The Omani literary scene is currently flourishing, led by authors such as Jokha Alharthi, whose Celestial Bodies won the International Booker in 2019: she provides a foreword to this collection by Hamoud Saud, another prominent Omani writer. He writes in Arabic, and he has already been translated into Azerbaijani, Japanese, and Spanish.  In his translator’s introduction, Zia Ahmed describes Saud as: “a teller—qās in Arabic—of short stories, memoirish vignettes, prose poems, and other strange sketches that defy easy categorization.”

Time is one of the grand themes of literature and art. A new comics anthology, Delay, brings together 11 pieces of graphic fiction in the short form from various Southeast Asian artists including Singapore, Malaysia, Indonesia, and the Philippines, and connects the concept of time to such situations as feeling stuck, waiting, hesitation and anxieties about outcomes. Delay itself, as conceptualised by the editors Charis Loke and Paolo Chikiamco, and as captured by the writers in their contributions, has been handled in various scenarios: from old age, migration to recipes, exploration, parenting, infatuation and death. Published by the Singapore-based Difference Engine, the volume draws attention to the wider region’s expressions of the comics craft.

Genpei Akasegawa (whose given name was Katsuhiko Akasegawa) was already famous as Neo-Dadaist artist when he began writing under the name of Katsuhiko Otsuji, and he soon proved himself able to work fruitfully in both domains, earning numerous awards. I Guess All We Have Is Freedom, beautifully translated by Matt Fargo, brings together five of Akasegawa’s short stories, some of them award winners, and all of which follow a narrator (presumably modeled on the author himself) through seemingly banal adventures as a father, professor, and denizen of Tokyo.

I was born in Bombay and lived there, not far from the Gateway of India, for the first sixteen years of my life. I left the city by the bay soon after turning sixteen. When I returned decades later, I barely recognised it. The city and I had both gone through dramatic changes in the interim. So it was with real anticipation that I picked up The Only City, an anthology of stories about the city of my birth, edited by Anindita Ghose.

Across fifty-odd flash stories (particularly short pieces of fiction) in The Woman Dies, Aoko Matsuda and translator Polly Barton lean into the weird, nitty-gritty world of womanhood. For the most part, there is no immediate throughline connecting the stories—and their rich inner worlds—to each other. Yet eventually, the lines blur enough for images of women, glittery face highlighter, and lingerie frills to appear, blending the stories into a sparkling collection. All the stories play a part in building Matsuda’s world, where girlhood is a state of mind that can never be outgrown; it is at once a curse and blessing, the only thing the world values and despises in equal measure.

A Swiss-Italian-Spanish author fluent in six languages (including English), Vanessa Fabiano first traveled to China more than thirty years ago and resided in Shanghai and Beijing around the time of SARS in the early 2000s. Her new collection of related stories, Chinese on the Beach, makes use of this timeframe, a period of growing friendships between Chinese and foreigners.