This match was judged by Kalah McCaffrey, a Young Adult literary scout at Franklin & Siegal. You can follow her on Twitter at @moheganscout.

For more information on the Women’s World Cup of Literature, click here or here. Also, be sure to follow our and like our And check back here daily!

As Ivory Coast and Germany lined up for kick-off in the second round of matches, I wasn’t sure what to expect: that powerhouse Germany had trounced underdog Thailand came as no surprise, but Côte d’Ivoire ousting stoic Norway was a nice twist. Côte d’Ivoire won the toss and first possession and their offensive attacks were wild and breathtaking, but ultimately the strategy was repetitive and short-winded, so endurance flagged. Germany’s steady, relentless advance quickly overwhelmed the defense and left the competition eating turf.

Côte d’Ivoire’s Queen Pokou showed its strengths early in the game—the rich mythology, nuance of language, and vibrant characters were instantly powerful. Queen Abraha Pokou’s tale, the origin story of the Baoule people, captivated with wild magical twists, and Pokou fulfilled the role of de facto goalkeeper/savior of her people with real chutzpah. Our heroine is born the niece of the respected king of the Ashanti Kingdom. An early outcrop of wild hair destines her for greatness, a prophecy fulfilled when her brother succeeds her uncle as king and she develops an instinct for leadership. While the king is far from home, Pokou faces an invasion by sending her people to hide in the woods while she herself remains behind to protect the weak. She gets kidnapped, but the king returns in time to rescue her, she becomes a trusted advisor to the throne, and later marries (one of many husbands) and finally gives birth to a son. Her brother king falls ill and names their half-brother his successor, but a treacherous uncle challenges his claim, so Pokou leads the loyal subjects into exile to protect them from a ruthless rash of murders. While trekking through the wilderness, faced with an impassable river and the advancing army looming behind them, the high priest instructs Pokou to sacrifice her royal-blooded infant son in order to calm the waters. She does so without hesitating, saves her people, and her cry of grief—Ba-ou-li (“the child is dead”)—becomes the name of their new community. This moment marks a goal of singular flair just before halftime, a bicycle kick that rockets the ball to the top left corner. In the second half, despite mesmerizing imagery, the story arc becomes muddled and repetitive. The defensive line interferes with its own keeper, offense keeps forfeiting possession, and chaos generally reigns. Some chapters repeat portions of the previous events but from a different angle, while others pick up at scattered points and progress in any number of directions. In one, Queen Pokou herself gives in to the river and becomes a water-dwelling goddess. In another, the tale imagines what the Baoule’s fate would have been had Pokou not sacrificed her son: instead her people stage an ambush and challenge the advancing army long enough to retreat and seek refuge in a nearby village. But in the night the army rallies and slaughters Pokou’s people and their innocent hosts. The language is undeniably rich, even decadent and visceral. The images and spontaneous magical developments are intoxicating as well, but I was left feeling bemused and dyspeptic, as if I’d overindulged in a heavy meal. And while the distilled nature of this very brief text might have proven more challenging to other opponents, Côte d’Ivoire just didn’t have the stamina to maintain pressure against Germany’s stiff, and highly entertaining, attack.

The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine started off with a bang and the hits just kept coming. The self-involved, self-pitying, self-aggrandizing protagonist Rosalinda charmed the referees as she bullied her way through life, a true striker through and through. Of Tartar descent and living in Russia, Rosa is determined to lead a comfortable life, and her homely, stupid daughter Sulfia and pushover husband are no match for her ambition. Rosa’s plotting carries the whole match, even through her own downfall. The first challenges she faces are when Sulfia comes home pregnant at seventeen, claiming to be a virgin. Rosa cares for the resulting granddaughter, Aminat, as her own and is pleased when the young girl grows beautiful and smart, if ill-tempered. Next up is locking down a man for Sulfia, most easily accomplished by using her daughter’s job as a nurse to gain access to men’s affections. The first conquest has a roving eye and defects quickly. The second prospect, though Jewish (to Rosa’s chagrin), proves a decent man even though he knocks Sulfia up and only agrees to marry her after Rosa orchestrates it (tie game). Just when it seems settled—Sulfia has a decent man, ugly baby Lena arrives, and Rosa keeps Aminat nearby (fortunate, since the girl goes feral any time Rosa spends much time away from her)—Sulfia’s husband announces plans to emigrate to Israel with his family. The day before they’re set to leave, Rosa tries to kill herself. When she wakes, she finds Sulfia and Aminat have stayed behind (Germany scores again, if in a dirty penalty kick; the first half closes at 2-1). Sulfia is crushed and Aminat resents Rosa, but the matriarch won’t be deterred. She finds a third husband for her daughter, and this time it’s a German (Rosa wants out of Russia and into Europe). But Dieter is a bit . . . off. He takes an outsized interest in Aminat and merely tolerates Sulfia. Dieter is, however, the ticket to Germany, and relocates all three ladies in order to keep Aminat. The teenager grows sullen, withdrawn, acne-prone. Rosa is aware of the subtext, but loves her new life and will not give it up. Sulfia goes back to Russia to settle affairs so she can marry Dieter, but she falls ill (cancer perhaps) and also gets stuck looking after her ailing father. Back in Germany, Rosa gets a job as a cleaning lady in which she takes great pride and satisfaction. With her own income she feels empowered, and learns to ride a bike, then to drive a car. She even pursues a medical career (a surprise goal from nearly mid-field!; 3-1), though her self-taught education and under-the-table medical advice get her promptly fired (yellow card). In rapid succession, Sulfia dies, Rosa begins to hallucinate her daughter’s presence, Rosa gets taken in by an odd, wealthy Englishman, Rosa’s former husband comes to Germany, a grown-up Lena appears from Israel, and Aminat runs away (second yellow card; Rosa is thrown out of the game). The final chapters show Rosa drifting listlessly through life until she discovers Aminat is a contestant on a TV competition to find star singers. Aminat wins the entire competition, bringing the final score to a thrilling 4-1.

