For Antigua and Barbuda, I read Annie John by Jamaica Kincaid. Antigua and Barbuda is another small country with a population under 100,000, so when I googled “authors from Antigua and Barbuda,” I held my breath, expecting another Andorra situation. When the search results included Jamaica Kincaid, my brain did launched into happy cartwheels. I know Jamaica Kincaid! We read Annie John in my English class in ninth grade!
At the time, I didn’t like Annie John. In fact, I hated it, but that was in 1993 or 1994, so I figured it was time to give Jamaica Kincaid another chance. I considered reading something other than Annie John, by my inner voice clamored for a reread of the coming-of-age story I despised thirty years ago.
I’m so glad I did.
In 2024 at the age of forty-five and with a daughter almost eleven years old (I read Annie John in January), I absolutely and unequivocally ADORED Annie John. I loved the exploration of an intense mother-daughter dynamic and equally intense adolescent friendships. I loved Kincaid’s writing style. And I loved the glimpse into life in Antigua.
Why did I hate Annie John so much when I was in ninth grade? I can’t recall a specific reason, but I have this vague memory of discomfort while reading it. Maybe the coming-of-age story hit too close to my own inner struggles as I myself was coming-of-age. Or maybe I was just extra annoyed with my English teacher that week. But whatever the reason for my initial disgust, it’s so lovely to see how my relationship with this book has changed. Instead of being “that awful book we had to read in school,” it’s now “that lovely novella that gave me a glimpse into my daughter’s inner world.”
Once I finish my journey around the world, I’ll definitely be returning to Kincaid’s other works.
For Argentina, I read Eva Perón: A Biography by Alicia Dujovne Ortiz. This book gave me a rich glimpse into not only Evita’s life, but the story of Argentina, and it humbled me, making me realize how little I learned about the world as a history major in college.
Why I Chose This Book:
If you google authors from Argentina, Jorge Luis Borges usually tops the list. I’ve read Borges before and adore his work, so I was very tempted to read him again for this quest. But since I already read Borges, I wanted to try reading something by a female Argentinian author. While I was at a children’s museum with my kids, I googled and searched for a female author and though there were many options, I could not find any English translations. Then I thought, if I can’t read a book by an Argentinean female, maybe I can read a book about one? Eva Perón immediately popped into my head, and boom, I quickly found a biography about Eva that was written by a female journalist from Argentina.
The Book Itself:
This is a chunky tome with a lot of detailed history about Argentina. I learned A LOT, and I felt like I was back in the college library stacks, meticulously gathering information for a research paper. It’s dense, packed with political and social history. I’m glad I picked this biography, but if you’ve never read Borges, he’s an amazing pick for anyone on a Read Around the World quest.
Eva Perón:
As I started this biography, my knowledge about Eva Perón was limited to the musical Evita, specifically the movie version with Madonna and Antonio Banderas. (Spoiler alert: Evita never danced the waltz with Ché). Not surprisingly, the musical portrays a romantic mythical version of the Eva story. Eva and her husband Perón hustled to craft this mythology, destroying documents and even films that starred Evita when she was an actress. (Of course, you could also argue she never stopped being an actress…) For example, the musical has an entire sequence that shows how Eva made her way to Buenos Aires, but actually, no one knows how she got there. Did she go with the tango singer? Alone? With her mom or an older sister? Did she go, come back, and then try again? Eva’s origin story is shrouded in a lot of mystery.
Argentina And My US-Centric Education:
As I read this book, I was astonished by how little I knew about Argentina. I was a freaking history major! But alas, I took classes that focused on the United States and Europe. I really only knew this much about South America: (1) it took a long time to sail a ship around its tip so the Panama Canal was kind of a big deal; (2) at some point, the pope drew an imaginary line on a map and divided South America between Spain and Portugal; and (3) the Mayans were pretty awesome.
