It should come as no surprise to anyone that this issue is dedicated to translation. Translation has been part of LALT’s identity since the beginning; we are, after all, a multilingual magazine. Even though this is seldom said out loud, literary translation forms part of the peerless society that makes up any literature written in any language. And this issue hopes to show it.
“The translator is alone and is not alone; he is something more than a reader and something less than an author,” writes Juan Villoro in his essay “El traductor.” Practicing his craft behind the scenes, almost in secret, the translator is the most attentive of readers—playing that unseen character known as the “proto-reader”—and, at the same time, his voice only exists as the result of another voice: one that is, at first, alien to him. In his way, he is an author too; nonetheless, the literary world is always hesitant to grant him the credit he deserves. Without translations, we would be doomed to read in just one language, our own, and to remain forever ignorant of other ways to see and express the world. We would not know that we are not unique, nor how different we are from one another. Translation pulls us out of isolation through love. We get curious, we read, and one day we are in Russia, the next in the Amazon rainforest, in Poland or in China. Without translation, our intellectual—and, it is no exaggeration to say, spiritual—life would be frightfully bleak.
At Latin American Literature Today, we have played an important role in disseminating Latin American literature in translation. For that very reason, in this issue, our cover feature is dedicated to U.S. translator Robin Myers, whose career has been widely recognized and very prolific to boot (by the end of 2025, she will have published translations of twenty-five books of prose and twenty of poetry). Four authors previously translated by Robin, from different parts of Latin America, write here about their relationship with her and her work, discuss her translations, and express their profound gratitude to her. As a happy coincidence, this dossier was prepared by a fellow translator: Arthur Malcolm Dixon. Every time an author is published in translation, we should feel glad: a piece of the world, as miniscule as it may be, has come a little closer to us.
This issue’s second dossier is dedicated to one of Latin America’s most legendary figures: Mafalda herself, the infinitely original creation of Argentine cartoonist Quino. Those of us who grew up with her and her memorable gang—Felipe, Manolito, Susanita, Miguelito, Libertad, Guille, and the unforgettable tortoise Burocracia—know how important she is, and how present she remains in our minds. The reason behind this dossier is no mere whim or anniversary, but rather a literary happening: this year, U.S. press Archipelago Books published the first volume of Mafalda in English, translated by Irish translator Frank Wynne.
Mafalda is, perhaps, more up-to-date and necessary than ever. In an interview for this LALT feature, Wynne tells us that Mafalda comes from a world “not very different from the one in which many of us, in many countries, find ourselves today.” It’s true: the world seems to be returning to the same old evils as ever, and this precocious, curious, and inquisitive little girl is here to question us with her clear-eyed intelligence. She has countless admirers: García Márquez saw each of Quino’s books as a form of happiness, Umberto Eco called her “a hero of our time,” and Samanta Schweblin has said she first came face to face with politics and philosophy while reading Mafalda. The list is endless. In my own case, this new encounter with Mafalda proves the obvious: to read her is to fall in love at first sight.
Our literary contests are still in good health. In this thirty-fifth issue of LALT, we celebrate the winner of of LALT’s third literary essay contest: Mexican educator, linguist, and researcher Xóchitl Tavera, who took first place with her essay “Gleaner of the Miniscule: On Rosario Castellanos.” To quote the prize jury’s verdict: “‘‘Gleaner of the Miniscule: On Rosario Castellanos’ is an essay that, as the author tells us herself, ‘returns to Rosario Castellanos to rethink writing as an act of gleaning: crouching down, picking up, and giving sense.’ […] Tavera describes certain key points of the creative practice and the intense biography of Rosario Castellanos. […] Also of note is her flexible, intimate perspective, with which she seamlessly joins together quotes and references related to Castellanos along with her own intellectual concerns and her own vocation as a writer. In rethinking the life and work of Rosario Castellanos, Xóchitl Tavera reveals the effective, clear poetics of an author who is still seeking a definitive space in Latin American narrative.” We are happy for Xóchitl Tavera and we congratulate her on her admirable work.
This issue comes complete with a number of translation previews. You’ll find Ecuadorian writer Gabriela Alemán translated by Dick Cluster; Juan José Saer of Argentina translated by Helen R. Lane; and, from Peru, Giancarlo Huapaya translated by Ryan Greene. We have interviews with translators, too. Argentine poet Diana Bellesi writes about translating poetry and her countless readings, from Denise Levertov to Hilda Hilst. Carlos Fortea of Spain, who is responsible for the monumental translation of Reiner Stach’s biography of Franz Kafka (Kafka: Los primeros años; Los años de las decisiones; Los años del conocimiento), for which he won the twentieth edition of the Ángel Crespo Translation Prize, has also translated writers such as Stefan Zweig, Joseph Roth, and Thomas Sparr. In his interview for LALT, carried out by Eduardo Suárez Fernández-Miranda, Fortea speaks of his craft as a translator and tells us: “The translator writes. He writes in his own language, and as he does so, he knows he is going to have to push it to its limits in order to say what another, different language says. The translator’s job is to tauten language without breaking it.” This sentence is not as paradoxical as it may seem at first sight; a poet might say the same thing of her own craft.
And so we present our thirty-fifth issue, with translations, previews, and interviews, but also with reflections on this craft that make us think. We hope they will lead you to read books in translation as if holding in your hands a being raised with a great deal of love and care. In a previous conversation for Latin American Literature Today, Robin Myers told us, “I approach translation as a cover artist” (LALT No. 22). What more can we say? Little or nothing. Her words speak for themselves, although it is worth noting, as a personal comment, that Robin is one of very few translators who translate poetry from Spanish to English. This is no small merit; it is a rarity, but, above all, a privilege for the Spanish language.
Translated by Arthur Malcolm Dixon