By the second half, the outcome of the match was evident. I appreciated the matchup of the ruthlessly pragmatic heroines who will do anything—including sacrifice their children to disturbing or even tragic fates—to achieve a better life; powerful women faced with impossible circumstances they refuse to let best them. But Rosa’s colorful obstinacy and wildly implausible trajectory (without even the aid of magical realism) carry the game and thrust Germany to the top.

Yesterday I commented on how strong Canada looked in the competition. But then, German and Bronsky! Over two matches, The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine has won by a combined score of 9-2. That’s some serious domination. This part of the bracket could come down to Atwood versus Bronsky . . . But I am getting ahead of myself.

Tomorrow’s match features Ecuador’s Beyond the Islands by Alicia Yánez Cossío up against Cameroon’s Dark Heart of the Night by Léonora Miano.

This match was judged by Hal Hlavinka, bookseller and events coordinator at Community Bookstore in Park Slope.

For more information on the Women’s World Cup of Literature, click here or here. Also, be sure to follow our and like our And check back here daily!

I’ll be up front and say that this match is a bit one-sided, and was something of a surprise for this judge: Veronique Tadjo’s agile book Queen Pokou (Côte d’Ivoire) managed to handily rout Linn Ullmann’s brooding novel The Cold Song (Norway). So what happened to the Norwegians?

The Cold Song stumbles out vicious and sloppy from the start. Somewhere between thriller and family drama, but with the conviction of neither, Ullmann’s novel is humorlessly peopled by people one would rather not spend time with. There’s Siri, the mother and shrew, overworked and undersexed, spread too thin as narrative glue but the narrative’s glue nonetheless. There’s Jon, the father and blocked novelist (there’s a specter haunting Norwegian literature), who simply cannot seem to write a word or stop constantly cheating on his wife. Then there’s Jenny, the drunken grandmother; and Alma, the disgruntled teen; and her sister Liv, who lives a life in fifty words or less. Oh, and of course, don’t forget Milla, the au pair whose brutal rape and murder at the hands of the sociopath K.B. occasions this whole ordeal. More on Milla in a bit.

As a thriller, The Cold Song relies on the smallest suspicion that a family member may have snuffed out the babysitter. Did Siri uncover an affair? Is Jon covering one up? Did Jenny get soused and commit a hit-and-run? When, halfway through, we learn that’s not the case, and that an Evil Villain is at the heart of Milla’s disappearance, everything falls back on the shoulders of the family drama. The floodgates open, and these banal voices yell and fuck and drink, revisiting their own pasts’ traumas and indiscretions without ever really coming into emotional contact. Great novels are built on less, but Ullmann never takes these relationships into dangerous waters—nothing is real or unreal, challenging or exciting or terrifying enough. All seems static and half-sketched and grey. What some have called nuanced, I’m calling flat.

And then there’s the rape and murder at the center of it all. Given the Scandinavian crime genre’s fascination with the brutalization of women’s bodies, one might read Ullmann’s take as a kind of critique, and I don’t think that’s wrong; yet it’s tired, tiring, to trudge through one more rape-as-narrative-engine novel, hell bent on having us act as witness while, at the same time, flattening the act’s social and political and cultural machinations. Furthermore, Milla spends much of the book missing, her rape and murder disclosed only to the reader, leaving the cast to dwell in their petty, simple miseries. One wonders if any of it was really necessary, the extremity wedged inside such a timid story, and, at the conclusion, Ullmann sacrifices complexity for a simple Bad Things Happen tact.

Queen Pokou plays a different, smarter game altogether. Of course the general caveat: it’s hard to compare the two books, considering their drastically different approaches to narrative. But follow Tadjo’s epic-in-miniature close enough, and it’s clear, at least to this judge, who the winner is.

