Babel: Or The Necessity Of Violence : An Arcane History Of The Oxford Translators' Revolution

This massive volume from R.F. Kuang presents lots of food for thought as the New York Times notes "The word “translation” connotes movement: carrying meaning from one language to another, or shifting bodies from one place — or one context — to another, all while recognizing that moving entails loss and change. These books dwell in that potent space between setting out and arriving."Eventuallly it was a DNF although I read over half of the book. 

 Kirkus' review is positive but measured: "In 1829, professor Richard Lovell brings a young Chinese boy now known as Robin Swift from his home in Canton to England. Saved from the cholera outbreak that claimed the rest of his family, Robin has the chance to begin a new, comfortable life at professor Lovell's estate. In exchange for food and lodging, he will spend years studying Latin, Greek, and Mandarin to prepare himself to enter Oxford’s Royal Institute of Translation, known as Babel. In Oxford, Robin meets other students who are not so different from him: young people brought to England from other countries to maintain the empire. Britain has built its power upon silver bars and the magical powers imparted to them by translation, but in order to maintain that power, Britain needs foreigners and their languages. Though Robin and his friends are met with racism, they also find true joy in their studies and the heady business of translation. Soon, Robin learns of the secretive Hermes Society, a group working against the hegemony of the Royal Institute of Translation. As Robin’s studies continue, he begins to question the colonial machine from which he can’t seem to break free. Kuang draws a keen parallel between extracting knowledge and extracting resources, examining the terrible power of systems built on inequality and the uncomfortable experiences of the marginalized within those systems, whether due to race or gender. While occasionally hampered by rather self-aware critiques of colonialism, in general this is an expansive, sympathetic, and nevertheless scathing critique of Western imperialism and how individuals are forced to make their peace with the system and survive or to fight back and face the consequences. It's ambitious and powerful while displaying a deep love of language and literature." 

Publishers Weekly is somewhat less positive, asserting that the author "underwhelms with a didactic, unsubtle take on dark academia and imperialism." They conclude "The narrative is frequently interrupted by lectures on why imperialism is bad, not trusting the reader or the plot itself enough to know that this message will be clear from the events as they unfold. Kuang assumes an audience that disagrees with her, and the result keeps readers who are already aware of the evils of racism and empire at arm's length. The characters, meanwhile, often feel dubiously motivated. Readers will be drawn in by the fascinating, linguistic magic system and righteous stance, but many will come away frustrated." The New York Times closes their review with this praise: "“Babel” has earned tremendous praise and deserves all of it. It’s Philip Pullman’s “The Golden Compass” by way of N.K. Jemisin’s “The Fifth Season”: inventive and engaging, passionate and precise. Kuang is fiercely disciplined even when she’s playful and experimental..."

Backwater

This short novel by James Sallis received such rave reviews that I was anxious to read it. But you need to adjust your expectations. Here's a summary and review from Publishers Weekly:

"...Sallis, who died earlier this year, delivers a masterful, bittersweet swan song about a retired cop who's called in for one final job. Bishop agrees to take the reins of the tiny police department of Anne's Ferry, his hometown, after its longtime chief walks off the job and is never seen again. He learns how to prepare a budget and report to city council while overseeing a staff of three quirky officers: Hollis, Felicia, and Raymond. To rescue himself from feeling "like tumbleweed, blowing into town, rolling idly about the streets," Bishop digs into the case of a car found abandoned at a truck stop with blood smeared over every surface. He chips away at that inquiry in between dealing with the mundane crimes of small-town America--fender benders, wandering elderly neighbors, squatters in old farmhouses--and learns to find beauty in life's quieter moments. Eventually, the bloody car case gets resolved, as do most of the other daily dramas on Bishop's beat, but Sallis is more interested in the texture of life in Anne's Ferry than page-turning action. Brief but brimming with life, this is a tender farewell from a towering talent."

Booklist claims that "The author's death in early 2026 created a void in existentialist noir..." That's a new genre to me. The New York Times gushes that this "one last noir gem. Like the best of his crime fiction work ... Backwater... doesn’t waste a single word, and conveys more layers of emotion than most books double the length ever could." Similarly, Kirkus concludes their review saying "Although [protagonist] Bishop opines that “we use stories” to fit together the pieces of our lives, his six months in Anne’s Ferry play out less like a story than like a prose poem—or better yet, like a series of riffs on a jazz theme. Sallis’ valedictory novel is his most poignant and elliptical, and that’s saying a bit."

In short, the crimes of a small town eventually get solved but this is more a philosophical examination of policing and life in general than a typical whodunnit.