Homesick
Homesick is a memoir by the writer and translator Jennifer Croft. (She won the Man Booker International Prize in 2018 for her translation of Flights, by Olga Tokarczuk.) If I had to use just two words to review it I’d say, “Mic drop.” (Alternate reasoning: If I were Michael Scott and tasked with reviewing books.) I’m not trying to be glib, but if ever there were a time to use “mic drop” in full sincerity, it would be in reference to this book, a memoir/”real-life novel” with photographic elements. I’m truly amazed by it. (As is the pooch, apparently.)
In many ways, this book — which btw, Croft, an Oklahoma native, initially wrote in Spanish — shares a lot of similarities with On Homesickness by Jesse Donaldson, which I posted about in April. Is it poetry? Are these “chapters”? Is this really her family she’s writing about? (Yes, but maybe with some subtle changes, such as names?) Do I love the fact that Croft has paired photographs with her text? (Of course.)
PS: I’ve had this book in my possession for a while — it’s wildly overdue — but I just learned yesterday that Croft’s partner is Boris Dralyuk, translator of Ukranian writer Andrey Kurkov’s latest novel Grey Bees…which I (sort of) posted about earlier this week. Huh, that seems weirdly coincidental. (Mic drop?)
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