From Yale University Press | Rosa Mistika by Euphrase Kezilahabi, translated from the Swahili by Jay Boss Rubin | Fiction | 176 pages | ISBN 9780300276558 | US$18.00

What the publisher says: “Rosa Mistika is a radical narrative exploration of womanhood, maternal love, agency, and authority—and the first-ever Swahili novel to address issues of domestic violence, sexual coercion, and abortion. Through the story of a young woman and her community it poses the enduring question: To what degree are we responsible for the choices we make, and to what degree are we acted upon by forces outside our control?”

What M. A. Orthofer at The Complete Review says:  “Somewhat unpolished—and very dark in its resolution—Rosa Mistika is nevertheless more than just an interesting novel of its time and place, and it is good to see it available in English translation.”

What I say: In her introduction to this edition of Rosa Mistika, Annmarie Drury writes that the book “delivers much of its social critique in a realist mode.” That’s a good summary of the tone Kezilahabi takes here, via Rubin’s translation. This is a novel about a young woman facing the hypocrisies and hazards of her society; it’s a social novel that occasionally ventures into more stylized territory, particularly in its bleak ending.

From Columbia University Press | The Red Wind Howls by Tsering Döndrup, translated from the Tibetan by Christopher Peacock | Fiction | 320 pages | ISBN 9780231213738 | US$25.00

What the publisher says: “A remarkable novel by one of Tibet’s foremost authors, The Red Wind Howls is a courageous and gripping portrayal of Tibetan suffering under Mao’s regime. The story delves deep into forbidden history, spanning the famine of the Great Leap Forward, the Cultural Revolution, and, most taboo of all, the 1958 Amdo rebellion when Tibetans rose in armed revolt against the Chinese state.”

What Tony’s Reading List says: “The Red Wind Howls covers several decades of Tibetan-Chinese history, but the oral nature of the work means that the story is deliberately ragged at times. Far from being a linear narrative, it jumps back and forth in time, showing pre-invasion life and glimpses of the future (where karma is to be seen biting some of the characters squarely in the backside).”

What I say: Whether it’s through the blinkered worldview of the enthusiastic Maoists who clash with the group of Tibetans in this book or the depictions of more everyday forms of corruption that bedevil characters who should know better, The Red Wind Howls has the makings of a grand tragedy. Tsering Döndrup’s novel juxtaposes the epic scope of history with a bleaker view of human interaction, and it’s this tension that propels the book for much of its length.

From Penguin Classics | The Penguin Book of Polish Short Stories, edited by Antonia Lloyd-Jones, translated from the Polish by Tul’si (Tuesday) Bhambry, Stanley Bill, Sean Gasper Bye, Jennifer Croft, Bill Johnston, Madeline Levine, Antonia Lloyd-Jones, Eliza Marciniak, W. Martin, Jess Jensen Mitchell, Ursula Phillips, and Anna Zaranko | Fiction | 592 pages | ISBN 9780241563397 | UK£30.00

What the publisher says: “Witty, surprising and sparkling, this anthology is an essential exploration of Polish literature. Its thirty-nine superb stories run the length of the literal and imaginative creation of Poland, from 1918 (when Poland regained its independence after 123 years of colonization by the neighboring empires) to the present.”

What I say: Covering a century of literature, this massive anthology covers a wide range of styles, tones, and themes. There are some big names here, including Witold Gombrowicz, Bruno Schulz, Stanisław Lem, and Olga Tokarczuk—the last of whom provides the book’s preface. The decision to group stories into thematic groups (“Surrealists,” “Men Behaving Badly,” and “Women Behaving Badly” are among the categories) creates welcome literary dialogue among these works. Readers with an interest in the larger region will likely find the biographical notes and other details from some of these stories invaluable.

From New Directions | I Found Myself by Naguib Mahfouz, translated from the Arabic by Hisham Matar | Fiction | 160 pages | ISBN 9780811231022 | US$16.95

What the publisher says: “These sketches and stories are tersely haunting miniatures. Recurring female characters may embody Cairo herself, especially one much-missed lover from Mahfouz’s youth. Friends, family, rulers of Egypt, and many beautiful women all float through these affecting, brief tales dreamed by a mind too fertile ever to rest, even in slumber.”

What Publishers Weekly says: “The dreams in this elegant collection from Egyptian Nobel laureate Mahfouz (1911–2006) reveal hints of regret over losing a former lover and fears of repression, all tinged with the wistfulness of old age.”

What I say: Not many writers can pull off an accomplished book of dreams. Thankfully, Naguib Mahfouz is one who absolutely can, and the short prose works collected in this book provide a welcome glimpse into his psyche. Some of these stories have an allegorical quality to them; others play out like fables or quietly growing revelations.

From Charco Press | The World We Saw Burning by Renato Cisneros, translated from the Spanish by Fionn Petch | Fiction | 270 pages | ISBN 9781917260084 | US$17.95

What the publisher says: “Matías Roeder, a young man with an Italian father, German mother, and a sense of stagnation he is desperate to escape from, hops a boat from Peru to New York with vague plans but a firm intention to never go home again. This familiar story of migration—the odd jobs, the romances, the Bowery bars—goes sideways when Japan bombs Pearl Harbor and he joins the US Air Force as part of a bombing crew.”

What Barbara Bohr at Tertulia says: “[M]igration is an experience the author shares with all characters in his book. By and by, all of them become uprooted, an effect Cisneros calls ‘desterritorialización,’ in the sense of losing the possibilities of claiming space and its corresponding cultural frames.”

What I say: The World We Saw Burning is a fascinatingly structured novel, and I’ll be thinking about the narratives it winds together for a long time. In placing a tale of cosmopolitan dislocation alongside a more harrowing wartime narrative, Cisneros creates a story that has plenty to say about borders, national identity, and the concept of “home.”

From Bitter Lemon | Red Water by Jurica Pavičić, translated from the Croatian by Matt Robinson | Fiction | 320 pages | ISBN 9781916725157 | US$17.95

What the publisher says: “Silva is beautiful and cheeky, she has many admirers; but the police investigation reveals a more complex young woman than her family knew—a high school student who dabbles in drugs and deals in heroin. But Silva’s brother loves her and stubbornly continues the search for her amid the upheavals of Croatian society.”

What Isabella Zhou at Foreword Reviews says: “Spikes of emotion punctuate the book’s progression, as when Silva’s father feels the impulse to beat Silva’s roommate to death after her callous declaration ‘She had it coming.’ As the story progresses, the pervasive atmosphere of loss and alienation intensifies.”

What I say: It isn’t easy to describe Jurica Pavičić’s Red Water. On one level, it’s the kind of book that’s centered around the years-long process of uncovering the truth behind a crime—in this case, the disappearance of a young woman. But given the time frame Pavičić is working with here and the Croatian history that took place during that period, Red Water is also something less quantifiable: a work about the way human stories can get lost in societal conflicts.

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