But Argentina’s history is so much more complicated than that! Now, if I sit down with someone and they ask me to tell them about Argentina’s history, I won’t be able to give them a precise description with dates. I’d say something like, there was so much upheaval and scheming and corruption and I had no idea that so many Nazis fled there. Obviously, I’m not going to be teaching any courses on Argentina in the near future! But I now know enough to say, There is a lot to learn about Argentina and I’d like to learn more about the history of the world that goes beyond the events that directly involved the United States.
That’s my big takeaway from this biography about Eva Perón: the world is complicated, interesting, and messy, and there’s a lot more to modern history than the stories of the United States. Or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say, there’s a lot more to history than the version typically taught in U.S. classrooms.
For Belgium, I read I Who Have Never Known Men by Jacqueline Harpman. In this story, forty women are locked in a prison cell in an underground bunker, guarded by silent men. No one remembers how or why they came to be imprisoned.
I do not want to say too much about this book for fear of spoiling it. I will say that I thoroughly enjoyed it, and that Harpman made me think a lot about what it means to be human. I’m still wondering how to classify this work–speculative? post-apocalyptic? sci-fi? feminist? literary?–and I suppose that is one of the reasons this book made me think so much.
The word that kept popping into my head while reading I Who Have Never Known Men was “spare.” The author gave us just enough details to imagine the characters and setting, and that was it. There was nothing lush or cozy about this book. I felt like I was right there, in the underground bunker, baffled by silent guards in a world closed off from seasons, time, and humanity.
When people ask how I’m picking my books for my Read Around the World quest, I often say that first I’m looking for an author from the country and second I’m looking for books set in that country. Now that I’ve finished Belgium, I can fine tune my response.
First, I’m looking for an author from the country, hopefully someone who lived there for a significant amount of time. Then, if I have a lot of choices, I’m looking for the book that calls to me. Sometimes, the book that calls to me will be set in the country. But sometimes, like with Belgium, I feel called to read something set in an underground bunker with some strong post-apocalyptic vibes. I’m exploring the world with this project but I’m also expanding my reading horizons to discover authors that were not on my radar.
I’m so glad that my Read Around the World quest broughtthis book into my life. I can’t wait to convince a friend to read it so we can obsess about it together.
For Angola, I read The Return of the Water Spirit by Pepetela, which is the nom de plume of Artur Carlos Maurício Pestana. Pepetela was born in Angola in 1941, left for Portugal in 1958 to study engineering, spent time in France and then Algeria, and returned to Angola at the end of its war for independence in the 1970s.
The Return of the WaterSpirit is a novella that takes place in Luanda, the capital of Angola in the late 1980s as the newly independent country abandoned socialism in favor of capitalism. Buildings in the city have mysteriously begun to crumble and fall, but anyone inside floats safely to the ground.
The story is a scathing critique of capitalism that draws upon African mythology. It was a quick enjoyable read that gave me a lot of insights into life in Angola in the 1980s, and I’d recommend it to anyone on a Read Around the World quest or any bookworm interested in a modern-day fable that might challenge their preconceived notions about the world.
For Andorra, I read The Teacher of Cheops by Albert Salvadó. Andorra is a tiny landlocked country located between France and Spain. As of 2023, its population was about 85,000 souls–that’s 50,000 fewer people than the city of Pasadena, California, where I live. Still, I hoped I could find a book that gave me a glimpse into life in Andorra from the perspective of an Andorran-born writer.
Spoiler alert: I could not.
I found one Andorran-born writer whose works have been translated into English, but he writes historical fiction. I read through the descriptions of his available works, and it didn’t seem like any of them were located in Andorra.
I did find plenty of books written by English speakers who had traveled to Andorra or even lived there, but none of them were from Andorra. For example, the chef Eric Ripert has a memoir, 32 Yolks, and he lived in Andorra for several years during his childhood. Could I read that instead? I considered this option for several days, but in the end, it just didn’t feel right for my quest. Eric Ripert is FRENCH, not Andorran, and I’ve already read several books by French authors. I am trying to break away from my tendency to read books written by authors from a limited part of the globe, and choosing 32 Yolks for Andorra felt like cheating.
