The following interview was conducted in English between Los Angeles and Beirut, Lebanon. 

Lina Choueiri – The interviewee	Jonathan. G. – The interviewer

                                                                                                                                         
LMJ : Where were you born and educated and in which languages?

LC : I was born in Mansourieh, in the Metn hills on the outskirts of Beirut. I began school before the age of 3, and studied French as a second language. In Lebanon, the choice of second language is important, because this is the language in which all subjects are taught: mathematics, science, history and geography were all taught in French. From the age of 9 through high school, I studied English as my third language for only about one hour a week. After obtaining the French BAC, I simultaneously completed undergraduate studies in two fields, in two languages and at two universities: mathematics in English at the American University of Beirut (AUB), and French literature at l’Université Saint-Joseph de Beyrouth (USJ).

          
                AUB                                                   USJ

LMJ : Where did you complete your university studies and in which post are you currently employed?

LC : After my master’s studies were twice interrupted by the civil war in Lebanon, I went to the United States to complete my education. First, I was a student at the English Language Institute, at George Mason University in Virginia.  I needed to improve my English, which had been of limited use while I was in Lebanon. Then, I completed a Master of Science in linguistics at Georgetown University followed by a PhD in linguistics at the University of Southern California. I took seven years to complete the doctorate, doing research and building contacts in my field, before I returned to Lebanon.

LMJ : What is your field of specialization?

LC : I am a grammarian and the subject of my doctoral dissertation was “The Syntax of Restrictive Relative Clauses in Lebanese Arabic”. I am currently Associate Professor of Linguistics in the Department of English at AUB.

LMJ : Does your expertise in Arabic grammar have practical application?

LC : The distinction between formal Standard Arabic and the spoken varieties of Arabic in the Arab world is well known. But what your readers may not know is that there is no body of research that describes or exposes rules or patterns of speech for each of the different dialects. This makes it difficult, if not impossible, for speech therapists, for example, to understand the characteristics of the spoken varieties of Arabic and to diagnose certain aspects of speech impairment in children. I have been collaborating with speech therapists in Lebanon for that purpose.

LMJ : You have mentioned the two universities in Beirut at which you completed your undergraduate studies simultaneously. If you were to examine the motives for which young Lebanese choose one or the other university, what would this tell you about their linguistic preferences?

LC : It is difficult to isolate language preferences when examining the motives for which students make their choice of university.  For example, AUB and USJ, both private universities, are among the top universities in Lebanon, but AUB is considerably more expensive than USJ.  This may be a major factor in the choice of university, since we have very little by way of financial aid for students. Also, entrance requirements to each of the two universities differ. So there is no easy, direct correlation between language preference and choice of university.  One of my masters’ students, who is conducting a study on language choice among university students, has found that more than one third of her participants at USJ studied English as their second language, while nearly half of her participants at AUB studied French as their second language.

The two universities are looking for diversity in terms of the socio-economic background of students, but not for language diversity. Therefore, this current situation is not the result of a concerted effort on the part of those two institutions.

 

LMJ : Can you tell our readers something about the rivalry between French and English in Lebanon? Was the Sykes-Picot agreement by which Lebanon was put under French mandate a turning point?

LC : There are few studies on the language situation in Lebanon. Here is a simple (maybe a little simplistic) sketch.  To some, the investigation of the multilingual tradition in Lebanon should take us back to the Phoenicians.  I will start with the Ottoman period, between the 16^th century and the end of World War I, when Lebanon was a site for various forms of bilingualism among the small educated class, including Arabic-Turkish, Arabic-French, and Arabic-English bilingualisms.  Arabic-French and Arabic-English bilinguals during that period were more likely to be Christians educated in the (American) Protestant and (French) Catholic missionary schools established mainly in the second half of the 19^th century.  While the presence of French in education predates the French mandate in 1918-1943, the latter established French as an official language of Lebanon.  This is when French spread across religions and sects.  The status of French as an official language was dropped when Lebanon gained its independence, and Arabic became the only official language.  More recently, we have been observing a decline in the privileged position of French as a language of education, while English has been on the rise.  It is still important to point out however, that multilingualism in Lebanon is very much an educational phenomenon.

