“People are read differently depending on where they are”: A conversation with Raphaëlle Red on the principle of the road novel
Raphaëlle Red is an author currently living in Berlin who writes in French, German and English. She is also doing her PhD on literature in the African diaspora. We had the pleasure of speaking with her about her French-language debut novel Adikou, its protagonist’s journey and its context from one language to the next. The German translation of the novel by Patricia Klobusiczky was published in September 2024 by Rowohlt Verlag.
Your novel, Adikou, is about a young woman traveling. She grew up in France, her Togolese father absent most of her life. She studies in the U.S. for a while and then spends some time in Togo with detours to Ghana and Benin. She seems driven the entire time, searching for something; for herself, for her family history, her sense of belonging. That’s at least how I would describe the book. What would you yourself say it’s about?
I think your description is very apt. I could add that it’s not necessarily a linear journey where it’s clear where you’re going. In my novel, it’s more of a spiral. At best, the protagonist gets closer to the heart of the matter, but often has the feeling of ending up in the same place over and over again. Spirals have that way of making you feel like you’re going round in circles.
On a meta-level, it is about certain discourses on origin and identity, which are often flattened and simplified. I wanted to question this and perhaps even dare to suggest how these narratives can be made more complex in literature.
One question that also recurs throughout the novel is that of the presence of the past; that is, the presence of colonial history, or colonial continuities, and the traumas of enslavement. For me, this book was an attempt to show a certain sensibility and subjectivity that I know many people in the African diaspora experience and recognize. This sensitivity or perception is often lacking in wider society. I wanted to show how strongly history shapes everyday life, what it does to relationships, to love, to political involvement, to feelings of security and to travel. So for me, this book is also an invitation, especially to white people, to engage emotionally and sensitively with these issues.
Who or what inspired you?
There are several answers to this. One I’m not really allowed to say anymore, at least according to my friends. But as a teenager, I read Jack Kerouac’s On the Road and was totally fascinated. Ever since then, I wanted to write a road novel. But as I became more politicized and knowledgeable, I began to question, criticize and think beyond the book and the author. What actually happens to this genre, which is predominantly male and white, when other characters with other bodies suddenly become the focus? What happens to its associations with freedom then? That is to say, Kerouac was an inspiration that I had to work my way through.
Then there was Léonora Miano. She was the first contemporary Black author I read in French who made me think, “wow, you can do that!” It is possible to take such liberties in writing; you can tell stories and write books which feature only Black characters and are nonetheless set in Paris. I found that impressive.
I also read Marguerite Duras while writing because I find her inspiring stylistically and she does a lot of interesting things with the use of direct speech. In my novel, the protagonist and the narrator later argue about narrative sovereignty and from a technical standpoint, that wasn’t so easy to implement. Therefore it was good to read Duras.
You’ve already talked about your own politicization and mentioned the protagonist; let’s move on to her next. I had the impression that she only undergoes a certain politicization as a student in the U.S., asking herself whether she is Black and whether that is an appropriate self-designation that she can claim for herself. Why did she have to travel to the U.S. for this?
I would clarify the question a bit and say that her politicization in terms of race or racism first happens in the U.S. She is already aware of class privileges before then and that has less to do with the U.S. context.
But it is only in the U.S. that she realizes she is read as Black and with that comes the process of politicization as a Black person, which she had no access to before. This is a common phenomenon that I know from myself and those around me. Many Black Europeans need to get to know the U.S., and by that I mean specifically African Americans, either literally or at least through text, film and music, in order to gain a self-image of themselves as Black. This is so that at some point they can see themselves as Black Germans or Black in France. So it’s quite common. But the next step is to ask ourselves whether we are willing to settle for that. I would say no. That’s why terms like Afropean and Afro-German are so important. At best, they ensure that less people look to the U.S. first, needing to translate themselves into a different language and context in order to find themselves and this politicization at all. That is one aim of these terms.
And is that one of the reasons why Adikou travels to Togo next?
Yes, in part. So, the principle of the road novel is an exceptional way of showing that people are read differently depending on where they are. That’s why I sent my character on a journey. Adikou grows up with everyone trying to reassure her by telling her that she is not Black, because being Black is supposedly a bad thing in this context. Different rules apply in the USA, where she is just Black. And then it was important for me to send her to Togo, because in this country she is now also suddenly white. This travel story shows that it’s not about something like skin color or anything inherent in nature.
But she is also looking for her father in Togo, for her story and trying to understand something about herself.
In a way, Adikou finds new connections in all of these places, even if they are not always pleasant for her. In the U.S., she has a white boyfriend, a kind of friendly relationship with a homeless person, she goes to university and spends the night with hospitable people, and so on. In Togo, she frequently runs into a man, a professor, who seems to know her family and thus supports her. And there are other people, but she always has this feeling of not fully belonging and in many situations she is afraid. Why is that?
Surprisingly, little has been said about fear in the context of the book so far. It was often more about anger and shame.
As you said, Adikou is not alone. But she is lonely because she realizes through her relationships that she still doesn’t quite belong. She understands belonging as identity in the sense of being identical. The fact that she doesn’t fit in ultimately has a lot to do with the discourses on belonging that are available to her.
The fear is just as ambivalent as the loneliness, as well as the points of contact and although she’s very scared, she’s also extremely brave. That’s exactly why I like the character so much.
You wrote the novel in French and it was translated into German by Patricia Klobusiczky. But I read in the German edition that this translation was done in close collaboration with you. What did that look like? What things in particular did you talk about with the translator?
For a while, there was this question whether I wanted to translate the novel myself. But I had already been working on the book for five years at that point and simply couldn’t imagine writing it again – I also wasn’t confident in my ability to translate it.
The fact that Patricia Klobusiczky, as an established and experienced translator, agreed to work with me, the author, was not a given.
We talked a lot, already after the first few pages, later discussing several chapters at a time. I was able to comment on things in the text and make suggestions, we would talk on the phone and then Patricia would go back to her translation.
I was very impressed with the way Patricia kept the cadence from the original text in the translation, even though the two languages work so differently rhythmically. And it was great that I was able to suggest in some places that Adikou should be a bit more cheeky or rude.
Additionally, it was also about terms like “métisse.” Patricia found different ways of handling this, which I always found appropriate. Once, for example, she used “half and half” as a translation. None of the chosen terms are particularly pleasant or non-violent, but rather the degree of violence was different and the translation shows that.