The best funny international classics you (may) have never heard of

In the summer of 1968, I was 20 and spent the summer pretty much banally in Israel and Europe. Around me, the world was on fire, but I was inside my own head.

Eventually, I washed up in Dublin, where I walked in a cold rain to Dorset Street, there to recreate Leopold Bloom’s pork kidney purchase from Dlugacz, the butcher. There was no Dlugacz on Dorset, but there was another butcher who stuffed into stiff pink butcher paper something that glistened and oozed. My plan was to fry it up, as Leopold had, on the hotplate in my rented room. It did not go well. I was felled intestinally in dramatic fashion; pity there was no one to observe. 

Somehow, in my travels, I had obtained a copy of At Swim Two-Birds, and now, my insides recreating The Troubles, I wanly reached for it and read the first paragraph: “…One beginning and one ending for a book was a thing I did not agree with…” WTF. At Swim Two Birds saw me through my pork kidney fiasco and, I believe, has had longer-term salubrious effects.

The book was published in 1939 which I can relate to, having published my own first novel in the teeth of covid. It sold 234 copies in six months and not many thereafter. Then, very slowly, people recognized it as one of the supreme examples of metafiction and an alternately hilarious, provocative, and oddly touching read. It sits at #64 on The Guardian’s list of hundred best novels in the English language. 

I remember buying The Long Ships about twenty years ago on Potrero Hill in San Francisco. Generally speaking, 1950s Swedish novels about Vikings are not my thing, but there was an absolutely over-the-top introduction from Michael Chabon.…'best novel ever’ kind of stuff…so I bought it.

Since then, I have recommended it to dozens of people, almost all of whom have, often to their surprise, loved it and recommended it to others. My favorite recommendation was to a pal whose daughter absconded with it and was reading it on a parapet in southern Spain when a guy came by and asked her what she was reading. She showed him the book, he perused it gravely, and then tore out the frontispiece and used it to roll a joint. This is a very satisfying book in every way.

Don’t get it confused with the derivative Norwegian comedy series, Norsemen. The Long Ships is a remarkable saga about trying to live a sentient life in non-sentient times. The central character, Orm the Red, is often no better than anyone else, but he has a clue about life beyond pillage and rapine and the book is basically about what he does with this clue over the course of time.

It’s also very funny.

I like to read thrillers set in countries I'm visiting, and so I randomly picked up How's the Pain? billed as “French Noir”.  The title alone is almost worth the price of admission.

It is supposedly the standard greeting among some African tribesmen. Beats the existential pants off “How are you?”, don’t you think? The writing fulfills the title’s promise. It is tight and funny, brutal in parts, but doesn’t succumb to some noir’s tendency to gratuitously pile on the awfulness of it all. 

In the lineage of Goncharov’s Oblomov, with that very Russian mixture of humor and fatalism, this novel is a treat. In a sense, you know everything you need to know concerning the book’s content from the title.

The achievement is in making this somewhat kitschy, Hallmark card notion, come alive, entertain, and contain real meaning. Zaionchkovsky pulls it off like nobody’s business. Terrific job. Very funny and, also touching, without bathos.

This short 1962 Austrian novel is a scream, literally and figuratively.

The Austrians don’t really know what to do with Bernhardt, who hated the country so trenchantly and yet is its finest twentieth-century writer. If you enjoy spending time in the S. Beckett’s zip code, you’ll love this book.