LMJ : Has globalization tipped the balance in favor of English?

LC: It is true that English dominance throughout the world has not bypassed Lebanon. This can be seen in the increasing realization that English is an important language for the future of Lebanon and the Lebanese.  English is perceived to be the most important language for commerce/business, international relations, technology and science.  French is still regarded by many as a language of culture. But while few Lebanese would consider French more important than English, many of them would still consider knowledge of both French and English as important.  The fact is that Lebanon still publishes a daily newspaper in French and one in English (alongside many in Arabic), and while many universities and colleges use English as the main language of instruction, French has held its own in schools. On a personal note, my father pushed me to do my graduate studies in the USA, at a time when my French was much stronger than my English, because he thought that English would open up more career doors.

 

LMJ : What determines people’s preference for the 3 languages?

LC : [A partial answer can be found above, especially in relation to the division of labor between French and English.]

At the outset, I’d like to point out that, in addition to Arabic, Armenian, Kurdish, and Syriac are among the languages spoken at home by some minority groups in Lebanon. The Lebanese variety of Arabic is the first language of the majority of the Lebanese, the language they learn to speak at home. Standard Arabic is learned through formal schooling.  As I mentioned earlier, in school, most subjects are taught in a foreign language, usually English or French.  When parents choose a school for their children, they are in fact making a choice about the foreign language that will become their children’s second language.

When talking to parents of young children, I often hear the following argument for their choice of school: English is easy; it is everywhere, and necessary for future careers; our children are bound to learn it.  French is more difficult than English; to learn it well, our children should learn it at school.  Parents therefore lean towards choosing schools where French is the medium of instruction. I have heard this argument being made by parents who are francophone and by those who are not. 

The Lebanese may now perceive that trilingualism is the preferred option, but more research would be needed to answer this question more precisely.

 

LMJ : Do people regard French and English as colonialist languages?

LC : In a global perspective, French and English can certainly be viewed as colonialist languages; more locally however, as you can glean from the brief historical sketch provided earlier, the presence of French in Lebanon predates French colonialism in the region.  During the French mandate, which lasted a little over two decades, French became an official language and it spread more widely, but it lost its official status upon Lebanon’s independence. In that sense, Lebanon’s experience under the French mandate is different from that of other countries under colonial rule, where colonial languages kept their official status, and indigenous languages were assigned low prestige, long after those countries gained their independence.  Maybe the key difference is the role of Arabic in Lebanon, a high-prestige language with a long-standing cultural tradition, which remained closely tied to national identity.

 

LMJ : You were interviewed for a radio program of the BBC-PRI (Public Radio International, USA) entitled “Is Beirut the codeswitching capital of the world?". The specific type of code-switching referred to is the Lebanese habit of beginning a sentence in one language and ending it another. Another linguist interviewed for that program stated:

“The way people codeswitch in Beirut is unique. … A person in LA might speak Spanish at home and English at work. But in Beirut, “They're all Lebanese, talking with Lebanese, so why all this code switching? You’ll never see two French speaking to each other in German or in Spanish or Chinese, unless maybe there is a reason. But here, it’s a way of speaking in a sense.”

Do you agree with that analysis?

Traditional analyses of codeswitching have not done a good job at explaining this phenomenon, but those analyses are based on the assumption of monolingualism as a norm.  In such a context, codeswitching requires an explanation, since it deviates from the expected norm. In multilingual communities around the world, ‘mixed’ productions such as those of the young Beirutis are in fact very common; they may even be typical ways of speaking.  In my opinion, the Beiruti phenomenon would not be as unique as it is made out to be, if looked at from this perspective.

 

LMJ : Thank you for those very interesting insights. Of the many dozens of linguists we have interviewed on this blog, you are the first from the Middle East, and we hope you will not be the last.

LC : You are very welcome. I am delighted to have been able to share my experience with your readers.

