Somehow (i.e. Michael) I have been watching "American Idol" this season. I don't know why - it's like crack. (But I know I'm not alone, all you closet watchers and voters out there.)
LAist brings news of another contest, the Million Writers Award for Fiction, which is "a little like American Idol for short stories: a huge group is selected by judges, then winnowed down, then put before the public for a vote."
What's truly cool about this is are the links to the dozens of finalists, where in most if not all cases you can read the stories right on your screen. A very cool way to promote short fiction - which I often enjoy but rarely read anywhere except the New Yorker, which didn't have produce any finalists.
In other news, the pile of magazines by my bedstand has gotten out of hand, so I am taking a break from books for at least the rest of the workweek to try to reimpose some level of control. So likely light posting for a little while.
Monday, March 27, 2006
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
The 20th Century in "Two Lives"
Vikram Seth's great-uncle and aunt met in 1930s Berlin and married in London almost two decades later. In the interim, Shanti B. Seth becomes a dentist and loses an arm in WWII while Henny Caro flees the Nazi machine and loses her fiance, mother, and sister.
The younger Seth is a talented fiction writer, but in his family members he found a rich and complex tale. Two Lives tells a love story unlike most that appear in books, one that is rewarding even if sometimes puzzling. Shanti and Henny are most vivid as individuals rather than as a couple - but evidence suggests that they were often seen as the latter. The hidden emotions and questions that (Vikram) Seth brings to the surface have lingered in my mind since I finished the book yesterday.
But this is a loooong book, and I'd prefer to write a short review. As a student of 20th century history, I found this a fantastic portrait of everyday life during and immediately after the Second World War. Seth unearthed a treasure trove of primary sources, and I believe that they illuminate many of the questions that will begin to attract scholarly attention. But it also reads much like a novel - Seth is sensitive to the fact that he is telling a story, and shares the reader's frustration when his "characters" remain obscured.
For me, this was a more satisfying read that A Suitable Boy, which I loved but fought with. Perhaps you can't fight with history in quite the same way; Henny & Shanti were real humans, both remarkable and flawed. Their tale is definitely worth a read.
The younger Seth is a talented fiction writer, but in his family members he found a rich and complex tale. Two Lives tells a love story unlike most that appear in books, one that is rewarding even if sometimes puzzling. Shanti and Henny are most vivid as individuals rather than as a couple - but evidence suggests that they were often seen as the latter. The hidden emotions and questions that (Vikram) Seth brings to the surface have lingered in my mind since I finished the book yesterday.
But this is a loooong book, and I'd prefer to write a short review. As a student of 20th century history, I found this a fantastic portrait of everyday life during and immediately after the Second World War. Seth unearthed a treasure trove of primary sources, and I believe that they illuminate many of the questions that will begin to attract scholarly attention. But it also reads much like a novel - Seth is sensitive to the fact that he is telling a story, and shares the reader's frustration when his "characters" remain obscured.
For me, this was a more satisfying read that A Suitable Boy, which I loved but fought with. Perhaps you can't fight with history in quite the same way; Henny & Shanti were real humans, both remarkable and flawed. Their tale is definitely worth a read.
Friday, March 17, 2006
Go Buy Books!
March is more than half over, but I just learned today that it's Small Press Month. Congrats and thanks go out to all the indie publishers, writers, and sellers during your month of fame. You guys, as you know, rock.
So now you're thinking, "I need to find me a small press book to read since it's Small Press Month and all..." Potential offering abound, but I'm focusing on just one today, since it may well go on Erin's List:
Siberia, by Nikolai Maslov. A graphic novel about Soviet Russia and alcohol? Seems like a good way to usher in spring.
So now you're thinking, "I need to find me a small press book to read since it's Small Press Month and all..." Potential offering abound, but I'm focusing on just one today, since it may well go on Erin's List:
Siberia, by Nikolai Maslov. A graphic novel about Soviet Russia and alcohol? Seems like a good way to usher in spring.
Monday, March 13, 2006
Happy Birthday to me!
Although I'm probably too old for this, I still like making a big fuss over my birthday. Hence the birthday post.
This is also to say a big thank you to those who will be helping keep my in books for the year to come. Michael took care of two books on my list:
(Thanks also to everyone else who pampered me in non-literary ways. I am lucky to have friends and family with such good taste.)
This is also to say a big thank you to those who will be helping keep my in books for the year to come. Michael took care of two books on my list:
- Dog Days, by Ana Marie Cox. Wonkette isn't the same without her. And despite mixed reviews (good and less so), I love her.
- The Dream Life of Sukhanov, by Olga Grushin. I have had this on my list since Michael mentioned it to me. All I know is that it's the tale of a Soviet apparatchik who falls out of favor. More coming as I read it.
(Thanks also to everyone else who pampered me in non-literary ways. I am lucky to have friends and family with such good taste.)
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
I translate too!
Rabassa's book (read the post below if you haven't yet) came into my life at a particularly serendipitous moment.
A couple weeks ago, Michael and I were treated to a free screening of the Russian blockbuster Nochnoi Dozor (Night Watch) - now at a theatre near you. It's fun, and if you see it, let me know and we can talk about it more.
(By the way, it's based on a trilogy by Sergei Lukyanenko, whose novels are available through the LA Public Library, but apparently only in Russian. And there seems to be a new fourth novel, possibly titled "Last Watch.")
But I digress. On New Year's Day, the follow-up, Dnevnoi Dozor (Day Watch - careful of the link, there's a spoiler alert!) opened in Moscow. And the third (Dusk Watch) will be filmed in English, rumor has it. I hope that I am revealing little enough to keep myself and others out of trouble, but Michael and I have come into possession of a copy of this film - sans subtitles - thanks to a friend with a thing for the Watch. My new hobby - and the point of this post: to translate the film for said unnamed friend.
