no man's land Translation Idol
Featuring Jan Böttcher
8:30 tonight
Saint George's Bookshop
Wörther Straße 27
Berlin-Prenzlauer Berg
Free
Judge your peers
It's not raining
Thursday, 20 May 2010
Wednesday, 19 May 2010
Amazon Moves Into Translation
Much, much, much excitement: the big bad guys are launching the publishing imprint AmazonCrossing, "which will introduce readers to voices of the world through English-language translations of foreign-language books." (See press release.)
In case you don't know, the English-speaking publishing world isn't currently all that keen on translations. There are a few standard excuses - so many people around the world write in English, it costs more, the names are hard to pronounce, we don't speak any foreign languages so we can't tell if there are any good books out there... I won't go into what I think of these arguments.
Amazon tells us it will now be using its humongous resources to pick books for translation:
AmazonCrossing uses customer feedback and other data from Amazon sites around the world to identify exceptional books deserving of a wider, global audience. AmazonCrossing will acquire the rights and translate the books and then introduce them to the English-speaking market through multiple channels and formats, such as the Amazon Books Store, Amazon Kindle Store, and national and independent booksellers via third-party wholesalers.
That's what I find interesting, and the inaugural title gives us an idea of how that might work. Guinea-born Tierno Monénembo's The King of Kahel was originally published in France, and is a prize-winning debut novel about an explorer in West Africa. A fairly canny choice, then - exotic, proven quality, exciting fiction. It comes out in November, but Amazon is already pushing all the right buttons to promote it. Scroll down this page to see how they've really made the most of those humongous resources - highly respected voices on the imprint itself, a brief introduction to the book and the author with links to further information (and pre-ordering), AND an interview with the translator Nicholas Elliot. With a photo.
So not only is Amazon biting the bullet and translating fiction, it's actually foregrounding the translator. And just to warm the cockles of my heart, they've even given Elliot his first chance to translate fiction, a notoriously difficult field to get into. The whole thing gets Amazon so many translator Brownie points that it's hard to imagine it not going to international fiction heaven (if it weren't for its crippling effects on booksellers and small publishers).
So I'm now anticipating a paradigm shift in English-language publishing. No more hiding the translator on the copyright page, no more "but it's hard to pronounce," no more "nobody wants to read that freaky stuff." Just wait, soon there'll be a boom in translated fiction, with publishers tripping over each other to grab up great German books and Arabic essays and Czech poetry and Brazilian drama. Translated fiction will be the new World Music - without the ponchos.
In case you don't know, the English-speaking publishing world isn't currently all that keen on translations. There are a few standard excuses - so many people around the world write in English, it costs more, the names are hard to pronounce, we don't speak any foreign languages so we can't tell if there are any good books out there... I won't go into what I think of these arguments.
Amazon tells us it will now be using its humongous resources to pick books for translation:
AmazonCrossing uses customer feedback and other data from Amazon sites around the world to identify exceptional books deserving of a wider, global audience. AmazonCrossing will acquire the rights and translate the books and then introduce them to the English-speaking market through multiple channels and formats, such as the Amazon Books Store, Amazon Kindle Store, and national and independent booksellers via third-party wholesalers.
That's what I find interesting, and the inaugural title gives us an idea of how that might work. Guinea-born Tierno Monénembo's The King of Kahel was originally published in France, and is a prize-winning debut novel about an explorer in West Africa. A fairly canny choice, then - exotic, proven quality, exciting fiction. It comes out in November, but Amazon is already pushing all the right buttons to promote it. Scroll down this page to see how they've really made the most of those humongous resources - highly respected voices on the imprint itself, a brief introduction to the book and the author with links to further information (and pre-ordering), AND an interview with the translator Nicholas Elliot. With a photo.
So not only is Amazon biting the bullet and translating fiction, it's actually foregrounding the translator. And just to warm the cockles of my heart, they've even given Elliot his first chance to translate fiction, a notoriously difficult field to get into. The whole thing gets Amazon so many translator Brownie points that it's hard to imagine it not going to international fiction heaven (if it weren't for its crippling effects on booksellers and small publishers).
So I'm now anticipating a paradigm shift in English-language publishing. No more hiding the translator on the copyright page, no more "but it's hard to pronounce," no more "nobody wants to read that freaky stuff." Just wait, soon there'll be a boom in translated fiction, with publishers tripping over each other to grab up great German books and Arabic essays and Czech poetry and Brazilian drama. Translated fiction will be the new World Music - without the ponchos.
Monday, 17 May 2010
Robert Walser Goes To Brooklyn
Read two tantalising samples from Susan Bernofsky's translation of Robert Walser's Microscripts at Brooklyn Rail (a fine publication).
With regard to prettiness and its absence, beautiful women are perhaps too self-preoccupied for purposes of Europeanness and may not have time to pursue so time-consuming a business as Europeanism with all its obligations.
Odd and enjoyable little texts written in high style on the back of telegrammes, book covers and the like.