—————–

Blog notes:

[1]  An Agreement signed on 16 May 1916 between France and the United Kingdom, represented respectively by François Georges-Picot and Sir Mark Sykes. The Agreement divided the spoils of the Ottoman Empire by apportioning spheres of influence between the signatories. Following the defeat of the Ottoman Empire, the Agreement was ratified at the San Remo Conference by the League of Nations, which entrusted the United Kingdom with a mandate over Iraq, Transjordan and Palestine, while France obtained a mandate over Lebanon and Syria.

[2] The Phoenicians are an ancient people that originated in the cities of Phoenicia, a region approximately corresponding to present-day Lebanon. The greatest known accomplishment of the Phoenicians was the creation of an alphabet which forms the basis of languages that later spread throughout the ancient world,  even if it was not itself the first language created.

 

 Our latest contributor, John Wellington is a New Yorker whose art finds its inspiration in Old Master paintings, religious and pop icons, cinema, music, and his fascination with devotion, idolatry and the use of male and female imagery in art and life.  He has shown in New York, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Miami, Paris and London.  His paintings may be seen on the website: johnwellington.com

John Wellington has recently released the first three volumes of Idols Demons Saints, a series of e-books based on his sketchbooks, showing the process of creating from the first inked line to a finished work of art. 
(See John Wellington : Idols, Demons and Saints by James F. Cooper)

John leads painting groups to Paris.

 

oil on aluminum, 48 x 25.25 inches See explanation below of the painting's legend [*]

John Wellington in his studio See "Studio Visit" video below [**]

Wellington’s family name may conjure up British associations and Jean-Michel's name may sound quintessentially French, but both were born and raised in the United States. Basquiat’s father was Haitian and his mother was of Puerto Rican descent. So who was Jean-Michel Basquiat (1960–1988)? He was an American artist, musician, and producer. He first achieved notoriety as part of SAMO ©, [1] a graffiti tag used from 1977 to early 1980. It accompanied short phrases mainly painted on the streets of downtown Manhattan.  

 

Basquiat developed from a graffiti artist to a painter of canvases. He was not quite as famous as his friend, Andy Warhol, but his neo-expressionist and primitivist works, which confronted issues of racism, identity and social tension, were displayed in galleries and museums internationally. 

He died in 1988 from an overdose of heroin and cocaine but his fame has not subsided since then. As only two examples of his continued popularity

–  the exhibition “Jean-Michel Basquiat: Now’s the Time”, presented for 3 months earlier this year at the Art Gallery of Ontario”, the first major retrospective of Basquiat in Canada, featuring about 85 large-scale paintings; 

  

 

–  and the display of some of his works at the Galerie Bruno Bischofberger, Zurich,  whose owner was friendly with both Warhol and Basquiat in their lifetimes. 

                                                                 

Warhol, Basquiat & Bischofberger

[1] Signature associated with Jean-Michel Basquiat, derived from  "same old shit", abridged to "Same Old" then simply to SAMO.

Basquiat and me

When Jean-Michel Basquiat and I met in the Spring of 1975 he wasn’t famous.

Jean-Michel and my friend Eric were classmates at City As School (CAS), a high school for students that were better suited to a non-traditional form of education.  He and some other students from CAS had met up at Eric’s apartment overlooking Gramercy Park for the sole intention of getting stoned.  Jean-Michel, his classmate Shannon, and I all drew – especially comic book style art – and showed each other drawings in our notebooks.  Still, being a grade younger and having never smoked pot, I felt intimidated by this group that seemed not only older but cooler.  They were also into graffiti which I only dabbled in at I.S.70 (my junior high school at the time) tagging more of my textbooks than subways or walls.  Two years
later, Jean-Michel and his friend Al Diaz would gain underground notoriety by spraying their subversive SAMO© phrases across the walls of downtown Manhattan.

Our meeting remains a vivid memory for me not only being the first time I smoked, but because we were stopped by New York’s Finest and questioned while we were hanging out in Gramercy Park with pot and rolling papers in our pockets.  The police did not search us and eventually let us go back up to Eric’s home across the street.  That evening would be the only time that Jean-Michel and I would talk in his short life.

Five years later, in 1980, while I was beginning my sophomore year at The Rhode Island School of Design, Jean-Michel had already become a star of the downtown music and club scene with his band Gray.

