It is hardly controversial to state that we are living in a post-European world, given the pressures on Eurocentric perspectives to become more inclusive, especially toward the Global South. What is equally true—and provides the impetus behind my paper—is that the division between center and periphery within Europe has become more porous. However, the intra-European dialogue between Western and Eastern literary/publishing establishments observed since the fall of the Berlin Wall, exciting though it is, continues to be hampered by assumptions and stereotypes. On the one hand, there is lots to cheer on, including new book prizes, chief among The European Union Prize for Literature (EUPL), supported by the Creative Europe program of the European Union, and the Grand Continent Prize, which aims to make the winning title widely available in translation (the title must be written in either French, Spanish, German, Polish, or Italian, which are also the languages the title is then translated into). On the other hand, it seems that Western European readers continue to expect a certain type of narrative to come out of East Central Europe, mainly, and not unlike during the Cold War, a book written by a dissident or depicting the trials and tribulations of living under an oppressive government. Ironically, today’s East Central European writers have themselves to blame, at least in part, as many of them embraced what Andrew Wachtel has called “new internationalism,” which is about getting translated as well as obtaining legitimacy. For his part, David Williams uses the term trümmerliteratur (“rubble literature” or “literature of the ruins”) to designate writers who continue to feed the West a cocktail of political tribulations or historical narrativizing (Poland’s Andrzej Stasiuk, for example, became immensely popular in Germany for his travelogues depicting East European backwaters). Is there a way forward out of this? Absolutely. To foster a truly pluralistic literary ecosystem, Europe must both engage with global literary developments under the banner of “world literature” and support avant-garde and migrant voices within its borders. This includes redefining paradigms for translation—such as reconsidering the notion of “native” translators—and reviving policies like the Adelbert von Chamisso Prize. By embracing linguistic and cultural diversity, Europe can not only counterbalance the dominance of English-language literature but also model a sustainable approach to literary inclusivity that values both global and regional voices.

We have been used to discuss technology in the sense of new communication technoogies, often linked to the digital medium. This is the discussion today with comparative literary studies, when we address its relation to technology. This field is mostly discussed in the relations between new communication and creation technology and research, gathering the uses of the digital, the possiblities of artificial intelligence, and the new distribution media or social networks. This is a very relevant take on technology, especially because it is still very uncertain. These techological phenomena are directly linked to discourse and languages, and, therefore, to the production and circulation of literature. However, technology is a much wider theme, and so are the relations between literature and technology. In particular, I will pay attention to a particular relation between the history of European languages, fishing tehcnologies, and literature.

While the prominence of some literary languages over the others has changed in the history of European literatures, their various uses continue to both producing the idea of Europe itself as well as resistances to it. This paper looks at narratives of fishing that contrast the Eurpoean fishing policy frameworks with the specific local experiences of the changing fishing practices in the margins of Europe. In particular, the paper delves into the narrative essay Laberinto de mar: un viaje por la vida y la historia de nuestras costas by Noemí Sabugal’s, which employs multilingualism in its tracing of the technological changes that have transformed and eroded the fishing sector in Spain. The book continuously uses minorized languages of the Iberian Peninsula to account for a resistance to the homogeneization that European policy frameworks have encompassed as the sector progressively evolved technologically towards a more industrial, international-scale fishing. Through the uses of Spanish, Galician, Basque, and Catalan, the book invites us to interrogate the changing ideas of Europe and the tensions between a Post-European cultural and literary panorama and the enclosing European governance policies. In sum, Laberinto mar invites us to interrogate other forms of cultural discourse that, while not necessarily centered in literary production and circulation, nonetheless involve the linguistic uses of technology in the creation of and resistances to European ideologies and imaginaries.

Few researchers are interested in Bruno Latour’s reflections on literature, probably due to his apparent devaluation of language, which he often considers as a veil preventing access to beings. Consequently, this presentation explores the possibility of approaching literature through Latour’s ontology, focusing on the (x-)morphism he values for analyzing protagonists in fictional works. First, we will show how Latour reassesses the conventional opposition between “fact” and “fiction”, giving privileged status to “beings of fiction.” We will then analyze how these beings exist, paying particular attention to female protagonists such as Thérèse Raquin in Émile Zola’s Thérèse Raquin and Marie-Ève in Henri Lopes’ Sur l’autre rive. Indeed, Latour discusses a series of multiple “morphic” transformations experienced by Adie, the protagonist of Richard Powers’ Plowing the Dark, at the moment when she recites a poem by Yeats, with her words coexisting and interacting with other human and non-human entities. We argue that this way of writing and reading novels allows female protagonists to exist in a different way than before.

Peu de chercheur·euse·s s’intéressent à la réflexion de Bruno Latour sur la littérature, probablement en raison de sa dévalorisation apparente de la langue, souvent considérée par lui comme une voile empêchant l’accès aux êtres. Dès lors, notre communication explore la possibilité d’aborder la littérature à travers l’ontologie de Latour, notamment en focalisant sur le (x)-morphisme qu’il valorise pour analyser les protagonistes dans des œuvres de fiction. Nous montrerons d’abord comment Latour réévalue la relation opposée entre le « fait » et la « fiction », en accordant plutôt un privilège aux « êtres de fiction ». Nous analyserons ensuite la manière dont ces derniers existent, en portant une attention particulière aux protagonistes féminines telles que Thérèse Raquin d’Émile Zola (Thérèse Raquin) et Marie-Ève de Henri Lopes (Sur l’autre rive). En effet Latour évoque une série de multiples transformations ‘morphiques’ que connaît la protagoniste Adie de Richard Powers (Plowing the dark) au moment où les mots d’un poème de Yeats qu’elle récite sont prononcés, coexistant et interagissant avec d’autres entités humaines et non humaines. Nous pensons que cette façon d’écrire et lire les romans fera exister les protagonistes féminines romanesques autrement qu’auparavant.

This paper examines an ecofeminist comparative analysis of Whale by Cheon Myeong-kwan and One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez, investigating how both novels delve into the intertwined oppression and resistance of women and nature under patriarchal, capitalist, and colonial systems. By applying an intersectional ecofeminist framework, the study reveals how solitude—manifested as isolation, estrangement, or transcendence—functions both as a mechanism of control and as a space for resistance and regeneration in these narratives. While both novels depict women and nature as marginalized and commodified, their critiques differ in scale and narrative style. Whale focuses on local industrial capitalism in Korea, illustrating how domestic systems of economic development exploit natural resources and female labor, culminating in nature’s material reclamation of industrial ruins. In contrast, One Hundred Years of Solitude critiques global colonial capitalism in Latin America, using magical realism to depict nature’s cyclical resistance to foreign corporate exploitation and historical erasure, particularly through the allegorical destruction and renewal of Macondo. The paper also investigates how female characters—Chunhui’s physical endurance and Remedios the Beauty’s mystical transcendence—embody divergent forms of ecofeminist resistance, ranging from embodied defiance to ethereal withdrawal. This analysis extends beyond gendered oppression, integrating critiques of class, colonialism, and environmental degradation to offer a multifaceted exploration of power and resistance. Ultimately, the paper argues that both novels, while culturally and narratively distinct, converge in their portrayal of women and nature as resilient agents capable of challenging and subverting systems of domination, providing valuable insights into contemporary ecofeminist discourse.