An Updated Original Language

It was a while ago now but I mentioned I was reading For Whom The Bell Tolls by Ernest Hemingway. While this was likely over two months ago, I did take a break from it for a bit and read some other stuff in between. As I start reading again though I’m reminded of something I’ve thought previously, and likely mentioned on here already. Books age. Or more precisely styles of language and storyline age. There is little we can do for the storylines. The wild west cowboy books will be of their time in the 1950s, they suffer from fashions, just as modern-day thrillers will one day do similar. This is evident in films of such things too. Pathetic female leads needing rescued by some heroic man is an ideal our sensitivities in 2020 are acutely aware. Perhaps the issue then is not the period but the quality of book. Books like this don’t last the test of time because they were never supposed to yet plenty from the period still make for great reading.

With that, there are plenty of books from the 1850s let alone the 1950s which still feel highly readable. Perhaps they are just so well written that they become ageless. For Whom The Bell Tolls unfortunately doesn’t feel like that. It is a classic of literature, Ernest Hemingway won the Nobel Prize for Literature. I enjoyed The Old Man & The Sea, which is a beautifully written story. There is something with this latest book which I can’t quite shake though. It feels like I’m reading a dated 1950s movie. It feels clunky and old fashioned and I didn’t expect it to. It’s an easy read, and not unenjoyable. The subject matter is one that interests me too but the language and imagery it creates have aged, and it’s aged to it’s detriment unfortunately.

This has got me thinking about a solution which I am aware is unfeasible. When I read books written by foreign authors, if the story is well known enough, it has likely been translated more than once since it’s publication. Recently, let’s say in the last ten years, Faber & Faber produced a new translation of Nikos Kazantzakis’s Zorba The Greek. From reviews it is a decent translation, less difficult to get through than the previous apparently but I’m cautious of that idea and it’s entirely subjective. Do some research on the Russian masters and you’ll discover multiple translations, evidently varying in quality enormously. You have to be careful to read the right ones otherwise your experience of one of the greats could be confusingly different to other peoples. When reading the introduction to Knut Hamsun’s Hunger the translator says the first translation was so bad, and he gave examples, that certain parts of the text had completely different meanings to the original. Translations are important.

What then for original versions. If someone translates Hemingway into Spanish, do they attempt to recreate and honour the exact style of the original or do they attempt to make it more accessible for the modern audience. Language evolves and translators are of their time. They can’t take liberties of course but a good translator is in some cases as important as the author. In that case, am I left with the unfortunate realisation that while books originally in foreign languages may evolve for me as language does but those originally in English will be doomed to age like the time they were born in. It could just be this current book, as many from that time don’t give off such an impression, but certainly it won’t be alone, other previously celebrated books and authors will disappear with the times too.

Which leads to the unthinkable, do we need books to be updated in their original languages too? There is no straightforward answer but unless they’re illegible through age the answer is likely no, don’t damage the intellectual property and creation of an artist. Could you imagine them touching up the Mona Lisa, giving her haircut a modern look. Yet it’s done in music with covers in a way. There is something that sits uncomfortably with the idea and I find it reassuring to feel that. Let the greats be greats and if their creation lasts whatever the evolution society hurls at them then great. If not, well so be it. As I said, unthinkable, yet the issue still remains.

Can’t Pay, Won’t Pay

If there’s one thing I’m good at it’s being distracted from the current book I’m reading with another. I envy these fast readers who can sit down and complete a book in a few days. I’m more of a few weeks to a few months depending on the distractions around me type of person. There’s one book I’ve been reading for nearly a year now, I really enjoy reading it too so it’s not as simple as it may seem at first. I wonder if I’m a victim of how we process entertainment these days. I’m not sure I like calling myself a victim but more I’ve allowed myself to get caught up in the culture of short bitesize moments of pleasure.

I love a website called Aeon – which I’ve written a piece on here about before – that has some incredibly interesting articles. They’re not always a light read, not difficult but sometimes they require more effort than something on a website devoted to football. The articles on there are usually about three to four thousand words and despite knowing they’re interesting and that I can learn from them; a combination of the effort involved in the length and with the mental effort required slightly above minimum, I’ll not always bother. I prefer fiction books to non-fiction even if the topic in the non-fiction is potentially really interesting. Partly this is because I genuinely enjoy stories and the way meaning and message can evolve in this style.