 

He was known for the writings of SAMO©, starred in a fictional version of himself in the film New York Beat (later renamed Downtown 81), sold postcard art to his then idol Andy Warhol, lived as a homeless person in Washington Square Park, had his art showcased at the seminal Times Square Show, featured in a Blondie music video as a DJ, and given the basement of Annina Nosei’s gallery to produce paintings for his first solo show.

By the time I received a B.F.A. in 1983 and returned to New York to live in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, Jean-Michel had dated the soon to be famous singer Madonna and “The Radiant Child,” written about him by the poet René Ricard for ArtForum, brought him to the attention of the art world.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 with Madonna             with Warhol 

2:52 minutes

  

 

He painted a series of works in Modena, Italy, another series in a studio in Venice, California that Larry Gagosian had provided for him, and began showing internationally alongside some of the most famous artists of his time.  He had also produced a rap single with Rammellzee and K-Robb, and began what would be a two year collaboration of paintings with his mentor Andy Warhol. 

In 1985, while I was bartending at a restaurant on Upper Madison Avenue, Jean-Michel was featured on the cover of The New York Times Magazine, wearing a dark Armani (or was it Comme des Garçon?) suit – AND barefooted – for the article New Money, New Art: The Marketing of an American Artist.  He had also been making noteworthy art for five years and was widely recognized for his achievements.  While Jean-Michel was  becoming an international art star, I was trying to learn Old Master techniques of painting in my studio in Greenpoint and was still as much art student as artist.  The contrast of our lives was not lost on me.  I was in awe that someone so young could bring something not only new, but personal and vulnerable to the world of art.  There have of course been other artists like this.  Pablo Picasso painted Les Demoiselles d’Avignon when he was 26 years old, and Egon Schiele, like Jean-Michel had developed his signature style at the cusp of his twenties.  For me, still struggling with handling paint and trying to find my visual voice, Jean-Michel’s art and life were awesome in the true meaning of the word.

Although we never hung out again, I would see Jean-Michel at clubs like Area and Palladium in the mid 1980’s.  A friend from college had a VERY short romance with Jean-Michel, where she told me that on their first night, in the back of a limo downing bottles of Moët, he said how “used” he felt by the art world.  A year or two later, on August 12, 1988, he was found dead from a drug overdose on the top floor of the loft on Great Jones Street he had rented from Andy Warhol (who had died months before in 1987).  When I heard that Jean-Michel had died, I was working at Marvel Comics as a colorist, collaborating on graphic novels for artists such as Jean  Giraud AKA Moebius, painting on my days off, and starting an MFA program at The New York Academy of Art. Jean-Michel had painted studios full of singular art, lived a rock star’s life, and died, while I was still trying to just learn how to paint.

   Marvel Comics graphic novel JW colored
for Moebius  
            
Portrait  in gouache (an opaque water color) JW painted one night in 1998 during dinner at the home of Moebius                      

There have been a number of young masters but so many of them die young – especially at that Rock and Roll age of 27.  In contrast there are the slow learners, the goats that go up the hill one considered step after another.  We slow learners need all those extra years of living just to maybe catch up.  I finally sold my first painting at the age of 30, in 1991, a few months before the birth of my son.  Eventually I sold enough art to make it my profession.  Now in my 50’s, I still paint and sculpt almost every day.  My artistic vision over the years is telling its own story, and every now and then, I include a reference to Jean-Michel in my art.  I still have my copy of the New York Magazine article that featured him on a bookshelf in my studio.  It is the one magazine I will never throw out.

So often one is attracted to what is most like us, but just as often I am drawn to the opposite of my spirit in both art and life.  Jean-Michel created while high, staying up for a week at a time, then crashing for another week; scrawling, painting, and composing his angst, his humor, his skulls and his crowns on canvas and any other material that was available to him, and all beginning before his twenty-first birthday.  How could I have not been awed by him?     

John Wellington    

Blog notes : 
                                                                                                     

["] Inspired by the Black Madonna represented in Haitian art, John composed a Madonna clad in armor, holding a young Jean-Michel Basquiat.  “I’m not a real person.  I’m a legend.” was something Jean-Michel said a month before he died, when comparing himself to Marilyn Monroe, who was referenced in the song he was listening to - A Candle in the Wind by Elton John and Bernie Taupin.  There is a golden tattoo of a crown on the young boy’s right arm.

