Nonsuch Book

doctor zhivago, book two

 

Two weeks ago, Kat responded to my frustration about struggling through the first part of the new translation of Doctor Zhivago by pointing me to an article written by Paternak's niece who is less than pleased with Pevear's and Volokhonsky's treatment of the classic. What I found was an affirmation of what I had seen suggested elsewhere - that perhaps the failing of this translation lies in one of the greatest strengths of other Pevear and Volokhonsky work. It stayed close to the text of the original, resisted the temptation to offer syntax and vocabulary in a manner characteristic of English rather than Russian.

Ann Pasternak Slater suggests that the earlier translation by Max Hayward is actually superior to the new translation, resisting the impulse "to drift unconsciously into the linguistic aura of his original – in this case, to write a kind of Russified English. This is the danger besetting Volokhonsky and Pevear."

On a first reading, one is distracted by locutions that are somehow not quite right – often not strikingly, but continuously and insidiously so. They just don't sound English. The terrorist "was serving at hard labor". "Pavel had gone to bathe in the river and had taken the horses with him for a bath." (Hayward-Harari have "Pavel had gone off to bathe in the river and had taken the horses with him.") He "fell to thinking" ("stood thoughtfully"). "The spouses went rolling off" ("The couple drove off").

Sustained, low-level unease is intensified by un-English word-order. "Yura was pleased that he would again meet Nika." Inversions (ubiquitous in early Conrad) are natural to foreigners speaking English and a mistake in translators. The inversion of subject and verb, aggravated by an invasive parenthesis, is an elementary translator's error. "At the turn there would appear, and after a moment vanish, the seven-mile panorama of Kologrivovo." It is quickly apparent that Volokhonsky-Pevear follow the Russian very closely, without attempting to reconfigure its syntax or vocabulary into a more English form.

This misguided literalism is disastrous in dialogue. "Yes, yes, it's vexing in the highest degree that we didn't see each other yesterday" ("Oh, I wish I'd seen you yesterday").

But then she goes on to question what constitutes a superior translation - literal fidelity or capturing more subtle nuances in the text.

Volokhonsky-Pevear are ruled by the principle of literal fidelity, Hayward-Harari by the imperatives of clarity, elegance and euphony. Take Pasternak's description of a moonlit night rich with suppressed passion. In Hayward-Harari's version it begins:

"An enormous crimson moon rose behind the rooks' nests in the Countess's garden. At first it was the colour of the new brick mill in Zybushino; then it turned yellow like the water-tower at Biryuchi."

The unauthorised, italicised words clarify the implicit chromatic scale of the brightening moon.

Volokhonsky-Pevear have:

"Beyond the crows' nests of the countess's garden appeared a blackish purple moon of monstrous dimensions. At first it looked like the brick steam mill in Zybushino; then it turned yellow like the Biriuchi railway pump house."

One may be more literally correct but that is not the one I necessarily want to read. Bellezza suggested I read the older translation but I did not have the opportunity to pick it up. Wish I had. Because ultimately this was not a novel about politics but a portrait of a simple man, a simple love that presented themselves in difficult times. There is something universally appealing about that, but the language of the new translation did not convey that simplicity. It clunked along in a labored way, dragging its orthopedic shoes through a story that should have danced like the effortless movements of nature that became my favorite parts of the novel. 

So what is most important in a translation for you - literal fidelity or the more subtle, less faithful capturing of nuance even if that requires a slight act of infidelity to the original language? Or a little bit of both if that is possible? What are your favorite translations and what made them work for you?

Many thanks to all who agreed to read with me, and my apologies for being the moaning, complaining host. I struggled mightily. Described the reading as "painful." But made it through. Later on Tuesday, I will add links to other posts, most likely happier and better constructed views of a novel I hope at least a few enjoyed.

• Bellezza at Dolce Bellezza
• Marie at Boston Bibliophile
• softdrink at Fizzy Thoughts
• Jessica at Park Benches and Bookends

sunday salon: mitford reads

The November issue of Vogue (US) contains the article "Leading Ladies," about "two new books [that] celebrate iconic women who have faced triumph and tragedy with impeccable style." It is actually two pieces under one title, the first about the Duchess of Devonshire's memoirs, Wait for Me! written by her grand-daughter Stella Tennant, and the second about The World of Gloria Vanderbilt by Wendy Goodman as seen through a tribute from her son, Anderson Cooper. While both were very interesting, I found myself drawn by the section on the Duchess, also known as Deborah Mitford, the youngest of the famed Mitford sisters.

