I read from Eastern Empire at Gŵyl Arall last week. Welsh festival, international writers, Literature Across Frontiers hosting. Expected standard literary event format.
What actually happened: mid-discussion, a Ukrainian colleague struggled with a passage in English. I switched to Russian to help clarify. Suddenly three more people joined the conversation—audience members who’d been quiet because English wasn’t their strongest language either.
The panel became something else. Not a polished author reading, but actual exchange. Welsh writers, Eastern European voices, translators moving between languages in real time. The kind of multilingual mess that somehow becomes more precise than monolingual clarity.
Alexandra Büchler from LAF mentioned afterward that moments like this are what their Counterpoint programme aims for—writers who can hold literary focus whilst navigating language barriers. I wasn’t trying to demonstrate anything. Just seemed wasteful to let translation gaps prevent conversation.
Caernarfon itself: castle town, Welsh language visible everywhere, that specific UK atmosphere where historical weight sits in ordinary spaces. Reminded me why I write about borders. They’re never just passport stamps. They’re linguistic, cultural, the gap between what you can say in one language and what another language lets you mean.
Reading Eastern Empire there made sense. Novel about transparency, surveillance, who gets to see whom. In a room where people were code-switching between Welsh, English, Ukrainian, Russian—the transparency question becomes literal. What gets lost in translation isn’t always accident.
First proper festival appearance in Wales. Felt significant, though I’m suspicious of that feeling. Publishing teaches you that “significant” moments often mean nothing, and throwaway interactions sometimes change trajectories.
This one might be throwaway. Or it might be the start of deeper engagement with UK literary networks. Too early to tell.
— Writer Julia Zolotova
