Читать книгу Revenge of the Translator - Brice Matthieussent - Страница 20

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* Fragments épars. This is a reference to my author’s second novel (Scattered Figments, Janus Press, New York, 1995), in which the character Abel Prote, the French writer, appears again. I won’t say any more. Mum’s the word. Let’s remain civil. (T.N.)

I’ll simply add that the French translation (Éditions du Marais, Paris, 1997) is horribly botched: words, sentences, even entire paragraphs forgotten or deliberately deleted, misinterpretations, mistranslations, Anglicisms, solecisms, appalling blunders, and clumsiness. One laughable detail: a confusion of the American volume measurements makes it so that, according to the vile translator whose name I won’t mention, the characters apparently guzzle liters of whiskey, while at the same time the author explicitly describes their desire for drink to be very moderate, “similar,” he clarifies, “to a piece of old blotting paper riddled with colored stains that can no longer absorb anything except the rare drop of ink.” The French translator, distracted or intoxicated—was he drinking?—took no notice of this lovely image. Thus, he proposes a nearly-empty bottle of whiskey that, as if it were a miraculous spring, continuously refills large glasses to the brim numerous times as soon as they are knocked back, as if the protagonists of Scattered Figments were unabashed drunkards downing enormous quantities of alcohol without letting on. Clearly, this novel deserves to be retranslated. I’ll have to speak to my publisher about it.