There is something about the spunk of these women even when misguided that really entertains me. And I am interested in how Debo's famed common sense and energy helped restore Chatsworth to its former glory. That is why I am hoping that this particular memoir makes its way to me via Santa this year. And I love the cover too but secretly wish that she had been wearing wellies or some other insouciantly chosen accessory to the lovely dress.

In the meantime, I have decided to finally dig into my Nancy Mitford titles that have sat waiting too long. Wigs on the Green first and then straight through. From the sister whom many credit with creating the myth of the Mitford women. 

Hope that you all are settling into similarly satisfying comfort reads here at holiday's end in the states, and that you make plenty of time during the bustle of the holidays for more of the same. Happy reading in the Sunday Salon!

virginia woolf on time's list of most powerful women of 20th century

Via Blogging Woolf. Last week the female staffers at Time posted a video of the 25 most influential women of the 20th century, and included Virginia Woolf right along side the likes of Mother Teresa and Madonna. A little surprising but anything that encourages the wary to pick up a Woolf novel warrants some attention and praise. 

The 1937 cover story on Woolf (see image above) began like this:

Last year Margaret Mitchell of Atlanta, Ga. wrote her first novel. Gone With The Wind. Last week Virginia Woolf of London, England published her seventh. The Years. Margaret Mitchell's book has sold more copies (1,300,000) than all Virginia Woolf's put together. But literary brokers who take a long view of the market are stocking up with Woolfs, unloading Mitchells (TIME, April 5). Their opinion is that Margaret Mitchell was a grand wildcat stock but Virginia Woolf a sound investment.

Virginia Woolf has been called "the best-equipped and the most disappointing woman novelist in the history of English literature." That she can be considered a disappointment indicates that she may be not just a highbrow writer but perhaps a great one. She is certainly the foremost woman author of her day. Her books are addressed not to a literary clique but to the Intelligent Common Reader. And the address is written in such a fine and flowing hand that even when it is illegible the hopeful addressee can find some profitable pleasure in puzzling over it. Even her obscurer books have something about them that attracts popular attention, for more than most stylists, she writes about the common gist of things.

A sound investment indeed. So we look at a mass appeal publication like Time and little has changed about their opinion of Wolf from 1937 to the present - challenging, a bit off-putting, but most agree that one should at least want to like her works. And not just the fictional work but the criticism as well. Woolf as arbiter of literary taste. Hmmm. I think many of us saw from our Woolf in Winter project this year that it is possible to embrace the divine Virginia if one just gets a little closer. In other words, if you don't at least try to read the books, you will never know. Makes me crave another round of Woolf in Winter.

book lust: tree of codes by jonathan safran foer

Don't even care what this is about. Just love the idea of it, the look of it. Book sculpture. An idea that printer after printer rejected. Jonathan Safran Foer takes his favorite book, The Street of Crocodiles by Bruno Schulz, and literally cuts a new story from it. 

“Jonathan Safran Foer, deftly deploys sculptural means to craft a truly compelling story. In our world of screens, he welds narrative, materiality, and our reading experience into a book that remembers that it actually has a body.” –Olafur Eliasson

From UK publisher Visual Editions. From whom I think I will order directly as Amazon US is estimating 1-4 weeks for delivery.

  

sunday salon: gifting is upon us

Kimbofo at Reading Matters ran a great post this week with suggestions for bookish gifts. The last of the ten suggestions particularly caught my eye. The Great Penguin Bookchase. Clicked over with the intent to purchase immediately. As a gift. For myself. And then this. PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS GAME IS NOT AVAILABLE FOR SALE TO CANADA OR USA - THANK YOU. That is so wrong. So I sought a comparable. And found this at Bas Bleu. Guessing the title or author of a piece of great literature from the first line of the work. This will work.

Other things I might buy for gifts this year? For both myself and others? (I actually buy things for myself every year and sneak them in my stocking or wrap with a tag to me from Santa. I have an out of control love of presents.) Here is the hilarious children's book that I will buy for adults - because many children will not get it, and I make it a practice to discourage children from calling each other "jackass." However apt the insult might be. It's a Book by Lane Smith.

  

Also want to share some of those new F. Scott Fitzgerald re-designs by Coralie Bickford-Smith. So smitten when I first caught sight of them, I immediately posted. Beautiful, Art Deco inspired, foil-decorated hardbacks. Above and beyond as all good gifts should be. 

Great F. Scott from Penguin Books on Vimeo.

And am entertaining the idea of gifting two favorite lovelies from Chronicle Books - Art of McSweeney's ...

 

... and The Exquisite Book.

