Tag Archives: 10-10-12

Last Night I Dreamed of Peace: A Terrible Translation

It’s possible the diary of Thuy Tran, a Vietnamese doctor serving in the National Liberation Front army, is a good read in Vietnamese. In English it is… terrible. I tried hard to remind myself of the real life behind the narrative voice, of the fear and sacrifice, of her youth… but despite the evocative form (reading a diary feels like – maybe because it is? – an invasion) the writing is so terrible it’s distracting. I appreciate, too, that Thuy wasn’t a writer by trade and so my expectations for knock-em out sentences shouldn’t be high, but at a certain point – and I’d suggest this book reaches that point and then well passes it – bad writing (and by that I mean repetitive sentences, poor diction, exaggerated/universalizing statements) gets in the way of any appreciation of content.

I’m inclined to give Thuy more credit and blame the translator. I’d say, from my limited experience evaluating translations, that this is terrible translation. Randomly selected sentence: “These simple letters cannot diminish my longing. My heart lacks the warming fire of the Party” — lots of talk of anguish, transportation of feeling, longing – her heart/head are frequently “filled with many thoughts”.

Okay. So I didn’t like the writing.  Content? I was interested in her story of rising the ranks of the Party, of administering medical care in the jungle, of hating the “American imperialists.” All neat. I was far less interested in her jealousy and various crushes. I know its unreasonable to expect a diary to put limits on these kinds of entries, but all the same, by the end I was pretty fed up with her.

So. There you go.

On another note, I received a comment from a reader on my “The White Bone” entry to the effect that I didn’t do enough research into elephants, and that I considered humans to be far too unique, especially in my characterization of what elephants can and cannot do. I do appreciate the comment. I did try to be as careful as possible to limit my criticism to those things elephants cannot – to the best of my knowledge do – for instance, creating art. I rescind my comments about elephant burial practices to the extent that elephants do bury their dead, but do not, as far as I can tell, speculate on the afterlife of those elephants living with She-woman in the sky (as the novel suggests). I could have added elephants do not understand their world through the Biblical story of Adam and Eve (as the novel suggests), or practice monogamy (again, as the novel suggests). My criticism of the book was not intended as a criticism of elephants. Quite the contrary, I didn’t like the book because it reduced the complexity of elephant mindscape to that of humans.

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Filed under 100 Books of 2011, Book I'll Forget I Read

The White Bone: A Book about Elephant People

      The White Bone is narrated from the perspective of elephants and raises some interesting questions about the limits of authorial imagination. When male authors write female characters (or vice versa) interviewers ask how they could imagine the experiences of the other gender (see interviews with Lawrence Hill, for example). Typically the response has something to do with imagination being the work of authors and why doesn’t the interviewer ask something more relevant to the book itself?

In this case I expect Barbara Gowdy has answered one or two questions about how she imagined the perspective of elephants (I suppose this will be a reoccuring question in the non-human protagonist category?) – but the thing is, I don’t think imagined the perspective of elephants at all. The elephants are made to be people in all the ways people are thought to be unique animals: the creation of art; feelings of love, empathy and loss; laughter; mourning and burial practices. The elephants are also way better than people: ‘rumbling’ – infrasonic messaging is clearly superior to FB and TWTR, and mind talking is high up on the scale of pretty great skills.

I suppose I can’t blame Gowdy: how to imagine the perspective of an elephant except as a human might imagine it? But then I wonder whether the same doesn’t apply for men writing women, or young people writing adults, or healthy writing sick: how do you imagine the perspective of another? Isn’t it that author’s imagine how the experiences, desires, dangers of the other might lead them to think and behave in certain ways? Isn’t this the gift of the author? When then am I so dissatisfied with Gowdy’s presentation of the elephants as humans in their wants, needs and sorrows? Well, precisely because she imagines the elephants as humans as elephants. Elephant people.

P. told me I would read this book and sob. And I admit to thinking about the characters in non-reading time (a mark of an engaging narrative, I think), but I didn’t feel overly sad with the conclusion of the book (indeed, the very end is cloying and unrealistic). Instead I felt confused that such a brilliant premise – how better to evoke concern and empathy for elephants endangered by poaching and environmental disruption than to have the elephants tell the story? – failed so entirely in capturing my compassion. I ended the book feeling frustrated with all of the living elephants and (this is the truly remarkable thing, as someone obsessed with character) near-indifferent to the deaths of the elephants I’m meant to care most about.

My failing perhaps? My inability to let go of human concerns and wander with the elephants? Or the more likely case, that the elephants-as-people-as-elephants made me too frustrated to care about the elephants-as-characters.

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Filed under 100 Books of 2011, Fiction, Prize Winner

And Then There Were None: An Incredibly Popular Book

And Then There Were None used to go by other names.

It is the best selling mystery of all time. Wikipedia tells me that it’s the 7th best selling book of all time (what are the top six, I wonder?).

It is a pretty compelling mystery. 10 people stuck on an island. People start to die. Who is the killer? Questions of motive are less compelling than those of opportunity.

Christie’s command of narrative focalization is outstanding. Shifting between different points of view in a way that allows readers to suspect everyone and (for this reader at least) still never the right person.

I have to say I was a little underwhelmed by the reveal. Maybe because I was wrong, or maybe because I wasn’t convinced by the “motive.” Yes, let’s go with that.

So far “Spies/Detectives” is the best category going. Too early for predictions you say? Well, I’m a suspicious/predictive lady these days. Watch out.

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Filed under 100 Books of 2011, British literature, Fiction, Mystery, Prize Winner

Artemis Fowl: Fowbulous?

             Gosh. Forgive me for the terrible play on ‘fabulous.’ I tried hard not to use it, but it’s been flitting around in my head since I finished Artemis Fowl and somehow when I sat down to type it just came out. Call it confidence in my compassionate readership?

Anyway. I really enjoyed the book. I didn’t fully expect to, as the first two or three chapters read as heavy handed and pushy, but then things turned about when the fairies and fairy technology arrived (as things are want to do). I’m not sure I’d go so far as to read the next bunch of books in the series (not sure whether that makes for a ringing endorsement, but I did like this one), mostly because I didn’t find myself drawn to either Artemis or his fairy foe (her name escapes me. typical.) I think to compel a reader to take on another book in a series you need to have some engaging characters or a cliff hanger ending (this book has neither).

That said the play between protagonist/antagonist in the novel is interesting. Artemis is meant to be our antagonist, but his YAF “orphan” status (think Harry Potter, Anne of Green Gables) and his focalized narration makes it difficult not to root for his winning of the fairy gold. All the while we’re meant to cheer for the fairies, but I couldn’t help being dissuaded by their motive for keeping the gold (none) and their general contempt for human kind (kind of like screaming Muggle in a crowded room).

I laughed a few times, in no small part because of the self-reflexive narration and its (often successful) attempts at humour. Also for the slap-stick, and fart jokes.

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Filed under 100 Books of 2011, Fiction, Young Adult Fiction