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Translated Fiction Review Roundup A collection of recent translated fiction has been reviewed, showcasing the diversity and complexity of global literature. The reviews include: 'Sisters in Yellow' by Mieko Kawakami Sisters in Yellow by Mieko Kawakami, translated by Laurel Taylor and Hitomi Yoshio (Picador, £16.99) Kawakami’s latest opens with a bang, as narrator Hana learns that her old friend Kimiko has been charged with abduction. This MacGuffin takes us to their friendship in late-1990s Tokyo, when teen Hana and the older woman open a bar called Lemon: “Yellow attracts money.” But it’s a turbulent ride and soon Hana is in a world of organised crime. “The world is crazy. I feel like I’m living in a manga.” She’s not the only one, and you need an appetite for Kawakami’s style, which prefers to explore rather than explain – people come and go, buildings burn down, cancer is diagnosed, almost at random – but the relentless rush means there’s no time to get bored. At its best – as in a scene where Hana’s unreliable mother wants to borrow 2m yen for investment in lingerie that helps “your spine and organs move back to where they’re supposed to be” – this is a story both absurd and horrifying. 'All Flesh' by Ananda Devi All Flesh by Ananda Devi, translated by Jeffrey Zuckerman (Pushkin, £12.99) “Forgive me for starting this story with bodily, unpalatable origins.” You may as well – it’s all like that. In an unnamed European country, a schoolgirl “born with no urge but to consume” is getting bigger and bigger. “My gut, my ass, my thighs – they were all set on reaching the farthest corners of the world.” She blames her gluttony on the need to silence the voice of her dead twin sister, who was “absorbed into my tissues” in the womb. She hates school, where other kids mock her, as though her own self-disgust weren’t enough. After a blackly comic scene where she gets stuck in her bedroom doorframe like “an uncooperative cork”, she falls in love with the lonely carpenter who arrives to widen the door – but there are more twists to come. This powerful story is deeply physical, but driven by a compelling voice describing the torment of a girl who is “the psychical mirror of our time … immoderation made manifest”. 'The White Desert' by Luis López Carrasco The White Desert by Luis López Carrasco, translated by Rosalind Harvey (Granta, £14.99) This unpredictable book, comprising five linked stories about a Spanish couple, opens with the end of the world and gets weirder from there. A balloon debate about a post-apocalyptic scenario turns nasty when one participant pulls a knife, or thinks he does. A plane crash-lands on an island. “Can [we] go and get our luggage … Lots of people have, you know, soiled themselves.” What links the scenes is a sense of disconnection in our connected world, but the book subverts expectations: when a group of people celebrating New Year’s Eve go missing, it turns out to be a game of hide and seek. Footnotes peppered throughout suggest we’re viewing all this from the future (“Emirates was a well-known passenger airline …”), and discovering what the white desert is turns everything on its head. For readers who like to do their own joining up, and who want a playful, original take on our precarious lives, this is a thought-provoking treat. 'The Home of the Drowned' by Elin Anna Labba The Home of the Drowned by Elin Anna Labba, translated by Elizabeth Clark Wessel (Harvill, £16.99) “You could have waited, you bastards.” In 1942 Lapland, a village occupied by the semi-nomadic Sámi people is flooded by a new hydroelectric plant’s dam. One family watch as their goahti (peat-covered hut) disappears under the water. “It wasn’t the nicest goahti,” says Ánne. “No, but it was mine,” says her sister Rávdná. When Rávdná wants to build a house to replace it, the authorities refuse permission: the Sámi way of life has been rejected but alternatives are not permitted. A local newspaper half-heartedly offers to publicise their case, but “we receive a lot of angry letters if we use any foreign words”. When the government tells local people the new dam “will lift us out of poverty and injustice”, the words reek with irony. This intimate story of infuriating discrimination is, Labba says, based on real events in Sweden.

