cimorene

I have been semi-seriously contemplating embarking precipitously on a seat-of-my-pants translation of Emil i Lönneberga by Astrid Lindgren. A classic of equal proportions to Pippi Longstocking, it hasn't been translated to English since the 1950's. In fact, it was all out of print until recently; I was all excited to find a new paperback in the bookstore, wishing to mail it to baby-aged English-speaking relatives of mine, only to crack it open and find it was the 50's translation. And it sucks. I mean, it's not wrong, it's just really dated. In Swedish Lindgren's prose has a fresh and lively, energetic, mischievous, elastic quality: youthful, playful, easy, and natural. This translation was probably going for that, but was stiff, dated, and coy. Perhaps it sounded better in the 50's, but I'm sorry I sent an antique edition of that mess to my cousin Perrin a few years ago. I'm sure I could do a better job, but if they've already reprinted their old one I think it unlikely that whoever owns the rights would want to buy it off me. But on the other hand (or the other other hand?), it's better to start where you've got some inspiration. And at least I could email it to my baby acquaintances in a worst-case scenario. There's also the separate issue of my irrational lack of confidence of late. But since I'm running out of furniture to paint I have to do something. Something other than shop for oven cleaner.