With regard to prettiness and its absence, beautiful women are perhaps too self-preoccupied for purposes of Europeanness and may not have time to pursue so time-consuming a business as Europeanism with all its obligations.
Odd and enjoyable little texts written in high style on the back of telegrammes, book covers and the like.
Saturday, 15 May 2010
Goetz at Suhrkamp: Still Loved By His Fan Base
According to Wikipedia, Rainald Goetz is a German author, playwright and essayist. "Goetz won numerous literary awards. He is still loved by his fan base, but he hasn't written anything which captivated the larger audience for some years."
That same source also tells us: "Suhrkamp Verlag is a German publishing house, established in 1950 and generally acknowledged as one of the leading European publishers of fine literature. In January 2010 the headquarters of the company moved from Frankfurt to Berlin."
Having done so, they've just opened a temporary store in Berlin-Mitte, the edition suhrkamp laden, run by hard-core booksellers from the Autorenbuchhandlung in Charlottenburg. The place is gorgeous, tastefully done with a rainbow wall of books and slightly silly chairs, a bar, espresso machine, etc. And of course there are events. Lots of classy events you'd really want to go to. Film screenings, readings, discussions.
Unfortunately I chose to go and see Rainald Goetz. As did what looked like his entire adoring fan base. And all 200 of them squashed into the relatively modest-sized store and started breathing in each others' vapours. Because it's raining outside and they're presumably all still steaming away in there. Although possibly not - I left after 32 minutes.
The thing about Rainald Goetz' adoring fan base is that they all seem to know each other. Or perhaps they all work for Suhrkamp. Certainly there was a huge amount of air kissing going on in the 15 minutes before Rainald Goetz deigned to arrive. I, on the other hand, am not part of the adoring fan base and knew one and a half people. Neither of whom appeared to recognise me. My feeble attempt to get chatting to two men behind me resulted in a look as if I had killed their mutual grandmother and gone on to ask the world's most stupid question.
I wouldn't usually attempt to talk to strangers at a reading. But this was a Rainald Goetz reading, so it was special. The special thing about it was this: Rainald Goetz stood on a chair near the front of the room. From there he announced that he'd be giving short readings at quarter past every hour. On the hour, he told us, he would do some kind of action. Then we stood around steaming and waiting for the next 15 minutes to be up, during which time I asked said stupid question. Then Rainald Goetz read very quickly and breathlessly from his latest book - about talking to drunk publishing people at the Frankfurt book fair in 2008 - for what felt like two minutes. Then he squeezed his way outside. The adoring fanbase applauded. I left.
I don't know what happened after that, except that by the time I made my way to the door I had had more physical contact with strangers than I cared for and Rainald Goetz was attempting to get back in. Reminded of rush hour in Tokyo, I rebuked him that one has to let people out before one can get in. But seeing as I was incredibly annoyed at the downright cheek of the thing, it may have come out too quiet to hear.
He may be good, for all I know.
Update: I'm told Goetz performed for four hours and everybody loved it. I'm mystified. My only suspicion is that Rainald Goetz is like Marmite - you either love him or you hate him, and in order to love him you have to have been fed him at a formative age.
Update II: See what I missed on youtube. I still don't get it.
That same source also tells us: "Suhrkamp Verlag is a German publishing house, established in 1950 and generally acknowledged as one of the leading European publishers of fine literature. In January 2010 the headquarters of the company moved from Frankfurt to Berlin."
Having done so, they've just opened a temporary store in Berlin-Mitte, the edition suhrkamp laden, run by hard-core booksellers from the Autorenbuchhandlung in Charlottenburg. The place is gorgeous, tastefully done with a rainbow wall of books and slightly silly chairs, a bar, espresso machine, etc. And of course there are events. Lots of classy events you'd really want to go to. Film screenings, readings, discussions.
Unfortunately I chose to go and see Rainald Goetz. As did what looked like his entire adoring fan base. And all 200 of them squashed into the relatively modest-sized store and started breathing in each others' vapours. Because it's raining outside and they're presumably all still steaming away in there. Although possibly not - I left after 32 minutes.
The thing about Rainald Goetz' adoring fan base is that they all seem to know each other. Or perhaps they all work for Suhrkamp. Certainly there was a huge amount of air kissing going on in the 15 minutes before Rainald Goetz deigned to arrive. I, on the other hand, am not part of the adoring fan base and knew one and a half people. Neither of whom appeared to recognise me. My feeble attempt to get chatting to two men behind me resulted in a look as if I had killed their mutual grandmother and gone on to ask the world's most stupid question.
I wouldn't usually attempt to talk to strangers at a reading. But this was a Rainald Goetz reading, so it was special. The special thing about it was this: Rainald Goetz stood on a chair near the front of the room. From there he announced that he'd be giving short readings at quarter past every hour. On the hour, he told us, he would do some kind of action. Then we stood around steaming and waiting for the next 15 minutes to be up, during which time I asked said stupid question. Then Rainald Goetz read very quickly and breathlessly from his latest book - about talking to drunk publishing people at the Frankfurt book fair in 2008 - for what felt like two minutes. Then he squeezed his way outside. The adoring fanbase applauded. I left.
