Translated Accounts, James Kelman's first novel since How late it was, how late, is a groundbreaking and verbally dazzling vision of an unnamed nation under military rule, where the state is unchecked and liberties are few or nonexistent. Through fifty-four "accounts" by an unknown number of unidentified individuals, translated from an unknown language into sometimes only approximate English, a harrowing narrative develops. Here is life in a totalitarian land, where privacy is nonexistent and existence unstable at best. Filtering the dark visions of Franz Kafka through the verbal brilliance of Samuel Beckett, Kelman has written a novel that is often shocking, yet surprisingly poignant, and totally unforgettable.
Translated Accounts, James Kelman's first novel since How late it was, how late, is a groundbreaking and verbally dazzling vision of an unnamed nation under military rule, where the state is unchecked and liberties are few or nonexistent. Through fifty-four "accounts" by an unknown number of unidentified individuals, translated from an unknown language into sometimes only approximate English, a harrowing narrative develops. Here is life in a totalitarian land, where privacy is nonexistent and existence unstable at best. Filtering the dark visions of Franz Kafka through the verbal brilliance of Samuel Beckett, Kelman has written a novel that is often shocking, yet surprisingly poignant, and totally unforgettable.