In a literary landscape where only three percent of published books in America come from beyond our borders, Jill Schoolman, founder of Archipelago Books, has spent over two decades building bridges across cultures through the power of translation.
From Brooklyn's Old American Can Factory, her lean team of five publishes an impressive 16 books annually, bringing over 250 works from more than 40 languages to American readers and championing the kind of voices that major publishers often overlook.
Archipelago Books' lean team of five
She published Karl Ove Knausgård, the Norwegian author whose six-volume autobiographical series became a global literary sensation and bestseller before anyone in North America knew his name, and her latest roster spans everything from gang-controlled Port-au-Prince to ancient Greek gods hotly debating mortality.
I caught up with Jill to talk about why international voices feel more urgent than ever, and what makes a translation truly capture the essence of the original work.
Before we dive into Archipelago, I'm curious about your own story. Can you tell me about your background and education? What was your path before founding Archipelago Books in 2003?
Before I founded Archipelago in 2003, I was in the film industry, both in Paris and New York. I worked as an assistant film editor mostly. I studied film and literature in college, but I think my love of world literature and cinema grew out of my travels. I love learning about a culture through its art and literature.
I worked at Seven Stories Press, first as an intern and then as an editor before founding Archipelago. I learned a lot from Dan Simon and from my colleagues there. It's an inspiring and great place.
What inspired you to found Archipelago Books, and why did you choose to focus specifically on literature in translation?
From my three years with Seven Stories, I started to realize how much luminous literature wasn't being translated or published in the U.S. It was right around then that the National Endowment for the Arts did a survey that revealed that only three percent of the literature published in the U.S. came from beyond our borders. I wonder what the percentage is now. As a reader, I've always been drawn to writing from around the world...I was lit up by Céline, Musil, Pasolini, Juan Rulfo, Inger Christensen, Antonio Tabucchi. So it felt natural to me for world literature to be our focus.
Part of the reason why translators, writers, and international publishers took that initial leap of faith with Archipelago was because not many editors at the time were publishing literature in translation. It has been a great joy to look for original voices that open up worlds.
Your mission statement talks about "cross-cultural exchange through international literature." Twenty years later, does that feel more or less urgent than when you started?
It feels even more urgent now than it did 20 years ago. Bringing voices from other parts of the world to readers here—especially those that are marginalized and silenced—feels crucial right now.
Archipelago seeks out "groundbreaking voices, often from the margins, that otherwise might not be heard." Can you walk me through your process for discovering these voices?
We learn about writers and books in all sorts of ways. We are in touch with translators and international publishers, literary agents, professors, and we read books that have been translated into other languages. (I read a lot of books that have been translated from a variety of languages into French.) My colleagues and I attend book fairs around the world and learn about writers through sponsored fellowships in various countries.
With over 250 titles published from more than 40 languages in your first 20 years, how do you decide which works and languages to prioritize? Is it gut instinct, or do you have fixed criteria?
It tends to be more of a visceral response to the works we encounter. In the back of my mind, I hear whispers that encourage me to actively seek out works from underrepresented languages, but what generally happens is that we consider authors and proposed projects we come in contact with. We'd love to find more contemporary African authors to publish here. I hope to attend the Aké Arts and Book Festival in Lagos or the Nairobi Litfest soon. I also actively seek translators immersed in work from different parts of the African continent.
Of course, it's a double search. We want to discover groundbreaking writers from various languages, but it's equally important to us to find outstanding translators who can capture and recreate the vitality of a text.
What role do your translators play in the editorial process? How do you balance fidelity to the original text with accessibility for English-speaking readers?
Our translators are essential to the editorial process. My colleagues and I read every translation that comes in with an editorial eye and then send our proposed edits and queries to the translator. The translator then reworks the text and sends counter-proposals for any trouble spots. It's a collaborative process.
Fidelity to the original is a complex equation. I think translators and editors can agree that it's possible to remain faithful to the voice, humor, rhythms, and tone of an original work by not clinging to the original.