Look. I’m not saying I’m entirely above cheating during this project. But cheating when I’m only on the As? Maybe when I get to the Qs, but Andorra is way too early to cheat with a French chef’s memoir.
I then briefly wondered if I could read something in Catalan? Like something really short? Hey, I took Spanish for four years in high school, and yes, one of those teachers is from Lithuania and the other is a nice Jewish girl from Ohio, but yo hablo un pocito de nevermind. If I want to finish this quest in my lifetime, I have to stick to books written in or translated into English.
I resolved to read something by Albert Salvadó and chose The Teacher of Cheops because I’ve always been fascinated by ancient Egypt, and the book was…
well…
It wasn’t my favorite.
It’s about an accountant in ancient Egypt, and I didn’t think it was possible to write a boring story about ancient Egypt, but apparently there is at least one way.
The translation is also appalling. A translator is credited, and it’s highly possible he let Google do the work. On the bright side, I now have a deep appreciation for the skill, time and talent involved in translating works into English. (Alberto, if you are reading this, please hire a different translator for your next book.)
There are some terrible sex scenes (to the point of at least being humorous) and some cringey misogny, but hey, at least I read a book by an Andorran author. Right?
For Belarus, I picked Secondhand Time: The Last of the Soviets by Svetlana Alexievich AND I CANNOT CONTAIN MY EXCITEMENT ABOUT THIS BOOK, GAH! IT WAS SO FREAKING GOOD!!!!
I picked Svetlana Alexievich as my author for Belarus because (1) although she was born in Ukraine, she spent most of her life in the Soviet Union and Belarus and she is a citizen of Belarus and (2) she won the 2015 Nobel Prize in Literature for “her polyphonic writings, a monument to suffering and courage in our time.” She was the first author to win the Nobel Prize for non-fiction in a half-century! The New Yorker has a great article about her work.
Secondhand Time is an oral history and unlike anything I’ve ever read. It feels like Alexievich has invented a new genre. I majored in history in college, and I loved my history classes at Dartmouth, but while reading Secondhand Time, I kept wishing my classes had included more of this sort of history. The history I studied in college was the stuff of dates and documents, battles and elections, and the men (and occasional woman) in charge. This book presented the stories of regular people struggling to live in the former Soviet Union. Instead of learning about the weapons used at a battle, I learned about how the battles affected those living in war-torn countries. Instead of reading treaties, I learned about the artists and engineer who gathered around kitchen tables to about Stalin. Instead of memorizing dates, I absorbed emotions. And finally, instead of walking away with one central thesis, I came away with a kaleidoscope of experiences that showed the vastness of Soviet life and the complexity of responses to its demise.
Secondhand Time weighs in at 470 pages, and since it’s nonfiction, I guessed it would take me a month to read. I also thought it would be too difficult to read at night, so I would read it in tandem with some lighthearted fiction.
NOPE.
I could not stop reading this book. I read it every moment possible, including while lounging at an indoor water park with my kids, and I was sad when it was done.
I really can’t do justice to this book in a blog post. A lot of stories took place in Russia, but there were stories throughout the former Soviet Union, including Azerbaijan and Belarus and even some ex-pats living in the United States. Alexievich unflinchingly gathered the stories of prisoners, diehard Communists, refugees, orphans, and victims of domestic violence. There were people hoping for a new Stalin and people who told of the horrors they endured under Stalin’s regime. There were elderly folks left destitute when communism fell, and people who felt liberated by its end.
Here are a few impressions from Secondhand Time:
All the salami.
For members of the former Soviet Union, salami means something I can’t comprehend, but I quickly noticed how often references to salami came up in the stories. It’s like a national obsession!
They bought us with candy wrappers, display cases full of salami, colorful packing.
Secondhand Time, pg. 111 (on the betrayal of communism).
We believed that salami was spontaneously generated by freedom.
Secondhand time, pg. 287 (about the past).
Even today, many people want to go back to the Soviet Union, except with tons of salami.
secondhand time, pg. 463.
There was a lot of nostalgia for the “kitchen generation” when folks in the Soviet Union gathered in their kitchens and discussed politics, communism, books, philosophy and art.
