tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16341497.post576785081008116569..comments2023-04-12T06:57:22.726-04:00Comments on Buggeryville: The specific pain of reading in translationChrishttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06700221349311740958noreply@blogger.comBlogger2125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16341497.post-15969462624850064352008-05-09T19:47:00.000-04:002008-05-09T19:47:00.000-04:00Yes. Let's pretend it didn't happen. :-)Yes. Let's pretend it didn't happen. :-)Lohttps://www.blogger.com/profile/10507793708832982682noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16341497.post-32877985463727892142008-05-09T14:12:00.000-04:002008-05-09T14:12:00.000-04:00I can't get enough of translators' notes. My most...I can't get enough of translators' notes. My most recent favorite is Maureen Freely's note on her translation of Orhan Pamuk's THE BLACK BOOK. (I won't make a pun that Maureen "freely" translated Orhan's words.) Speaking of Orhan Pamuk, he opens his short novel THE WHITE CASTLE with a mistranslation:<BR/><BR/>To imagine that a person who intrigues us has access to a way of life unknown and all the more attractive for its mystery, to believe that we will begin to live only through the love of that person—what else is this but the birth of great passion?<BR/>—Marcel Proust, from the mistranslation of Y.K. KaraosmanogluEccentric Scholarhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/14316310165037320995noreply@blogger.com