I don’t think Nepali writing is so weak that it cannot compete with other writings that have been bestsellers globally. Nepali writing is more enriching and resourceful compared to other writings across the world, since the country Nepal itself is resourceful in many ways—the diverse dialects, multiethnic, cultural and linguistic phenomena, and existing flora and fauna. However, we have yet to explore many voices culturally, linguistically, ethnically, and geographically.

Although we have many acclaimed writings and emerging great writers in Nepali literature, the lack of genuine publishers, translators, and honest critics has limited their outreach. On top of that, we—readers and writers with personal relationships with the writers and publishers, along with biased media people—are promoting books that don’t deserve such promotion.

In this article, I am not going to talk about Laxmi Prasad Devkota, Lil Bahadur Chhetri, Parijat, and numerous other renowned figures who have remained epitomes in Nepali literature. I will begin with the most recent writings from the last 10–15 years. To name a few: Nayan Raj Pandey’s Lu, Buddhi Sagar Chapai’s The Karnali Blues, and Amar Neupane’s Seto Dharti, meaning White Earth. They represent the time, its society, and family relationships within specific contexts, enriching readers’ understanding of the culture and the society Nepali people lived in.

Such literature prompts us to reflect on the accounts of Nepali individuals’ lives, the difficulties that arise with geographical terrain, human lived experiences, and the marginalized conditions of human lives, giving outsiders plenty of insights to view the society, time, and human sentiments. The marginalized voices are woven into those stories in such a way that, once a reader enters them, they can hardly come out without taking a gem from it—the gem could be history, knowledge of the time the story carries, human sentiments, and the knowledge of the human heart. Such stories leave the reader to wonder, contemplate, cry, and feel satisfied until they reach what Aristotle would call “catharsis.”

Anyway, talking about translation: translated by Michael Hutt and published by Penguin India, Chapai’s Karnali Blues shows excellent hope for Nepali literature reaching an international market.

Let me talk about the conditions of the publishers in Nepal. Many publishers in Nepal are not professional. Some are established either to generate profit or for personal gain rather than to support writers. At times, writers themselves establish publication houses to publish their own books. I am not going to name those publishers with good or bad reputations here. However, there are a few that aim at quality writing, and they have been successful in bringing quality works to the international market. At the same time, many of the publishers are spoiled by self-published authors, especially those who live abroad and want to get their works published. For that purpose, they are willing to pay any amount the publication houses ask for—not only for the printing cost, but also for the time and labor the publisher puts into it. Such activities backfire on publishers in ways they are not aware of, i.e., they end up publishing low-quality books and put less effort into promoting good writers and quality works, since they start generating money with less effort.

We cannot ignore the fact that, since there are not enough Nepali readers out there in the market, the easiest way for publishers to generate money is by allowing those self-published writers to publish their works upon payment. However, we cannot ignore another fact: if there are good books, we still have quite a good number of readers in Nepal—even social media posts as New Year resolutions flaunt how one reader can manage to read more than a hundred books in a year—that is impressive.

I am not saying that self-publishing shouldn’t be allowed or promoted. We cannot ignore the fact that self-publishing and hybrid publishing have become skyrocketing trends recently, resulting in some quality books. However, good traditional publishers should maintain their standards and professionalism: until the writing has quality, they shouldn’t publish it—which may pose another challenge to the publisher, who needs to hire a good editor, a quality production team, and so on. Given the constrained economic conditions, quality tends to remain a distant shore, prompting publishers to publish whatever comes to the publishing industry when it comes with money.

Let me move on to translations now. We have many translators translating Nepali literature into English. Compared to the past, there has been an increase in the number of translators and translated books, which I have already mentioned many times in my previous articles. There are some good books that have been translated into English, for example: Song of the Soil by Ajit Baral, The Karnali Blues by Michael Hutt, Radha by Mahesh Paudyal, and many others in the process. However, it is not enough. There should be more translations, and into many other languages besides English. A good translation of a good book is a must. The future of a good translation of a good book is very bright—if not, look at the translated book Tomb of Sand by Indian writer Geetanjali Shree, who was awarded the Booker Prize, or Han Kang’s book The Vegetarian, which received a Nobel Prize in Literature. It is a good translator’s job to bring excellent literature to the international market.

Yes, Nepal is a small country, politically unstable, and hardly a few people across the globe can locate where Nepal is, but the potential of Nepali literature is immense and priceless, and the future is promising. Since many outsiders have been looking for some unique content in literature to read, be entertained, gain insights, and conduct research, only our literature can whet their appetite.

Now, last but not least, the role of critics is very important. Many critics in Nepal are biased—they work based on personal relationships with writers or publishers. I understand that they have their own constraints, but that doesn’t mean they have the right to praise a work in such a way that it doesn’t deserve. Good critics shouldn’t be influenced by any advantages the writers and publishers offer; they should work for the betterment of society and Nepali literature. Some critics do not even hesitate to write anything in exchange for an InDrive fare or a glass of beer—that is more than shameful. At the same time, there is a strong syndicate among writers, critics, and publishers, and because of that, good writers and quality writing are pushed aside, ignored, or hidden somewhere none of us bother exploring or bringing to the forefront.

The need of the hour is that honest publishers, good translators, and fair critics must work together, unbiasedly, to promote Nepali literature and bring it to the international market. I am sure Nepali literature—sooner or later—will deserve a Nobel Prize. We just have to wait

By Tulasi Acharya