 

[1] "The 27 Club" or "Club 27" is the colloquial name given to a group of influential rock musicians that died at the young age of 27. There are a few "members" who are always listed in "27 Club" groupings – such as Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison and Kurt Cobain , and more recently Amy Winehouse  - while other musicians who were 27 at the time of their death are included sporadically.  Everyone on this list will never turn 28 – they will be forever 27.

Additional reading:

Basquiat through the Eyes of Fellow Artists on the Street
Brooklyn Street Art, April 2, 2015

‘Basquiat and the Bayou’ and ‘Jean-Michel Basquiat: Now’s the Time’
New York Times, June 25, 2015

Michel Nuridsany évoque la légende Basquiat
Midi Libre, 29/1/2015

Video documentary: 1:33 heures

 

[**] John Wellington – Studio Visit (6:51 minutes)
New York Academy of Art © 2013

 

Shaul Ladany, 78, our interviewee of the month, qualifies as a linguist on account of his knowledge of 8 or 9 languages (in 3 alphabets – Cyrillic, Latin and Hebrew). But readers may find equal interest in a life-story filled with adventures and achievements (both scholastic and sporting). For this reason, in the following interview we have taken the liberty of departing from our usual focus on linguistic issues in order to present the unusual biography of an exceptional man.

Your intrepid blogger, Jonathan G., travelled to Beer-Sheva [1] in southern
Israel to meet Professor Ladany. The interview took place at the Ben Gurion University, where Shaul Ladany is professor emeritus of Industrial Engineering and Management. It was conducted in Hebrew, transcribed into English, and translated into French for www.Le-mot-juste-en-anglais.com

 

 

 

 LMJ: After the Nazis occupied Hungary in 1942, your maternal grandparents escaped the massacre by the Hungarian gendarmes of the Jewish population of their home town of Novi Sad (today in Serbia) but they were taken to the Concentration Camp at Auschwitz in 1944, where they were killed in the gas chambers.  Your own first encounter with the German war machine was in 1941, when at the age of 5, your house in Belgrade was bombed by the Luftwaffe, and you and your parents managed to survive by hiding in the underground washing room.  

What languages did you acquire while you were growing up in Europe?

SL: My mother tongue was Serbo-Croat and later I learned to write the Serbian variation in Cyrillic lettering and the Croat variety in Latin letters. I learned Russian at school. I learned German from my nanny and spoke to my parents in Hungarian. Later I was to come in contact with Yiddish speakers, and knowing German, it was not difficult to pick up Yiddish.

 

LMJ: When the Nazis overtook Yugoslavia, your parents fled to Hungary and sent you to a Hungarian monastery for your own safety, but shortly after your 8th birthday, you were taken with your parents to the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp, from which few people returned. You actually entered the gas chamber, but you were reprieved at the last moment. You and your parents were extremely fortunate to be included in the 1,684 Jews released as part of the controversial "Blood for Goods" deal negotiated by Rudolf Kastner [2] and Adolf Eichman [3]. Your parents returned with you  to Yugoslavia, to try to retrieve their property. The Communists were by then in power. In 1948 General Tito allowed you and your family to leave for Israel on condition that they forfeited all their property in favour of the State. How did you get to Israel? What were your first impressions of the country, which had gained independence only a few months earlier?

 

SL : I was nearly 13 years old. We left Yugoslavia on a cargo ship, with 3000 immigrants, and the journey took 2 weeks instead of 2 days. The ship nearly overturned at one point. We reached Israel, which was still recovering from the attack launched against it by the Arab armies of neighboring states the day after it had declared independence in May 1948. Due to the absorption of large numbers of immigrants, housing was scarce and the apartment we received, with no water or electricity, was very different from the luxurious residence to which my family had been accustomed in Belgrade before the War. My task in the initial period was to roam around the town with two buckets, looking for sources of water to fill up the buckets and then bringing them home. But I began school studies, and learned Hebrew, which became my new mother tongue, as well as English and French. My parents started different careers from scratch.