Queen Pokou adapts a sweeping, legendary tone to recast the story of Queen Pokou’s sacrifice of her child, a foundation myth for the Baoule, the largest tribe in modern Côte d’Ivoire. In the story, Pokou escapes assassination from the invading Ashanti Confederacy and flees slavery with her people, making the long journey west to the Komoe River. At the river’s edge, with no way to cross and troops closing in, a priest proclaims that a sacrifice is required for the tribe’s survival. Pokou throws her infant into the dangerous waters, screaming, “Ba-ou-li: the child is dead!,” after which a giant tree crashes down to form a bridge. The tribe passes into safety, settling to farm in exile and taking the name Baoule in honor of the queen’s sacrifice. This is the basis for the legend, and the first story that appears in Tadjo’s narrative.

Here, it’s important to note Queen Pokou’s subtitle: Concerto for a Sacrifice. The lead voice in the orchestra, Pokou’s story is not a static note, held indefinitely unto silence, but has melody, rhythm, and counterpoint. For Tadjo, the foundation myth is just that: a foundation upon which to construct something new. In the novel’s second part, “The Time of Questioning,” the narrative begins teasing apart the emotional and ethical dimensions of such a sacrifice; suddenly we’re in the realm of speculation. One variation of the story sees Pokou sparing her infant only to throw herself to the waters to become an ocean goddess; in another, the queen refuses a sacrifice altogether, and the tribe is brutally captured and shipped across the Atlantic Passage into new world slavery; yet another variation reframes the sacrifice as a rejection of motherhood and a bid for power.

By turns fantastical and terrifying and chilling, each new variation looks at the foundation myth from a new vantage point, testing the Queen’s decisions and motives by shifting the variables. Tadjo’s language finds rhythms and repetitions that build in force, turning her mythic tone into something more terrestrial. Indeed, the real power of Queen Pokou is in the way that this tonal shift occurs, in how, variation after variation, Tadjo invokes the traumas of the African eighteenth century—slavery, colonization, and civil war—to deconstruct and humanize the legend. I’m not sure how many of my fellow judges in this tournament will be so affected by Veronique Tadjo’s Queen Pokou, but I, for one, wish the Côte d’Ivoire luck.

Côte d’Ivoire: 3
Norway: 0

Next up, Côte d’Ivoire’s Queen Pokou will face off against either The Hottest Dishes of the Tartar Cuisine by Alina Bronsky (Germany) or The Happiness of Kati by Ngarmpun (Jane) Vejjajiva (Thailand) on Tuesday, June 23rd.

Tomorrow’s match will be judged by Florian Duijsens and is a big one, featuring China’s The Last Lover by Can Xue (recent winner of the Best Translated Book Award) against New Zealand’s much praised The Luminaries by Eleanor Catton.

Since the Women’s World Cup is kicking off in Canada next week, it’s time to do this all over again. Except that this time, only living female authors are allowed to participate. (And, as much as possible, the books included were published within the last ten years.)

Before announcing the participating titles, I have to announce that we’re still looking for judges. And, unlike last year, we want at least two-thirds of the eighteen judges to be females. So, if you’re interested—as a judge you read two books, write up the result of that “match” complete with soccer-esque score, then chime in on the final—just email me at chad.post[at]rochester.edu. You’ll have to do this fast though. The competition launches next week . . .

Tomorrow (or later today) we’ll post the new graphics and bracket so that you can see the first round competitions and debate which book has the easiest path to the final four, but for now, here’s a listing of all the titles that we’re including. (These are alphabetical in order of the country each is representing.)

Australia: by Hannah Kent

Brazil: by Adriana Lisboa, translated from the Portuguese by Alison Entrekin

Cameroon: by Léonora Miano, translated from the French by Tamsin Black

Canada: by Margaret Atwood

China: by Can Xue, translated from the Chinese by Annelise Finegan Wasmoen

Colombia: by Laura Restrepo, translated from the Spanish by Natasha Wimmer

Costa Rica: by Tatiana Lobo, translated from the Spanish by Asa Zatz

Cote d’Ivoire: by Veronique Tadjo, translated from the French by Amy Baram Reid

Ecuador: by Alicia Yánez Cossío, translated from the Spanish by Amalia Gladhart

England: by Kate Atkinson

France: by Virginie Despentes, translated from the French by Sîan Reynolds

Germany: by Alina Bronsky, translated from the German by Tim Mohr

Japan: by Yoko Ogawa, translated from the Japanese by Stephen Snyder

Mexico: by Carmen Boullosa, translated from the Spanish by Samantha Schnee

Netherlands: by Dubravka Ugresic, translated from the Croatian by Michael Henry Heim

New Zealand: by Eleanor Catton

Nigeria: by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Norway: by Linn Ullmann, translated from the Norwegian by Barbara Haveland

South Korea: by Bae Suah, translated from the Korean by Sora Kim-Russell

Spain: by Elvira Navarro, translated from the Spanish by Rosalind Harvey

Sweden: by Camilla Läckberg, translated from the Swedish by Steven Murray

Switzerland: by Noëlle Revas, translated from the French by W. Donald Wilson

Thailand: by Ngarmpun (Jane) Vejjajiva, translated from the Thai by Prudence Borthwick

USA: by Toni Morrison