I don't know what happened after that, except that by the time I made my way to the door I had had more physical contact with strangers than I cared for and Rainald Goetz was attempting to get back in. Reminded of rush hour in Tokyo, I rebuked him that one has to let people out before one can get in. But seeing as I was incredibly annoyed at the downright cheek of the thing, it may have come out too quiet to hear.
He may be good, for all I know.
Update: I'm told Goetz performed for four hours and everybody loved it. I'm mystified. My only suspicion is that Rainald Goetz is like Marmite - you either love him or you hate him, and in order to love him you have to have been fed him at a formative age.
Update II: See what I missed on youtube. I still don't get it.
Friday, 14 May 2010
Don't Forget Translation Idol
This is a shout-out to all those translators, budding translators and wannabe translators out there - the deadline for Translation Idol is this coming Monday.
See www.no-mans-land.org for more details.
And if you're in Berlin, do come along on Thursday to cheer us all on.
See www.no-mans-land.org for more details.
And if you're in Berlin, do come along on Thursday to cheer us all on.
Wednesday, 12 May 2010
Quiet Please - Translation in Progress
It may be rather quiet around here for a while. That's because my friend Stefan Tobler (no, not the one who came second place as Mister Switzerland) and I are translating all fourteen entries for the Ingeborg Bachmann Prize. They say:
Without a doubt, the Ingeborg Bachmann Prize, alongside the Joseph Breitbach Prize and the Georg Büchner Prize, is the most important literary award in the German-speaking world.
I do love that. What they mean is that it's THE prize for emerging writers. This is a great gig, I have to say, especially as nobody's supposed to know yet who's in the running. So there's a little smile on my face as I translate because it's a secret - and because the texts are really astoundingly good so far.
The entries are currently being translated into seven different languages for your delectation, but they won't be on the website until the writers read them live in Klagenfurt. So from 24 to 26 June. At which point it'll be broadcast live on 3sat - but it's not good telly, unfortunately.
If you can't wait that long and are in Berlin, you could always head over to the Literaturwerkstatt in Prenzlauer Berg on 27 May, where there'll be a discussion on how incredibly important translation is in the context. And how incredibly fantastic translators are, and how incredibly hard they work and more of that kind of thing. Having asked lots of actual famous people along who presumably said no, the organisers turned to me. So I'll be up there fighting my nerves on the podium. Let's hope there's time for a stiff drink beforehand.
Without a doubt, the Ingeborg Bachmann Prize, alongside the Joseph Breitbach Prize and the Georg Büchner Prize, is the most important literary award in the German-speaking world.
I do love that. What they mean is that it's THE prize for emerging writers. This is a great gig, I have to say, especially as nobody's supposed to know yet who's in the running. So there's a little smile on my face as I translate because it's a secret - and because the texts are really astoundingly good so far.
The entries are currently being translated into seven different languages for your delectation, but they won't be on the website until the writers read them live in Klagenfurt. So from 24 to 26 June. At which point it'll be broadcast live on 3sat - but it's not good telly, unfortunately.
If you can't wait that long and are in Berlin, you could always head over to the Literaturwerkstatt in Prenzlauer Berg on 27 May, where there'll be a discussion on how incredibly important translation is in the context. And how incredibly fantastic translators are, and how incredibly hard they work and more of that kind of thing. Having asked lots of actual famous people along who presumably said no, the organisers turned to me. So I'll be up there fighting my nerves on the podium. Let's hope there's time for a stiff drink beforehand.
Monday, 10 May 2010
Jackets
Book covers are different in different countries, even when the same books are inside them. Tom Lamont compares notes in yesterday's Observer, taking particular exception to translations into foreign languages. And it works the other way around too.
Compare and contrast, for example, Sasa Stanisic's book in German (vaguely nostalgic but rather odd photo) and English (picture of gramophone for the very dumb), Julia Franck's in German (puzzling shadows) and English (something out of Brief Encounter) and Alina Bronsky's in German (red on red just so you realise it's about Russians) and English (purple and hip). And I'm not even going to mention the British cover of Wetlands.
Günter Grass' Tin Drum, on the other hand, just gets a bit of a grooviness injection in English compared to German.
I think we can safely say, based on this extremely wide survey, that English covers dumb German books down visually so people aren't scared of them being foreign and difficult. Which is a perfectly legitimate strategy.
Compare and contrast, for example, Sasa Stanisic's book in German (vaguely nostalgic but rather odd photo) and English (picture of gramophone for the very dumb), Julia Franck's in German (puzzling shadows) and English (something out of Brief Encounter) and Alina Bronsky's in German (red on red just so you realise it's about Russians) and English (purple and hip). And I'm not even going to mention the British cover of Wetlands.
Günter Grass' Tin Drum, on the other hand, just gets a bit of a grooviness injection in English compared to German.
I think we can safely say, based on this extremely wide survey, that English covers dumb German books down visually so people aren't scared of them being foreign and difficult. Which is a perfectly legitimate strategy.
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