  

What will you give for bookish presents this year?

and the pursuit of happiness by maira kalman

And the Pursuit of Happiness by Maira Kalman is a most pleasing book. It feels heavy and luxurious in the hands, the smooth weighty paper a great backdrop for the whimsical and inspired photos and illustrations. It is as much about the small things that bring happiness as it is about the expressed intent of the book, a personal examination of the nature of democracy in our country. All inspired by the inauguration of President Obama, and beginning with a trip to the festivities.

   

The event greeted with a large "Hallelujah" and inspiring a look around the country and the things that define our national identity. Contained in choices like the one above - property forsaken for happiness. A quirky notion upon which to found a country. And one of which I am particularly fond.

Remove the dust jacket to reveal Kalman's Lincoln notes and sketches. Lincoln is her president crush. She suspects she would have been a much better wife to him than the crazy Mary Todd was.

And some of my other favorite images:

Tempting to write this off naive, as pretty without substance, but just because the message is simple does not detract from its significance. I like what Kaiman said about this in a conversation with the publisher. "In general, people see and discuss what does not work and what is wrong. That has been true for some time. So, without seeming too naive, I wanted to write about what is sane about our system. What is likable. For example, the system of checks and balances. The debating. The ability to change a law. The sense of humor. The can-do spirit." Comforting thoughts. Open to criticism of course but then again so was Jefferson's idealistic stab at legislating happiness. Beautifully optimistic.

This book was a blog in it's first incarnation. Begin checking it out on this link.

doctor zhivago, book one

"I would pretend (metaphorically) to have seen nature and universe themselves not as a picture made or fastened on an immovable wall, but as a sort of painted canvas roof or curtain in the air, incessantly pulled and blown and flapped by a something of an immaterial unknown and unknowable wind." - Boris Pasternak, Letter (in English) to Stephen Spender, August 22, 1959

This quote sits atop the introduction to the new Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky translation of Boris Pasternak's Doctor Zhivago, and reflects what I have found to be most appealing about the novel - the often elegant personification of nature amidst occasionally leaden and awkward prose. Like in this early sentence - "When the wind gusted, the leafless acacia bushes thrashed about as if possessed and flattened themselves to the road." Just lovely.

But I came to the introduction after reading Book One. After feeling a little mystified as to what I had gotten myself into with this read, and searching for a salvaging viewpoint. And Pevear assured me that the book speaks for "something else" besides the most frequent assumptions about the work - that it is either "a good, old-fashioned, nineteenth-century historical novel about the Russian revolution, an epic along the lines of War and Peace" or "a moving love story, or the lyrical biography of a poet, setting the sensitive individual against the grim realities of Soviet life." But Pevear's "something else," his argument for the unique qualities of the novel, his assertion that this was a novel of "formal innovation," an "experimental novel," came off a little hollow to me. The reality of the reading experience for me so far is mild boredom and an occasional need to re-read sentences whose meaning do not immediately convey. And scattered discoveries of very pretty turns of phrase.

And I keep thinking of Nabokov's famous dismissal of Pasternak's work."Doctor Zhivago is a sorry thing, clumsy, trite and melodramatic, with stock situations, voluptuous lawyers, unbelieveable girls, romantic robbers and trite coincidences." Now it is true that Doctor Zhivago was eclipsing Lolita in sales, and that Nabokov disagreed with Pasternak's political views so his motivations may have been somewhat askew in letting loose with this condemnation, but I still see some truth in it.

I want to like this book more than I actually do half-way through. Will Book Two change my mind? Hoping the rest of you are enjoying more. Will post links to other opinions later in the day on Tuesday.

• Rachel at Book Snob
• Joan Hunter Dunn at Flowers and Stripes
• Jessica at Park Benches and Bookends
• Marie at Boston Bibliophile
• Bellezza at Dolce Bellezza

sunday salon: the wolves

My non-structured reading group is one of my favorite parts of blogging. To this point, we have been very loosely organized and our "non-structured" name was a bit of a joke, a reference to the fact that we had avoided fully thinking through our loose but close affiliation. But for the new year, we will be getting our collective act together, and will be half-mockingly referring to our group as "The Wolves."

The image you see above was the colophon for Hogarth press, the publishing venture of Leonard and Virginia Woolf. As you can see, the whole thing is very civilized. It was this or a somewhat lecherous wolf image that cracked us all up, but I could not bring myself to leave on my blog on a regular basis. But you might see it posted from time to time by at least one or two of us. 

So what will we be reading in 2011? Glad you asked.