You've published acclaimed authors like Karl Ove Knausgård, Mircea Cărtărescu, and Nobel laureate, Halldór Laxness. How do you balance publishing established international voices with discovering emerging writers?
Knausgård wasn't known in North America when we first published his A Time for Everything in 2009 in James Anderson's translation. We brought him to New York City (with the support of Norwegian Literature Abroad, a project of the Norwegian Ministry of Culture), and it was difficult to round up more than 15 people to attend his events. We believed in his work and although sales were modest initially for A Time for Everything we were wholehearted about continuing to publish his work here. With each volume of My Struggle, his following grew.
I was actually surprised to learn that quite a few works from celebrated writers like Laxness, Cortázar, Giono, and Gombrowicz were still quietly waiting to be translated into English. Finding these gems has been a great joy. The balance between contemporary writers (whether it's their debut in English or not) and classic authors (dead in body but not spirit) has shifted naturally for us. In our early years we published more classic authors, now we tend to publish more living writers.
Archipelago operates with a full-time staff of just five people yet publishes 16 books annually. How do you maintain quality and editorial vision with such a lean operation? What does a typical day look like for you?
We're often amazed by this ourselves, when we stop to think about it! I think it is only possible because my co-workers are not only talented and exceptional human beings, but because all of us are deeply committed to our writers and translators. If it weren't a labor of love, I don't think it would work. We also hire one or two interns each season, and they take on quite a bit of responsibility.
We all juggle a variety of projects on any given day: editorial work; outreach to writers, booksellers, book critics, and professors; drafting cover copy or press releases; applying for grants; organizing book events or fundraisers; sending out books; getting quotes from printers; communicating with a board member or with our distribution team.
You won the 2008 Miriam Bass Award for Creativity in Independent Publishing. What does creativity mean to you in the context of independent publishing?
That's a great question. My colleagues always find new and creative ways to promote our books to reach a diverse readership. In September, for example, we've organized events for Xiong Liang—the remarkable Chinese artist who wrote and illustrated Take a Walk With the Wind—at libraries in Sunset Park in Brooklyn and in Chinatown in Manhattan.
Book design and production have always been important to us. David Bullen, an extraordinary book designer (who created the gorgeous North Point books, among others), helped us to create a recognizable look for our books 22 years ago. He designed all of our books for our first 14 years. Every font that a designer chooses, every decision that they make about spacing or laying out blurbs on the back of a book is a creative act that makes the experience of reading more pleasurable.
I also believe that bringing people together around good books takes creative energy. Jillian had the lovely idea of inviting local booksellers into our modest office in Gowanus to introduce them to a new season of our books. This "Meet the Books" gathering has become a joyous tradition for us. Creativity in publishing grows out of genuine collaboration, of exploring and thinking about new ways of doing things, of finding ways to make things fun.
Tell me about the decision to launch Elsewhere Editions, your children's imprint, in 2017. How does publishing translated children's literature differ from your adult list?
I started paying more attention to picture books when my niece was growing up. After going to the Bologna Children's Book Fair in 2016, I was shocked by how much original and profound children's literature was being overlooked by publishers here. Emma Raddatz has been the director of Elsewhere Editions for more than five years now. She does an incredible job finding and bringing out luminous gems. Emma also has a real talent for building an enthusiastic community around the children's imprint.
What titles are you most excited about from your current list of upcoming publications? What should be on our reading lists right now? What's on your nightstand or coming up that you're excited about?
We have quite a few remarkable books coming out in the coming months. One book I'd like to hand to everyone I know (and don't know) is Emmelie Prophète's Cécé. What's groundbreaking about this novel is that it gives us an inside perspective—in a candid and lyrical voice—of what it would feel like to live in the gang-controlled neighborhoods of Port-au-Prince. The no-nonsense protagonist quietly observes the people and social dynamics around her and in doing so we witness not only pain, horror, and frustration, but also great humanity and love. Zadie Smith loves the book.
