Only 3% of books published in English-speaking countries are translations. Think about that—97% of what we read was originally written in English, which represents maybe 20% of the world’s literary output. We’re missing so much.

The good news is that translated fiction has better visibility now than a decade ago. Publishers are investing more, translators are getting proper recognition, and readers are seeking out international voices. But we still have work to do.

Why Translation Matters

Reading translated fiction exposes you to different narrative traditions. Japanese novels structure themselves differently than American ones. Scandinavian crime fiction has different pacing than British. Latin American magical realism operates by different rules than English-language fantasy.

These differences aren’t deficiencies—they’re alternate approaches to what literature can do. Reading widely in translation makes you a better reader of everything because you develop flexibility in how you approach narrative.

Translation also provides access to perspectives we won’t find in anglophone literature. How do contemporary Chinese writers think about technology? What are Polish novelists saying about history and memory? What obsesses Argentinian writers right now? You can’t answer these questions reading only English.

Current Favourites

Mieko Kawakami’s work is getting substantial attention in English translation, and deservedly so. She writes about Japanese women’s lives with unflinching honesty and surprising humour. The translation by Sam Bett and David Boyd captures her voice beautifully—you can feel the translator’s care in every sentence.

There’s a Norwegian novel about climate anxiety and family that I picked up based purely on the translator’s reputation (Anne Bruce translates brilliantly), and it’s one of the best things I’ve read this year. The English is so natural you’d never know it wasn’t the original language, which is the mark of exceptional translation.

Olga Tokarczuk’s Nobel Prize brought deserved attention to contemporary Polish literature. Her fiction is strange and ambitious in ways English-language literature often isn’t—she takes risks with form and perspective that feel distinctly European. The translation makes her accessible without domesticating the weirdness.

I’m also reading Yoko Ogawa in English, specifically her novel about a housekeeper who works for a former mathematician. It’s quiet and devastating, dealing with memory and loss in this very particular Japanese way that values negative space and what’s left unsaid.

Translation As Craft

Good translation is invisible and visible simultaneously. You shouldn’t notice the English is translated—it should read naturally and fluidly. But you should sense difference, foreignness, the grain of another culture’s way of thinking and speaking.

Bad translation either foreignises too much (awkward English that constantly reminds you it’s translated) or domesticates completely (smoothing away all cultural difference until it reads like it was written in Kansas). The sweet spot is preserving distinctiveness while maintaining readability.

I’m increasingly paying attention to who translated a book, not just who wrote it. Deborah Smith, Jennifer Croft, Margaret Jull Costa—these translators have track records of excellent work. If they translated something, I’ll probably enjoy it even if I don’t know the original author.

Publishers are finally crediting translators on book covers, which matters. Translation is creative work that deserves recognition. We wouldn’t accept anonymous editors rewriting novels; translators deserve the same authorial credit.

Finding Translated Fiction

Independent bookshops are usually better at stocking translated fiction than chains. They pay attention to international prize lists—the International Booker, which specifically honours translation, is a good discovery mechanism.

Literary magazines like Words Without Borders publish excerpts in translation, letting you sample writers before committing to full novels. Asymptote and The Arkansas International also showcase excellent translation.

Following translators on social media can lead you to new authors. Translators are passionate advocates for the writers they work with and often recommend other translated books they’ve loved.

Regional Spotlights

Japanese literature is having a moment in English translation, partly because translators like Juliet Winters Carpenter and Jay Rubin have been championing these writers for decades. The variety is impressive—from Haruki Murakami’s surrealism to Kenzaburo Oe’s political novels to Sayaka Murata’s contemporary satire.

Korean fiction is increasingly available, and it’s thrilling stuff. Han Kang, Bae Suah, Yoon Choi—these writers are doing formally experimental work that feels both contemporary and rooted in specific cultural traditions.

Latin American literature has always had strong translation pipelines, but we’re seeing more contemporary voices now beyond the magical realism stereotype. Samanta Schweblin, Mariana Enriquez, Guadalupe Nettel—they’re writing weird, unsettling fiction that resists easy categorisation.

African literature in translation is harder to find in English because much African writing is already in English or French (with better French-to-English translation infrastructure than most African languages to English). But publishers like New Directions and Archipelago are working on this.

The Challenges

Translation is expensive and risky for publishers. You’re paying an advance to both author and translator, often for books without established English-language audiences. It makes commercial sense to play safe with bestsellers and prize winners.

Rights issues can be complicated, especially for books originally published in languages without strong publishing industries. Tracking down rights holders, negotiating contracts across legal systems—it’s more work than acquiring English-language manuscripts.

There’s also reader resistance. Some people simply won’t read translations, claiming they “don’t feel right” or are “too hard.” This is usually unfounded—good translations read as naturally as original English—but the prejudice persists.

Why It’s Worth The Effort

Reading in translation expands your understanding of what literature can be. It challenges assumptions about narrative structure, character development, even sentence rhythm. Your reading brain becomes more flexible and receptive.

It also complicates your relationship to your own culture. Reading how Japanese writers depict technology, or how Norwegian novelists think about nature, or how Brazilian authors approach class—it gives you outside perspectives on shared human experiences.

And frankly, some of the best contemporary fiction is being written in languages other than English. If you’re only reading anglophone literature, you’re missing Ferrante, Knausgaard, Modiano, Han Kang, Ogawa, Tokarczuk, Enriquez—the list goes on. That seems like a waste.

Practical Reading List

Start with these if you’re new to translated fiction:

• Yoko Ogawa - The Housekeeper and the Professor (Japanese)
• Han Kang - The Vegetarian (Korean)
• Olga Tokarczuk - Drive Your Plow Over the Bones of the Dead (Polish)
• Mariana Enriquez - The Dangers of Smoking in Bed (Spanish/Argentina)
• Mieko Kawakami - Breasts and Eggs (Japanese)

Each demonstrates what translated fiction can offer—different cultural perspectives, varied narrative approaches, prose styles that feel distinctly non-anglophone while remaining accessible.

Translation isn’t a barrier to reading; it’s a doorway. Those 3% of books might actually represent some of the most interesting, challenging, rewarding reading available. We just have to be willing to cross the linguistic threshold and trust that good translation will carry us through.

The world’s literature doesn’t stop at English. Why should our reading?