The more I write about this I suspect I’m just lazy and ill disciplined. Aeon requires a bit more effort than football news and non-fiction potentially more than a story to follow and get into. I am leaping from one extreme to the other though, this is never a black and white argument unless I generalise which I seem to have been doing. This piece today was going to be another review and as seems to be a bit of a trend it was going to be a play. Dario Fo‘s Can’t Pay, Won’t Pay to be precise. I’ve mentioned Dario Fo in a previous review of one of his plays, Accidental Death Of An Anarchist. He wrote political and social plays on the whole and this is a large part of what has drawn me to him. Take into consideration everything I have mentioned and you can see what leads me to a play. Something that’ll take me one to two hours to read followed by that rosy sense of accomplishment.

Can’t Pay, Won’t Pay is the story of two couples caught up in different situations in which people push the boundaries of stealing. The prices in the supermarket increase once more so the women riot and take what they want, only paying a minimum compensation to the shop. “I paid half price for half my goods”. While the husbands get caught up in similar as the canteen at work increases the prices and the workers simply serve themselves. Unlike the wives though the husbands take a stance against this seeing it as stealing. What ensues is a comedy involving fake pregnancies, avoiding the law and hypocrisy, all as Fo dissects the moral arguments behind whether there can be such a thing as justifiable theft.

The varying levels of hidden meaning in stories is what draws me to fiction. We can analyse what the playwright or the author intended with certain bits. I may not have appreciated it much at school but it is something I certainly enjoy now. For example, despite not having the most flamboyant of styles, I enjoy Sartre’s fiction far more than his non-fiction, even though they’re both variants of his philosophical discourse. Maybe lazy and ill disciplined is in itself a lazy understanding of something which as I’ve already mentioned is not a black and white issue. Interpretation for me is everything, and can’t pay won’t pay, I suspect I know what I would do.

Knut Hamsun The Nazi

I questioned a few days ago about whether there is credibility in someones words despite them not being able to live by them themselves. This was in relation to Heidegger the career driven Nazi compared to someone like The Buddha. Yesterday I talked about how hard it can be to find sources of information and opinion that are contrary to yours but are credible, well researched and not based upon bias. In the end I decided against buying the book on Nietzsche and his take on contemporary society, not because of the topic but because I don’t know if I can trust the author not to waste my time. I haven’t given up on it and I may still one day but instead I stumped for Knut Hamsun’s Growth Of The Soil. I have only read one of his books before and that is Hunger, which is about the struggles of an impoverished writer trying to survive in late nineteenth century Oslo, Norway. It is a psychological journey through the irrational mind of someone enduring existence and I suspect there are certain autobiographical elements to it. It is an incredible story and I enjoyed it so much I decided not to rush into another of his books, instead spread them out and enjoy them as I felt right. Knut Hamsun won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1920 and from that one book alone I can see why.

Knut Hamsun though is an incredibly divisive figure. At the turn of the century influenced by what he saw as British aggression and Imperialism he developed a strong support for Germany and Germanic culture, supporting them in both the First and Second World Wars. Despite being eighty years old at the outbreak of the Second World War he managed to get an audience with Hitler and thoroughly pissed him off through his obstinate old man behaviour, and in attempting to get him to release imprisoned Norwegians. He did through write a eulogy for Hitler after his death and was going to be tried for treason after the war but it was decided his behaviour had been down to the mentally debilitating affects of age. Understandably he has been a divisive figure in Norway ever since and I directly quote from a Norwegian biographer on Wikipedia; “We can’t help loving him, though we have hated him all these years … That’s our Hamsun trauma. He’s a ghost that won’t stay in the grave”. This then is the next level of the dilemma, to read and love an author despite him being a total Nazi. Well seeing as I bought his book this morning it’s pretty clear how I feel about it. Sometimes it’s all about the literature. When it suits me at least.