For fifteen years Klára Vovková has been the certified Slovak translator of a small Pasic-language literature published in tiny editions by a press in Trnava. She is the only working translator of the dialect her grandmother taught her, in a kitchen in Petrzalka, when she was four years old. One Tuesday morning in February 1999, a folder arrives from the press. Inside are twenty-three blank pages. Across the last year of the twentieth century, in a Bratislava still learning what it means to be the capital of a country only six years old, Klára begins to understand what she has been writing all along - and the small careful arrangements by which a literature is given to a language. A surrealist literary novel of translation, inheritance, and the quiet ways a life is authored. For readers of Olga Tokarczuk, W. G. Sebald, and The Memory Police.
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