensions on my current projects so I could make it to New York. We won the award that night, right before the finalists made a collective statement asking for a ceasefire in Gaza. I carried the 10-pound solid bronze statue (cast by the same foundry that makes the Oscars) to the dance floor, and the weight of it helped make it feel real.
We got tremendously lucky. I’m overjoyed and overwhelmed, still processing all that’s happened this week as I sit at my desk with flowers and balloons from dear friends. For now: I hope this award will help bring this heartbreaking book about poverty and homophobia to those who need it most, and to anyone looking for a home in language. It’s coming to you a couple of years later than we expected, yes, but I promise it was worth the wait.
Writer-translator joy and love. Photo #2 and #3 credits go to the brilliant and legendary Beowulf Sheehan.
Parabéns, Bruna! Desde que a conheci num seminário on-line, nunca mais me afastei do seu trabalho. Você é uma grande inspiração. Não vejo a hora de ler seu romance, um abraço!
I knew all of this already, so why am I teary? Your journey as a translator and writer inspires me so much. Congratulations again!