I'm really excited about Sean Wilsey's brilliant translation of Pirandello's hilarious identity-probing novel: One, None, and a Hundred Grand. Jhumpa Lahiri writes: "Wilsey's translation captures its antic energy and its anguish. Fresh, fast, and very funny, it is immensely readable from start to finish."
Another Italian classic on the horizon in an astute new translation by Minna Proctor is Cesare Pavese's The Leucothea Dialogues. Pavese left this book on his bedside table alongside his suicide note. These lively debates of the ancient Greek gods (and Pavese's various alter-egos) wrestling with mortality and immortality were not cocktail banter for Pavese, they address matters of what it means to be alive on Earth.
Looking ahead, what are your hopes and concerns for the future of literary translation in America?
I hope more people will feel the urge to translate. Let's hope that more writing programs will create translation programs. There are some wonderful mentorship programs out there (ALTA, the National Centre for Writing in Norwich, SALT, Bread Loaf, etc.). And, of course, I'd hope readers' appetites for the many worlds within world literature will continue to grow.
After more than two decades of championing international literature, how has this work changed your own understanding of storytelling and cultural exchange?
My perception of both has changed dramatically. I am now more aware of what a powerful role silence plays in storytelling...what is left unsaid, avoided, or implied. I also feel that the structure and rhythms and atmosphere of a story can often be as powerful as a writer's voice. Of course, the two are inextricably linked.
With each new literary work that I live with, with conversations I have with readers at book fairs or with my colleagues, with chance encounters I have when traveling, I become more convinced that although culturally different approaches to storytelling and communication exist (and are illuminating to observe) our shared humanity is stronger. Unifying forces across borders and languages can bring individuals from significantly disparate backgrounds together: a smile, song, a kind gesture, fear, love.
It's interesting to see which aspects of specific cultures and languages are challenging to translate. Humor, for example—even when it is recognized and appreciated—is not easy to shepherd into another language. I'm convinced by these years of culture-hopping that the deeper our understanding is of another culture and the greater our respect for its history, art, music, and literature, the more connected we inevitably feel to it. The authors and translators I've had the pleasure of getting to know from all corners of the world have become a part of my extended family.
What advice would you give to readers who want to explore more literature in translation but don't know where to start?
I'd say it doesn't really matter where you start. Just step into a good bookshop or local library and start looking around. Pick up a book and if it speaks to you, keep reading.
Last question: if you could wave a magic wand and change one thing about how Americans approach international literature, what would it be?
One thing I'd like to wave away is the idea that international literature is somehow more difficult to digest than American literature. That it's akin to taking a bitter pill... that to even open a book written by a Polish author you need to have a PhD in Polish history. I hope that the wealth of world literature within reach these days—in every genre—will make it easier for more readers to open themselves up to and commune with characters from all walks of life, to travel without traveling, to laugh and cry and shake their heads, and quietly celebrate the translators who make the experience possible.
Recommended Books Mentioned in the Interview
• Cécé by Emmelie Prophète
A candid and lyrical novel offering an inside perspective on life in the gang-controlled neighborhoods of Port-au-Prince, witnessing both pain and great humanity through a no-nonsense protagonist
• One, None, and a Hundred Grand by Luigi Pirandello (translated by Sean Wilsey)
A hilarious identity-probing novel capturing antic energy and anguish in a fresh, fast, and funny translation
• The Leucothea Dialogues by Cesare Pavese (translated by Minna Proctor)
Lively debates of ancient Greek gods and Pavese's alter-egos wrestling with mortality and immortality
• Take a Walk With the Wind by Xiong Liang
A picture book written and illustrated by a remarkable Chinese artist
• A Time for Everything by Karl Ove Knausgård (translated by James Anderson)
Early work by the acclaimed Norwegian author before his My Struggle series gained international recognition
