Babel

by R.F. Kuang

‘There are Indian restaurants in London,’ Letty objected. ‘You can get curries with rice in Piccadilly—’ ‘Only if you want bland mash,’ Ramy scoffed. ‘Finish your chickpeas.’

That happened to me hah

How can we conclude, except by acknowledging that an act of translation is then necessarily always an act of betrayal?’

‘You don’t even speak French,’ Letty said. ‘It’s French, Letty.’ Ramy rolled his eyes. ‘Latin’s flimsiest daughter. How hard could it be?’

‘But that’s the great contradiction of colonialism.’ Cathy uttered this like a simple matter of fact. ‘It’s built to destroy that which it prizes most.’

‘We have to die to get their pity,’ said Victoire. ‘We have to die for them to find us noble. Our deaths are thus great acts of rebellion, a wretched lament that highlights their inhumanity. Our deaths become their battle cry.