There were train stations, bitter winters, and refugees with nowhere to go as their homelands are torn apart by war in the aftermath of the Soviet Union’s end. I don’t often cry while reading*, but I teared up many times while reading Secondhand Time. I cried for the suicide stories. The orphans. The people living in poverty I can’t imagine. I’m so grateful that Alexievich gathered these stories and wove them together so I could bring this world into my heart.
I cannot say enough good things about Secondhand Time. I will definitely be reading everything Alexievich has written and seeking out more books of this kind. And though its early days in my Read Around the World quest, this very well might be the book that leaves the deepest impression on my soul.
*It’s how I’m wired. I just don’t cry that often. I wish I cried more often because when I do cry, it’s such a cathartic release of pent up emotions. Perhaps there’s a seminar I can take…
For Algeria, I read Fantasia: An Algerian Calvacade by Assia Djebar, and I adored this pick.
The book starts with a helpful glossary, and then an even more helpful timeline that starts in 1510 (the beginning of Turkish rule in Algeria) and ends in 1968 (six years after Algeria granted independence from France). I consulted the glossary and timeline at least a hundred times each while reading the book, and both deepened my reading experience.
Djebar described this work as “a preparation for an autobiography” and the book explores a lot of fascinating themes: the differences between writing in Arabic (her mother tongue) and French (both father tongue and step-mother tongue); growing up in a progressive home in a traditional society that has been colonized; love and marriage; and the complicated feelings that arise while living abroad.
The book alternated between autobiographical fiction and historical non-fiction, the latter chapters delving into Algeria’s history of conquest and colonization. It was unlike anything I’ve ever read. I’m a writer myself, and I’ve read so much about the hero’s journey, I’ve come to believe that it’s the spine for any good story. NOPE! This book did not follow any traditional Western storytelling conventions, and yet I was dazzled by how this book defied the expectations of the hero’s journey while still delivering a beautiful and moving book.
(Note to self: keep an open mind about storytelling conventions!!! Remember that the convention serves the story, not the other way around.)
Fantasia is the first book in a quartet. When I finished it, I really wanted to dive into the next installment, but in the interest of maintaining momentum on my Read Around the World quest, I continued on to Andorra.
For Albania, I read The Doll by Ismail Kadare, who was the winner of the inaugural Man Booker International Prize in 2005. This was actually my first stop on My Read Around the World quest because I had already read The Kite Runner for Afghanistan and I thought “hey, that counts” but The Doll was so interesting, I realized I wanted to read a book for every country in the world in order, regardless of whether I had previously read a book for that country. If I’m going to expand my mind, I might as well expand it as much as possible, right?
The Doll is an autobiographical novel, the titular doll being the author’s mother. As I started the book, I resented the author’s depiction of his mother. It struck me as misogynistic and cruel. Maybe I was a bit sensitive because I’m a mother and I see things from the mom’s perspective these days? But about midway through the book, it occurred to me that Kadare’s depiction of his “mother” was actually an analogy for Albania, the author’s motherland. Once I had that epiphany, I was able to enjoy The Doll much more and by the time I finished, I wanted to read more of Kadare’s works.
This was such an interesting book to start my Around the World journey because the author writes about becoming a writer in a communist country. He attended a writer’s school in Moscow, where they were lectured against “the Joyce-Kafka-Proust trio” and “learned that we must not write like them; while at nights, tortured by doubt, we could hardly resist the temptation of writing precisely in their manner.” Kadare, The Doll, pg. 85-86.
Although the book is a fleeting 175 pages, it really brought me into the world of communist Albania. I felt like I was inside the author’s childhood home in a town with steep hills and hostile mother-in-laws, and the passages about learning to write under a communist regime really got my neurons firing.
When I ordered this book, I felt very uncertain about my Read Around the World Quest. It seemed too bold, too big, too self-indulgent. But The Doll expanded my horizons so much that by the time I reached its end, I was fully committed to read a book by an author from every country in the world.