 

LMJ: On completion of your schooling, you studied at two leading institutions of higher studies, gaining one degree in Mechanical Engineering and another in Business Administration. You then went to Columbia University in New York for your doctoral studies in Business Administration. You were invited to lecture at many universities throughout the world. You have many inventions to your credit, eight of which you have registered as patents. You have written dozens of scientific books, including the "English-Hebrew Dictionary of Statistical Terminology", which was published by the Israel Institute of Productivity, as well as many more scientific articles. When did sport become an important part of your life?

SL: I had been an amateur marathon runner, but during my doctoral years at Columbia I turned to competitive walking [4] and began to train for the 1968 Olympic Games, and after I received my doctorate I trained intensively for six months. I represented Israel in the1968 and 1972 games.

 

LMJ: The 1972 Olympic Games had been dubbed as "Heiteren Spiele", or "the Happy Games". But as we know, they ended in tragedy, when terrorists belonging to "Black September" forced entry into the Olympic Village and  penetrated the apartments of some members of the Israeli team, killing two outright and taking nine others hostage. The German government agreed to supply the terrorists with a helicopter   so as to allow them and their hostages to be flown to Cairo, but the terrorists machine-gunned some of the athletes and exploded the helicopter. In all, 11 members of your team were killed. How did you escape the attack?

 

SL: Our team was lodged in a building with apartment units side-by-side in the Olympic Village, and five team-mates and I occupied a unit sandwiched between the two adjacent apartments that were attacked. I heard screams from one of the adjacent units and I ran to inform the team manager. The rest is history. The Games were stopped for 24 hours. The surviving members of the Israeli delegation were ordered to return home, contrary to my advice. [5]

LMJ: You have told us how you survived the bombing of your house at the age of 5, the death camp at the age of 8, the terrorist attack at the Munich Games – and you could have added the emergency landing of your plane when one engine ceased operating on a flight to Denmark. What other frightening experiences have you had?

SL: One experience that comes to mind occurred when I was in charge of an artillery battery in the Yom Kippur War of 1973. Shells were falling from all directions and after my soldiers had sought shelter in their bunker, I myself ran for cover at such speed that I think I must have broken the world record for the 100 meter run. 

In the recent Operation Protective Edge, I had to go down with colleagues and students to the University shelter when rockets from Gaza were falling on Beer-Sheva. Going into a shelter was bad enough but during a previous rocket attack, while driving in my car from my home to the University, I was forced to jump out of my car at the entrance to Beer-Sheva and protect myself against a wall as the rockets exploded around me.

LMJ: You have won over 700 sporting awards, including that of World Champion in the 100 kilometers event at the Lugano Games of 1972. Your world record for the 50-miles walk has remained unbroken for over 30 years. What was your most difficult walking experience?

SL: The hardest walk was a non-competitive, four-day, 300-kilometer walk from Paris to Tubize, near Brussels. There is very little time for sleeping, which makes it more strenuous than any competitive 100 kilometer competition. I participated in that event 10 times and stopped participating only at the age of 74.

 

LMJ:  How much walking are you doing these days? 

SL:   I do a minimum of 15 kilometers a day. This weekend I will participate in a walk of 22 kilometers on very difficult, rocky ground. I also still take part in half-marathons.

 

LMJ: Do you find that walking sharpens your brain?

SL: Definitely. When we are exercising we have more blood, and hence more oxygen, flowing to the brain. My eureka moments always come when I'm walking. Jean-Jacques Rousseau has said it already. I have come up with mathematical models while I'm walking.

 

LMJ: Were any of your cups or plaques awarded for sporting achievements other than walking?

SL: Yes, there is an annual event in which participants swim from one side of the Sea of Galilee [6] to the other. I have participated every year for 54 years, (wearing shoes, to traverse the stones at the beginning and end of the swim.) When I complete the swim, I walk back to my car, which I have parked near the starting point.

 

LMJ: I would like to end this interview with a linguistic question. If we regard Serbo-Crout as one single language, and add Russian, Hungarian, German, Yiddish, English, French and Hebrew, that makes 8 languages. What was the 9th language that you learned?

