Tag: language

An Updated Original Language

Hamar WilliamsLeave a comment

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.

Absolved From Pain

Hamar WilliamsLeave a comment

I’m a tall man. Not an abnormally tall man but tall enough to be completely at ease describing myself as such. I was about to suggest abnormal was such a strong and negative word but as it turns out, abnormally for myself, I checked online for something and didn’t just try to wing it. It turns out the prefix ab- simply means ‘away/from’ and as such looking at examples like abrasive, abdicate, ablution, absolve, they don’t seem to have a contrary and therefore aren’t able to be viewed in the binary positive and negative. To abdicate is to step away from power, to be abrasive is to take away the smooth, to absolve is to distance from guilt or punishment and ablution is to wash away the dirt. A cloth would absorb the water but the word sorb refers to “the fruit of the true service tree” which is Biblical and which means the two words aren’t related and cannot be compared to the negative prefix un- in nature.

I digress.

Being tall I hit my head a lot, I am also prone to hurting my back. I managed to hurt it badly about five or six years ago when I was trimming grapes in France. You spend eight hours Monday to Friday bent low trimming leaves off vines which are about one to two feet from the ground. That is a lot of moving while being bent over, and after four weeks strained my lower lumbar, slightly stretching the space between and pinching a nerve in the process. I tried over the time yoga and Pilates, went to a chiropractor, but never managed to quite shake the awareness of something not being quite right. In times of inactivity it would start hurting and I discovered over time the busier I was the less I felt it. Eventually I remembered a treatment I was given by a friend in Australia called Bowen Therapy, which is a very subtle process, don’t worry I’m not about to meander through the meaning of sub, which involves rolling the muscles and in a way activating them, allowing them to recover themselves. I could barely move before that first time in Australia and the next day I had returned to about 75% which felt at the time like a miracle. I don’t necessarily automatically believe in certain treatments, different people react differently and stronger to different things, I never got much from acupuncture for example while others swear by it. I would comfortably swear by Bowen, nearly on par with my exclamation over my height.

I discovered a woman in Scotland near me who practices it and had my first treatment with her prior to a lengthy period of active life on a sail boat. I felt my back had recovered. It felt good and strong for the first time in a few years. About six months ago though as my friend attempted to convince me to appreciate not just Crossfit but Crossfit done to create a rugby player style body, I over did myself on a sit up bench. My back ever so slightly clicked, not painfully at all but I knew I had done something. Right enough I had shifted and unbalanced my lumbar and hip. With my hips now negative and unaligned the old pain subtly returned until a few days ago when I twinged something moving a particularly heavy bread basket. Yesterday I strained it further and was in crippling pain. This is a very long winded back story for something that is supposed to only be around the five hundred word mark so I have little more space to talk about Bowen other than I went today again and while I can still feel it, usually the day after is when you really notice the change. I will return next week and have a second session soon after the first which I have never done before. I just want to be really sure. In the meantime yoga must return to habit status. Ultimately I simply attempted to create context and a backstory to a therapy which few know about but I fully believe many could benefit from. Why it’s not more commonly practised is beyond me.

Haruki Murakami

Hamar WilliamsLeave a comment

I finally got over my readers block and finished what feels like my first book in months. I feel very pleased with myself. With enforced isolation around the corner maybe we’ll all get a chance to have a little read soon. The book was ‘Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World’ by Haruki Murakami. I’m sure there’s a proper word for it but it is two stories running parallel to each other, which you find out as the story evolves are interconnected. One was a cyber punk detective story about a man who ‘shuffles’ information for a quasi-governmental organisation call The System and who finds himself being chased down by first The System’s shady rivals and then some underground sub-human aquatic monsters called Inklings. The story was written in 1985 so imagine all of your favourite dark grimy 80s punk sci-fi films and picture how that could look and unfold. The other is a dreamy story about a man who arrives in a walled town which he cannot leave, he has his shadow taken from him and he works as a dreamreader. The town also has unicorns. It is obvious in any book which is two stories together that they interconnect so it is probably okay to say that without giving too much away.

It seems every Murakami novel, I say every but this is only my third, the men are solitary lonely lovers of jazz and alcohol. It mustn’t be coincidental that prior to becoming an author Murakami ran a jazz bar in Tokyo. The women in his story are never like any women I’ve ever met, they seem both simple and deep and are usually quite promiscuous. I have heard criticism of his female characters as being unreal but I mentioned this to a woman once who suggested the women were merely described from the perspective of the narrator and that this was either how the narrator experienced them or how he viewed women. They couldn’t in that case be unreal and I quite like that description, it seems like an insight worth repeating when I am attempting to sound smart.

Murakami described this as his favourite novel he had written and while it is not his most successful or well renowned it does seem to have won a variety of awards over the years. I enjoyed it but I felt it lacked on to ‘South of the Border, West of the Sun’ and his collection of short stories ‘Men Without Women’ which was the first Murakami I read and didn’t just enjoy because I was feeling like a man without a woman at the time. He has a pained empty loneliness in his work, apparently in this style it is a very Japanese thing, but it feels like something you can connect with in a positive way despite those not appearing to be positive attributes at first. We enjoy authors because of story or language but quite often because we can connect to them. There is a depth to his work that is approachable and relatable, and as I finish his books I am always excited to read the next. If you haven’t read your first yet I think you know what you need to do. You may just have a little time on your hands soon anyway.