The world is vast and full of so many different experiences. I loved experiencing it from Kadare’s perspective for 175 pages, and I plan to read more of his books when I finish this challenge.
April 5, 2024 – Picking The Book: My kids and I spent the past two days at Great Wolf Lodge in Anaheim. It’s a hotel with a massive indoor water park and we had a blast. (Nathan joined us on day one but then went home because 1) he prefers sleeping at home and 2) he has that pesky job thing.) Today the kids and I have been recovering at home. They rotted in front of the t.v. with mindless YouTube videos whileI mostly lounged on an armchair, reading Secondhand Time, my pick for Belarus. While reading, I made a decision: ‘Tis Time To Gather The C Books!
First up: Cabo Verde. BookTok recommended two books: Chiquinho: A Novel of Cabo Verde, by Baltazar Lopes and The Last Will & Testament of Senhor da Silva Araújo by Germano Almeida. Goodreads also pointed me to The Madwoman of Serrano by Dina Salústio. All three were available on Amazon! Not bad for a country with a population of approximately 600k.
Ordinarily, I gravitate toward books written by female authors, but this time, after reading the books descriptions and dipping into the reviews, I felt drawn to Chiquinho: A Novel of Cabo Verde. I ordered Chinquinho from Amazon today, and my inner book dragon has officially been released on the C’s.
When I decided to embark on a quest to read a book written by an author from every country in the world, I assumed there would be an undisputed list of countries in the world and no one would question the countries I am reading.
[cue hysterical laughter]
Turns out there are different opinions about what constitutes a country, and the definition of country is very political and personal, but I’m (currently) following this definition:
The independent country is not only a self-governed nation with its own authorities, but this status needs the international diplomatic recognition of sovereignty.
Thereby, we can say that the total number of independent states in the world today is 197, including 193 fully recognized members of the United Nations and 2 countries, Vatican City and Palestine, have the status of permanent observers in the UN. The other 2 states we include in the list are Kosovo (recognized by 101 UN members) and Taiwan (recognized by 12 UN members and one UN observer).
According to this definition, Aruba is not a country. (This has made a lot of people deeply unhappy on TikTok.) It also means that England, Scotland, and Wales are folded together into the single country called the United Kingdom, and places like Puerto Rico are considered territories of the United States, and therefore not official countries.
I find myself torn by some competing thoughts: (1) I’m striving to expand my horizons, so why should I skip countries like Aruba and Wales? but (2) I don’t know how many “countries” miss my current list of 197 countries is already a HUGE undertaking, and (3) if the project gets too big and there end up being 500+ countries, I might hit the panic button and abandon it altogether.
Whew. Deep breaths, Courtney, deep breaths.
For now, to keep this project manageable, I am following this list of 197 countries because I know I can read 197 books in four years. Maybe five years. (Okay, eight years TOPS if I end up reading really long books.) (But I’m trying to avoid books like War and Peace because I would like to finish this project before I die!)
Yet while I want to keep my project “manageable,” my goal is also to expand my horizons. And as I’m writing this on 4/5/2024, I’m only on Belarus, but damn, my soul already feels deeply and profoundly enriched. I AM SO GLAD I PULLED THE TRIGGER ON THIS PROJECT.
Part of me keeps thinking, Fuck it, I’ll just include Wales and Scotland during my first pass. But then part of me thinks, There I go, prioritizing Anglophilic bookworm tendencies. For me, it feels better to stick with the list of 197 countries while recognizing that the definition of country is HIGHLY POLITICAL and places that “feel” like a country are not officially recognized as such for various reasons.
(It should probably be noted that I did not take a single Government/Political Science class in college. I’m a bookworm, not a politician!)
Below, I’m going to keep track of all the “countries” that do not make the list that I’m following, so at some point, I can go back and read authors from those countries as well.
Countries That Do Not Make The List I’m Following*:
Aruba
American Samoa
Guam
Northern Mariana Islands
Puerto Rico
Scotland
U.S. Virgin Island
Wales
*Many thanks to all the folks on TikTok who are pointing out the countries I have missed! This list is a work-in-progress.