• Jan - Eileen - The Bread Givers by Anzia Yezierska
• Feb - Emily - Our Horses in Egypt by Rosalind Belben
• Mar - Richard - Conversation in the Cathedral by Mario Vargas Llosa
• Apr - Sarah - The Dodecahedron, or a Frame for Frames by Paul Glennon
• May - Frances - What Ever Happened to Modernism? by Gabriel Josipovici
• Jun - Claire - The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao by Junot Díaz
• Jul - Eileen - Snow by Orhan Pamuk
• Aug - Frances - The End of the Story by Lydia Davis
• Sep - Richard - Memoirs of Hadrian by Marguerite Yourcenar
• Oct - Sarah - House of Leaves by Mark Danielewski
• Nov - Emily - The Planetarium by Nathalie Sarraute
• Dec - Claire - Buying a Fishing Rod for My Grandfather by Gao Xingjian

Join us for a few, for all. We will be happy to have you as a part of the conversation. I believe that we are aiming for the last weekend of each month. 

my favorite nyrb classic: the post-office girl by stefan zweig

Uncertain if I will finish and post on The Old Man and Me by Elaine Dundy (which I am thoroughly enjoying) before the end of the day on this last day of NYRB Reading Week, I have decided to quickly plug my favorite NYRB classic to date - The Post-Office Girl by Stefan Zweig. Read about a year ago, my impressions are a little fuzzy but not as much as with other reads that quickly fade from memory. Because The Post-Office Girl is a vividly drawn and intensely driven novel, one where the reader feels the devastation of wants and desires fulfilled then ripped away.

Christine leads the dullest, least satisfying life imaginable as a post office clerk in post WW I Austria. Money is scarce, she has to care for her ailing mother, she has little joy in her life. She is dragged down by her reduced circumstances that are captured in the stifling details of routine and bureaucracy. She resides in a world of grays and muted colors until her wealthy aunt writes, and offers Christine a chance for a holiday in a mountain resort.

The middle Cinderella part of the story hums with the energy and sparkle awakened in Christine by her vacation with her aunt and uncle, and exists as a social commentary on how poverty steals so much from life. But this portion of the novel is not the end and the conclusion returns us to a point of despair even greater then the beginning of the novel. The realization that her place in life is escaped only through deception, an abandonment of self. And then a realization that her place in life is inescapable. Haunting.

Have found it curious that many have complained that the final portion of the book seems out of place with the rest, that the novel would have been somehow better without it. I find the final portion essential in completing Zweig's portrait of the devastating effects of the war. The emotional ride Zweig takes us on mirrors that of the characters in such an intense way that a drive through to the end however harsh and unrelenting is required to portray the total loss of hope that existed for many at the time. Highly recommended.

My hope is to take up a few more Zweig novels next year. NYRB currently publishes the following titles by the author:

• Journey Into the Past (published this month)
• Beware of Pity
• Chess Story

nyrb reading week: a month in the country by j. l. carr

A Month in the Country by J.L. Carr has been described to me many times as a perfect little novel. And yet I put off reading it because it sounded like too much I had read before about the wounds of the first world war, the things taken away, etc. Not that novels that take this subject up are suspect or trite or redundant in every circumstance. The post-war crisis of confidence was a pivotal point in history with often heartbreaking results for individuals. But ... well, I could put another from this line off for a little while.

But then on Friday, as I was spending the day in the bookstore, I took a few minutes to read the introduction to the NYRB edition of the novel in which Michael Holroyd discusses the playful, eccentric nature of Carr, and how all manner of tangential thinking comes to rest as a cohesive whole in A Month in the Country, his Booker nominated 1980 work. And then I started reading the book, and found, predictably given this large build-up, a perfect little novel. But not a novel of what the Great War took away, but what the trials of that war revealed, uncovered.

Tom Birkin has returned from the war to find that his wife, chronically unfaithful to him in his absence, has chosen to leave him for another. Birkin has acquired a stutter and a facial tick and suffers from nightmares - the after effects of his war experience. He takes what little remains for him and sets out for the remote Yorkshire village of Oxgodby where he has been hired to reveal a medieval mural that has been covered with hundreds of years of whitewash and the like.

As Birkin eyes what might be on that church wall, he thinks, "By nature we are creatures of hope, always ready to be deceived again, caught by the marvel that might be wrapped in the grubbiest brown paper parcel." He could be referring to the art uncovered, himself or any of the others around him in this small town when he refers to what is wrapped in brown paper. The small, fine things that distinguish people that remain unseen to most. Those differences between people at home and people out in the world that Carr is fond of exploring here. And the ways in which art captures a reality sometimes lost in the every day back and forth. The oddity of natural beauty perceived in art and not in nature.

It is a lovely and affecting little book.

Check out more links and fun at the event sponsor sites - A Literary Stew and Coffeespoons.