Portrait of Milen Ruskov
Winning Book Image

Né en 1966, Milen Ruskov est un écrivain et traducteur bulgare vivant à Sofia. Il a obtenu son diplôme en philologie bulgare à l’université de Sofia en 1995, et a ensuite été doctorant en linguistique à l’académie bulgare des sciences. Depuis 2001, il travaille pour divers éditeurs, en tant que traducteur indépendant depuis l’anglais.

Au fil des ans, Ruskov a écrit trois romans. Parmi ceux-ci, « Sommet »(Vazvishenie, 2011) traite du renouveau bulgare au XIXe siècle. Le Golden Century Award, décerné par le ministère bulgare de la Culture, a récompensé le livre, de même que deux prix dédiés à la fiction : le Hristo G. Danov National Award et le Elias Canetti Award. Le roman Thrown into Nature (Zakhvŭrlen v prirodata, 2008) a pour sujet l’introduction du tabac en Europe par le médecin sévillan Nicolas Monardes. Ce livre a reçu le prix du roman bulgare de l’année. Quant à « Micro encyclopédie de mystères » (Dzhobna entsiklopediya na misteriite, 2004), il retrace l’histoire de quelques traditions européennes occultes datant de la Renaissance et il fut couronné par le Bulgarian Prize for Debut Fiction.

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Translation Deals
  • Albania: Albas
  • Croatia: Sandorf
  • FYROM: Antolog
  • Hungary: L'Harmattan
  • Italy: Del Vecchio Editore
  • Latvia: Apgāds Mansards
  • Poland: Jagiellonian University Press
  • Serbia: Dereta 



Translated by Christopher Buxton

Context: The novel is set in 1872. Revolutionary committees have been set up throughout Bulgarian lands to prepare the people for revolution against their Turkish oppressors. It is a time of passionate self-education – known in history as the Bulgarian Revival. Two lads, Gicho and Assen, armed with guns and books, set out from Kotel to join a band of brigand-revolutionaries in the mountains. Their characters reflect a mixture of down to earth ruthlessness and idealism. Their waves of extreme optimism and pessimism speak to an ambivalent contemporary Bulgarian consciousness – resulting from still feeling exiled on the outskirts of Europe.
Next day in the town of K. we were stopping at an inn to sleep. And there’s a Frenchie there, boys. Who can tell what wind has blown him here? The innkeeper makes out he’s some kind of engineer.  I give the Frenchie the once over – he’s a well-made bloke, with proper European clothes, a long coat to his knees, and a tie round his neck, striped gold and black, he’s carryin’ a bowler hat in his hand, his trousers are pinstriped in silver and grey, his shoes are shining like the sun. Friends! It’s real elegance! It’s not half fine being a European – I tell you truly. When I’m looking at him, like this, my eyes are hanging out – I say to myself, I’d like to be dressed like him, up to the nines, so I’d come out looking like a human being in front of other human beings, not like some grubby oriental vassal, ruled by Abdul Aziz the Sultan. A-ah, I say to myself, life’s not fair.

I learnt – or informed myself as they say in French lingo – that this Frenchie worked for the so-called Austrian Railways, finding out where they could push out the line. I don’t know what he does at night, but by day he’s going round all the surrounding districts, finding out the lie of the land, for the long-awaited railway line. I have never seen such a thing in my life. And don’t even ask about Assen.  I’ll slap you for asking me stupid questions and wasting my valuable revolutionary time. Don’t you have a head on your shoulders? Then use it, man!

And so this Frenchie that I was telling you about, is rooming on the top floor, same as us, on the other side of the corridor.  And look how Fate sets things up that after we slept, me and Assen, I go to the yard to drink water and get something from the saddle bag and I see the Frenchie in front of me. He’s coming back, and as we pass, he gives me a nod for fellowship and lifts his hat off his head. After a few steps on, I turn around quick to see where he’s going and I see he’s going up the stairs and afterwards I hear a door close. So he’s gone to his room. Then I have a think and I go and drink water, then I come back up and I listen through the door to see if I can hear anything. There’s silence, boy. I can’t tell if the bloke’s asleep, who knows? When I come back to our room, I say to Assen: “Assen,” I say, “go downstairs and harness up Granddaddy Yovan so we’re ready for a quick getaway.”

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