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Originally Posted by truncated

In light of our little forum book club and its first novel of discussion, "Dead Souls" by Gogol, I wonder, what are some general thoughts on novels in translation?

here's my first salvo: without translation, most of the world would be reduced to intellectual provincialism. would you have ever read homer, or the bible, or plato & aristotle, or the tao te ching an i ching and the yoga sutra or the kama sutra or the epic of gilgamesh? and that's just antiquity, and it's just for starters...

Originally Posted by truncated

I see the merits of reading translated novels for plot or 'entertainment' purposes, but as far as literary criticism/deconstruction/dissection, I consider the aforementioned activities pointless in regards to a novel not being read in its original linguistic context.

for the most part it's true; however, just like a movie can on occasion be better than the original book, there are times when a translation can surpass the original. i'll ofer an example in a moment.

Originally Posted by truncated

In my humble opinion, so much of a novel is comprised of its syntactical nuances, its vernacular, its sentence construction, its character dialogue, that its translation is more of a bastardization. While it's presumptuous to think that every writer takes advantage of the aforementioned tools for the purposes of conveyance, it's an affront to disregard such pains, and a majority of the value of the work is lost.

in that case a translation should be an invitation to learn a language. i set off to learn english in earnest when i started reading ulysses in spanish and i found i didn't like it-- i knew the verbal potency was lost, i bid my time, and when i finally arrived to the source i didn't dip-- i splashed and dove and drank until i was sated.

Originally Posted by truncated

What of Hardy's romanticism would remain after translation? Rushdie's cynical verbosity? Salinger's dejected minimalism? Not to mention the influence each's geographical roots have had upon their word choice and expression.

yes but your choice of authors is limiting.

Originally Posted by truncated

To me, translation is a tool of convenience and accessibility. If I don't speak the language a book is written in, it is my loss, and to digest it in any other form in hopes of dissecting it is an insult to myself and the author.

why then not just limit yourself to read midwestern contemporary authors?

Originally Posted by truncated

Thoughts? Comments? Dissenting opinions?

plenty

Originally Posted by truncated

Sidenote: Pompous, high-browed, obscure, anally retentive literary references are wonderful, when they are relevant to discussion. They are not so wonderful when put forth to engorge one's perceived intellectual resume.

ok here is my translation story.

i'm waiting for someone & decide to go into a bookstore. browsing though the books in spanish, i find this thing called "por el amor de pedro infante". sonorous, musical, campy little title ("for the love of pedro infante"-- he was a mexican movie star of the... 50s?)

so i start reading: it's the most colorful, hilarious, horny, insane book i'v seen in ages. i keep readinng, enthralled. but it's time to go! so i ask the bookstore guy about it; the woman who wrote it gave a reading there, signed books, etc. and then he tells me-- it's a translation! i look, and sure, there's a whole TEAM of people who went into writing it. so of course, fool that i am , i buy the original-- which was selling for $5 while the spanish version was $15 (i had to go the dentist so money was short).
when i get home, i open the book, and what do i find? a dissapointment. a chick book. a bland, boring narrative of a single woman in a border town. gone was the lush color of mexican slang, the outrageous expressions, the verbal fireworks. the book was called "loving pedro infante" -- you gringos see any music in that? no... i realized then that the translators were much better writers than the author and had surpassed the original version by light years by injecting it with verve and virtuosity and sheer street poetry.

do i want to limit myself to the particular province of my particular time and place? do i want to limit my culture to my place in the calendar, to my genes, to the politics of identity, to my insufficiency in other languages? no! no! no! i am too much of a glutton for that.

translation however should be in the hands of poets and poets only, because only they can recreate the peculiar magic of a language, for a different time and place, or create a new sort of magic.

and on that note, i will never speak or read russian, but i can say guerney is a bona-fide provider of linguistic delights, even though he wrote his translation in 1942 and this is 2006, and, oh, can you say "horse's twat" these days? ha ha hah... i found that in a chapter yesterday. i wouldn't waste my time in any of the rat's ass translations i've seen elsewhere though.

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im in a meeting. i might have fouled up somewhere but i'll reserve the right to edit later.