THE EXTINCTION OF IRENA REY

An acclaimed author disappears, leaving her translators to fend for themselves.

When eight translators arrive at the home of a renowned author in a remote Polish village, they expect to be put to work translating her latest title—her masterpiece!—into each of the eight languages they not only represent but also call each other in lieu of actual names. There’s English, of course, but also German, Ukrainian, the inseparable Serbian and Slovenian, Spanish—who’s narrating this novel-about-a-novel—French, and so on. Needless to say, things don’t go as planned. To start, within a day or two, and without notice, the renowned author goes missing. Not long after, the translators, who’ve maintained a cultlike devotion to “Our Author,” begin developing habits of their own—like discussing the weather, drinking alcohol, and eating meat, all previously forbidden—and even referring to each other by name. Croft, a renowned translator in her own right (of Olga Tokarczuk, among others), makes for a wickedly funny satirist when it comes to some of the more obsequious behaviors involved in the translator-author relationship. At the same time—even in the midst of a joke—she writes profoundly about the philosophical stakes of translation. “Translation isn’t reading,” she writes. “Translation is being forced to write a book again.” Near the author’s house is the Białowieża Forest, which plays as central a role as any of the human characters. Climate change, myth, and fungi are stirred into the mix as well, which certainly makes for an interesting canvas, if not an entirely successful one. Though her insights tend to inspire wonder, Croft’s storytelling can occasionally drag, and she sometimes seems to lose track of her characters, not all of whom feel fully fledged.

A striking if imperfect novel about language, the earth, and what it means to make art.