And so many of the things Rabassa writes in his book really echoed my experience, although I am clearly lacking in his talent and facility. In an old issue of the New Yorker, Adam Gopnik wrote that we "breathe in our first language and swim in our second." And yet the gap between Rabassa's fluid stroke and my manic dog paddle is wide indeed.
A couple weeks ago, Michael and I were treated to a free screening of the Russian blockbuster Nochnoi Dozor (Night Watch) - now at a theatre near you. It's fun, and if you see it, let me know and we can talk about it more.
(By the way, it's based on a trilogy by Sergei Lukyanenko, whose novels are available through the LA Public Library, but apparently only in Russian. And there seems to be a new fourth novel, possibly titled "Last Watch.")
But I digress. On New Year's Day, the follow-up, Dnevnoi Dozor (Day Watch - careful of the link, there's a spoiler alert!) opened in Moscow. And the third (Dusk Watch) will be filmed in English, rumor has it. I hope that I am revealing little enough to keep myself and others out of trouble, but Michael and I have come into possession of a copy of this film - sans subtitles - thanks to a friend with a thing for the Watch. My new hobby - and the point of this post: to translate the film for said unnamed friend.
And so many of the things Rabassa writes in his book really echoed my experience, although I am clearly lacking in his talent and facility. In an old issue of the New Yorker, Adam Gopnik wrote that we "breathe in our first language and swim in our second." And yet the gap between Rabassa's fluid stroke and my manic dog paddle is wide indeed.
Lost in Translation
Don't call me lazy just because I picked the easiest possible title for this post. It's been hard work getting through enough reading to get onto Blogger.
But I made it!
Once upon I time, I promised you I'd be reading Gregory Rabassa's If This Be Treason, a memoir of translation. This guy is just about unbelievable, having translated dozens of works by different Spanish- and Portuguese-language authors. Also, of course, he seems to be fluent in every other language out there, including Latin. His enthusiasm for the perfect word or phrase is adorable, in the way as nerdy scientists who are so passionate about something utterly obscure. It's also intimidating, as he goes crazy (especially in the first section) with tangential asides and references.
Which reminds me, the first section of this short but rather dense book is about how he came to translation, and his defense of it as cultural mediator. (He also has great fun with untranslatables, words that have no English equivalent or that even lose something simply because the word sounds different and therefore must carry something different.) The last two thirds is his "list of particulars" - short chapters on every author he has translated and some details about the specific joys and challenges of each author's works. How few of them I knew (thank goodness for Gabriel Garcia Marquez) was a reminder of all the avenues of literature I have yet to explore. And this book provides a great reading list for anyone looking to discover Latin American (and particularly Brazilian) literature.
I'll leave you with a couple quotes that encapsulate the paradox of translation:
But I made it!
Once upon I time, I promised you I'd be reading Gregory Rabassa's If This Be Treason, a memoir of translation. This guy is just about unbelievable, having translated dozens of works by different Spanish- and Portuguese-language authors. Also, of course, he seems to be fluent in every other language out there, including Latin. His enthusiasm for the perfect word or phrase is adorable, in the way as nerdy scientists who are so passionate about something utterly obscure. It's also intimidating, as he goes crazy (especially in the first section) with tangential asides and references.
Which reminds me, the first section of this short but rather dense book is about how he came to translation, and his defense of it as cultural mediator. (He also has great fun with untranslatables, words that have no English equivalent or that even lose something simply because the word sounds different and therefore must carry something different.) The last two thirds is his "list of particulars" - short chapters on every author he has translated and some details about the specific joys and challenges of each author's works. How few of them I knew (thank goodness for Gabriel Garcia Marquez) was a reminder of all the avenues of literature I have yet to explore. And this book provides a great reading list for anyone looking to discover Latin American (and particularly Brazilian) literature.
I'll leave you with a couple quotes that encapsulate the paradox of translation:
The translator, we should know, is a writer too. As a matter of fact, he could be called the ideal writer because all he has to do is write; plot, theme, characters, and all the other essentials have already been provided, so he can just sit down and writer his ass off.and
...a translator is essentially a reader and we all read differently, except that a translator's reading remains in unchanging print.
Friday, March 03, 2006
Others have guilty pleasures too...
I have to admit that I also liked Da Vinci Code (and was embarrassed about it too) but my favorite thing about it right now is that it's prompting a spate of discussion about whether or not it's actually any good at all. Or if it's just fluff dressed up as literature.
Stephen Bayley (author of A Dictionary of Idiocy - my new favorite book title) discusses "good bad books" in today's LA Times. Apparently, in shades of Rumsfeld's known unknowns and unknown unknowns, there are good books, bad books, bad good books, and good bad books. The Code falls into the last category.
From Bayley:
Stephen Bayley (author of A Dictionary of Idiocy - my new favorite book title) discusses "good bad books" in today's LA Times. Apparently, in shades of Rumsfeld's known unknowns and unknown unknowns, there are good books, bad books, bad good books, and good bad books. The Code falls into the last category.
From Bayley:
Good bad books are not the same as books that are merely bad. Good bad is more subtle. A good bad book is one that achieves a surprisingly exhilarating effect despite flaws of style and construction, which disqualify it as (what Updike calls) "literature." Significantly, good bad books translate very well into film, perhaps suggesting that cinema is an intellectually and artistically undemanding medium.Is this the home of Helen Fielding? And does a novel's status change over time?
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