Prix de littérature de l’Union européenne

Creative EuropeEuropean and International Booksellers FederationEuropean Writers' CouncilFederation of European Publishers

Auteurs primés

Gabriela Babnik, Slovénie

A propos de l'auteur:

Gabriela Babnik est née en 1979 à Göppingen, en Allemagne. Après ses études à l’université de Ljubljana, elle a passé un moment au Nigeria avant d’entamer un master sur le roman nigérian moderne. Depuis 2002, elle rédige régulièrement des articles pour d’importants quotidiens et hebdomadaires en Slovénie. En 2005, Babnik a obtenu un diplôme en Littérature comparée et théorie de la littérature à l’université de Ljubljana.

Son premier roman, Koža iz bombaža (Peau de coton), est paru en 2007 et a reçu le Prix du meilleur premier roman de l’Union des éditeurs slovènes à la Foire du livre slovène. Son deuxième roman, V visoki travi (Dans les hautes herbes), est paru en 2009 et a été sélectionné pour le Prix Kresnik en 2010.

Babnik vit avec sa famille à Ljubljana.

Editeur:

Anja Kovač Študentska Založba
Beletrina Academic Press
Borštnikov trg 2, 1000 Ljubljana
Tel.: +3861/ 200 37 00
Fax: +3861/ 252 26 18                                                                                                         Mail: anja.kovac@zalozba.org
www.studentskazalozba.si

Droits étrangers:

Droits vendus :

Contact de l'auteur:

https://www.facebook.com/gabriela.babnik?fref=ts

Livre primé:

Sušna doba (Dry Season)

Synopsis:

Saison sèche, le roman de Gabriela Babnik, est le récit d'une histoire d'amour inhabituelle. Anna est une designer de 62 ans issue d'Europe centrale et Ismael, un Africain de 27 ans qui a grandi dans la rue, où il a été souvent victime de sévices. Ils sont unis par leur solitude, une enfance tragique et la saison sèche de l'harmattan, au cours de laquelle ni la nature ni l'amour ne peuvent s'épanouir.

Anna comprend vite que le vide qui les sépare ne s'explique pas vraiment par leur différence d’âge ou de couleur de peau, mais principalement par son appartenance à une culture occidentale dans laquelle elle a perdu ou abandonné les rôles prédéterminés de fille, épouse et mère. Le sexe ne fait pas oublier la solitude et les secrets refoulés du passé font surface dans un monde qu'elle perçoit comme beaucoup plus cruel, mais aussi beaucoup plus innocent que le sien.

Ce roman, où la narration alterne subtilement entre les deux amants, est entremêlé de réalisme magique et de fragments de la réalité politique africaine perçus tout en justesse.

Extrait:

Translated by Olivia Hellewell

I don’t know how much time I spent with Malik in Cotonou; a week, two, a month, year – this time was somehow deleted for me. Whilst waiting for school to end the two of us lived with some French lady called Julie Amado. She could have been the fleeting woman from Black Street with hair tied-up high, a slender back which at the inner of her body opened out into the shape of a letter ‘s’, and a slow gait, too slow even for her age. It betrayed her, that gait; it spoke of her vague past or at least of her excessive proclivity to melancholia. But after much thought I decided that it couldn’t have been the same person. Malik couldn’t have things under such supervision and also Julie herself seemed completely crazy. For instance she didn’t sleep at night, with her huge bed being overrun by cats; she sat alone in the chair with her feet on the bed, whilst all the cats – there must have been more than twenty of them – slept on her lap and in amongst plates of rotting fish.
I didn’t ask Malik where he met Julie, nor what the two of us were doing at her place. As far as I understood, we were waiting. Malik had otherwise introduced Julie to me as a friend, who knew how to form sentences and who was therefore writing a novel. He had even thought up a title for her, Once Again, the Sea, or something like that, and Julie was thrilled. She offered me a typewriter, a large, black, antiquated animal, which upon typing gave out a menacing sound and it consumed paper, with the trees going into its oblong mouth in tens. At such tense moments I leapt from behind the table and began to pull the paper, at first carefully, but then more and more furiously, with the torn up pieces flying through the air like snowflakes, we are the like snow which eventually ceases to fall, I murmured a sentence to myself which I still don’t know where I picked up, but after a few days the machine gave way, the tropical rainforests were saved, the landscape unfrozen whilst for me everything had only just begun. Julie began to tell me her stories all over every corner of the house. Maybe to some degree they were interesting enough for me to churn out a book about them. But I declined, seeing as in reality I had no idea how to construct sentences, Malik had just made that up, but she carried on leaning her back against the wall, biting into a baguette and some holey cheese, and recounted. It was how I learnt of how she came to Cotonou as a volunteer teacher a year earlier. But because things didn’t work out - she said it just like that, I remember exactly – she had left her job.

Plus d'informations sur l'auteur avec extrait en v.o. et EN ou FR (PDF)

Autres travaux:

Koža iz bombaža (Cotton Skin)

Mladinska knjiga, 2007

V visoki travi (In the Tall Grass)

Beletrina, 2009