The Prize Under Scrutiny: AI Allegations SurfaceA prestigious Commonwealth short‑story prize for the Caribbean region has been thrust into controversy after an AI detection platform suggested the winning entry, The Serpent in the Grove, may have been generated by artificial intelligence. Both the Commonwealth Foundation and Granta have said they are reviewing the claims but have not reached a definitive verdict.Detection Tools Flag the Winning StoryProfessor Ethan Mollick of Wharton cited the AI detector Pangram, which labeled the story as AI‑generated. The same tool highlighted stylistic markers such as “not x, but y” constructions that are commonly associated with large‑language‑model output. Granta also ran the text through the AI model Claude, which gave an equivocal result – suggesting the work was probably not pure AI but also not entirely human.Numbers Behind the DebateAuthor Jamir Nazir is a 61‑year‑old writer from Trinidad and Tobago with limited prior publications.The story was announced as the winner on Saturday, 15 May 2026.AI detector Pangram reports a confidence level above its internal threshold for AI‑generated text (exact figure not disclosed).Implications for Literary Awards and the AI‑Detection MarketThe episode adds to a string of recent incidents – from a New York Times freelance journalist’s AI‑written review to Hachette’s cancellation of a horror novel over AI concerns – that are driving demand for AI‑detection services. The Commonwealth Foundation noted it does not use AI checkers on unpublished submissions due to consent and ownership issues, underscoring a trust‑based approach that may be untenable as detection tools improve.What Lies Ahead for AI‑Generated LiteratureExperts predict a “continuous technical arms race” between AI models, detection algorithms, and writers who adapt their use of AI. Until a reliable, consent‑respecting detection method emerges, literary bodies may have to rely on author attestations and manual scrutiny, potentially reshaping judging criteria and award policies across the industry.

Andrew Durbin’s new double biography, The Wonderful World that Almost Was, brings back to life the intertwined careers and love of painter‑sculptor Paul Thek and photographer Peter Hujar, two once‑celebrated figures of New York’s 1960s‑70s art scene. Key Developments Chronology spans 1954 (their early years as soul‑searching twentysomethings) to 1975 (a decade before both died of AIDS). Durbin interweaves personal letters, notebooks, and archival photographs to reconstruct the night in 1960 when Thek and Hujar first met. Thek’s “meat pieces” and beeswax body replicas, which shocked the mid‑1960s art world, are detailed alongside Hujar’s iconic images such as Orgasmic Man (1969). The book emphasizes their open, unapologetic gay relationship, contrasting it with the era’s more hidden queer lives. Published by Granta at £25, the volume arrives alongside a recent photo‑letter collection and a biopic starring Ben Whishaw. Why This Matters Restores visibility to two artists whose contributions shaped New York’s “cool” aesthetic but were erased from mainstream art histories. Offers a rare pre‑AIDS narrative that focuses on creative agency rather than disease, enriching LGBTQ cultural memory. Provides contemporary artists and scholars with concrete examples of how authenticity of vision can outweigh commercial success. Encourages publishers and museums to revisit other marginalized figures, potentially diversifying exhibition programmes. Expert Insight Durbin, himself a novelist, uses a lyrical yet investigative style that fills gaps where letters are missing, allowing readers to feel the immediacy of a 1960s bar encounter. By juxtaposing Thek’s “cuddly and sensual” demeanor with Hujar’s “dignified and remote” presence, the biography illustrates how contrasting personalities can fuel mutual artistic growth. Crucially, the book resists framing the duo solely as tragic AIDS victims; instead, it celebrates their relentless pursuit of artistic integrity—evident when they would “go hungry rather than compromise.” This reframing aligns with a broader scholarly shift toward viewing queer artists as agents of cultural change rather than passive victims. What Happens Next Anticipated museum retrospectives of Thek’s sculptural work and Hujar’s photography may be scheduled, leveraging the renewed public interest generated by the book. Academic courses on queer art history are likely to incorporate Durbin’s research, prompting further scholarship on overlooked mid‑century creators. The biopic’s modest box‑office performance could spark discussions about the market viability of LGBTQ‑focused art films. Granta may commission similar double biographies, signaling a publishing trend toward paired artist narratives.