Literature in Translation, or: The Culture Barrier: Not Just for International Travel Anymore!

Learn something about Japanese culture and/or Japanese story-telling before you attempt to apply your culture-centric Western aesthetic to a Japanese narrative (yes, this means anime and manga and dramas).  This applies perhaps more so to Japan than to somewhere closer like Sweden or Spain, but it applies there, too.

The fact that you are reading a work of literature in translation should never allow you to forget that you are looking through a window into an alien worldview. All those little threads that lead off into associations in English (and, in fact, in much European) literature not only don't lead there in literature in translation, they lead to somewhere completely different , somewhere that you could never anticipate.

The Reluctant Widow

My voyage through Heyer continues with The Reluctant Widow! A more thorough review will be forthcoming when I have finished it, but I had to take a break because of sheer overwhelming delight. This book is filled with some of the best and wittiest Heyerian dialogue I have read, besides a somewhat suspenseful adventure plot, secret passageways, French spies, and a dog named Bouncer. The heroine (Elinor), the hero (Carlyon), the sidekick (the hero's youngest brother Nicky, rusticated from Oxford for capers involving a performing bear), and the villains (gouty Lord Bedlington and his son Francis) all number among the most delightful Heyerian characters I have yet encountered. Francis puts me in mind of my favourite Heyer character of all, Randall, from the murder mystery Behold, Here's Poison.

"Observe!" he said. "I should not say so, for it is an inspiration of my own, but really I am quite lost in admiration. Silver tassels, dear boy, not gold, thus delicately preserving the mourning-note. I shall wear black pantaloons for the ceremony, of course. I hesitated for long before I permitted Crawley to help me into these gray ones, for one would not wish to betray the least disrespect, but I think the relationship just remote enough to allow of my wearing them, do not you? I do flatter myself that my black neckcloth strikes precisely the correct note, however. Or do you think it makes me look like a military man?"

"No," said Nicky frankly. "Nothing could!"

"Ah, how delightful of you, dear boy! Really, you have so much relieved my mind!" Francis said, beaming upon him.

ett ställningstagande

When I first visited wax_jism's mother's flat in Ekenäs back in 2003 I was creeped out by the sheep and goatskins on the floor and chairs which looked like they'd been, you know, cut off of a sheep or goat, and have leather edges and legs and stuff. Long exposure to the frozen North has since made me used to them and instilled a vigorous pining for sheepskins. When we see them in the store I invariably make a beeline and snuggle them, so today wax asked the mamma if she had any left over from her years as a sheepfarmer. And carted home an armload of three goatskins. I'm snuggling my feet into one now and life is good. The dog is enjoying it with me. After a day at the summer cottage he's a very happy dog. But I forgot to bring my camera, so you all won't get to reap the benefits until next week.

Special bonus update: Two glasses of wine with dinner and I'm lightheaded. I didn't use to be quite this much of a lightweight - it's hanging out with wax and her annoying allergy to fruit-related alcohol! She always declines to drink and then I feel silly. I shouldn't be this far out of the habit, though. It says something very sad about the number of slasha get togethers we've had in the last year.