In bits and pieces
When trapped in the house for months, little things in life preserve your sanity, like a flock of pigeons and their gentle cooing.
When trapped in the house for months, little things in life preserve your sanity, like a flock of pigeons and their gentle cooing.
Saguna Shah’s elegant translation of The Other Queen, written by Sheeba Shah, not only renders the novel an authentic quality but also makes the otherwise jittery read of the original text a pleasant one.
With its rich description, finely crafted dialogues, and engaging plot, Tanka Chaulagain’s latest novel Ubadkhabad is a joy to read.
Here it starts again, every October, without reason or rhyme. Every act a mere repetition of what was done before; every speech a replica of what was said before.
Flawed as they may be, the seven books helped me escape the horrors of reality and entrusted me with hope—that I, too, might apply myself to what I think is both therapeutic and rewarding: writing.
Yuyutsu RD Sharma’s Panaharu Khali Chhan is a collection that outlines the poet’s oeuvre and leaves the readers wanting more.
LB Chhetri’s latest collection of short stories, with its use of vivid imagery, terse prose and memorable characters, packs a powerful punch.
Sangam is quite an accomplishment when it comes to Nepali poetry in translation, but it has a few quibbles.
Whining and grunting, I yank myself out of bed. It is yet another morning, and I’m not in the mood to exist.
Translating poetry is one thing, but giving it life is an entirely different matter. The pace, the pauses, the energy—everything is lost in translation in Letter of a Jailbird.
Mahesh Paudyal is well-aware that translating is not merely a mechanical work; it is a creative process and involves staying true to the original piece.
While the book reads like a calming river, the question is whether its themes are really done justice.
The frontrunner of new culture of ‘Insta-poets’, Rupi Kaur’s work do not add anything to the larger poetic narrative.
Unlike many of the novels in social realism, Vivek Shanbhag’s novella is brief and fresh. What is said is skillful, but what is left unsaid matters a great deal.
Learning to love books was a slow, torturous process but understanding their perceived lack of value is soul-crushing.