SL: When I was studying for my doctorate at Columbia University, I chose to do a course called "the language of mathematics". If you are willing to regard mathematics as a language, then I have acquired a respectable command of 9 languages. 

LMJ: Galileo, the great Italian physician, philosopher and astronomer, said: " La Matematica  è l'alfabeto in cui Dio ha scritto l' Universo " (Mathematics is the alphabet in which God wrote the Universe). So by that standard you may be regarded as having a command of a ninth language, too. We hope that you will continue to have a fascinating, but less dangerous life. To use a Biblical blessing : May you live to be 120.

 

———————————————————–

 

[1] Beer-sheva (in Hebrew , בְּאֶר שֶׁבַע , « wells of oath » or « seven wells », in Arabic بِئْرْ اَلْسَبْعْ Biʼr as-Sabʻ.  Based on archeological discoveries, the site of a nearby hill a few miles north-east of the modern city was occupied by humans since the fourth century B.C.  The site was destroyed and reconstructed several times in the course of the centuries.  (Wikipedia)

 

[2] Rudolf (Rezső) Kastner (Kasztner), 1906-1957, was an attorney, journalist and the leader of the Aid and Rescue Committee during the occupation of Hungary by the Nazis in the Second World War. He was also charged with negotiating with the SS leaders for authorization for 1,684 Jews to leave Hungary for Switzerland, in exchange for money, gold and diamonds, on what came to be called “the Kastner train”. Kastner knew 8 languages including Aramaic.

 

[3] Otto Adolf Eichmann  1906 –  1962) was a German Nazi SS Obersturmbannführer (lieutenant colonel) and one of the major organisers of the Holocaust. Eichmann was charged by SS-Obergruppennführer Reinard Heydrich with facilitating and managing the logistics of mass deportatiuon of Jews to ghettos and extermination camps in German-occupied Eastern Europe during World War II. In 1960, he was captured in Argentina  by the Mossad, Israel's intelligence service.

Kastner and Eichman both died in Israel, within 4 years of each other. Kastner was assassinated and Eichman was executed (the first and last person to be sentenced to death by an Israeli court).

[4] The basic rule of competitive walking is that the competitor must have one foot touching the ground at all times. If the competitor appears to the judges to be running, he may be disqualified.

[5] Before the terrorist attack, the Jewish American swimmer, Mark Spitz, won 7 gold medals. After the attack, he took the first plane back to the U.S.A.

[6] Tubize (Tubeke in Flemish) is a commune of Brabant in the arrondisement of Nivelles (Belgium).

[7] The Kinnereth or Lake of Tiberius (also called the Lake Gennesaret or the Sea of Galilee) is 20 km long and 10 km broad, and more than 200 m below sea level. The name place derives from the Roman Emperor Tiberius who ruled the Roman province of Judea. It is the place where Jesus walked on water, according to Matthew 14:22-36.

Additional reading:

 

King of the Road: From Bergen-Belsen to the Olympic Games : 
the Autobiography of an Israeli Scientist and a World-record-holding Race Walker

By Shaul Ladany
Geffen Publishing, 2008

 

	L'interviewé/e	L'intervieweur/euse
1/20	Christina Khoury	Jonathan G.
2/20	Charles Moncrieff (entretien imaginaire)	Jean Findlay
3/20	La famille Hulse	Jonathan G.
4/20	Viktor Lazić	Jonathan G.
5/20	Aileen Clark
6/20	Guénola Pellen
7/20	Sharlee Bradley	Isabelle Pouliot
8/20	Gian-Paolo ACCARDO	Nathalie GREFF-SANTAMARIA
9/20	Anthony BULGER	Éditions Assimil
10/20	Nicolas RAGONNEAU	Anthony BULGER
11/20	Mark POLIZZOTTI Première partie Deuxième partie	Ella BARTLETT
12/20	Diane MUREZ	Raia DEL VECCHIO

D'autres contributeurs et contributrices au fil de 2020:

 

 

 

Thibaut BOUXIERE	Magdalena  CHRUSCIEL	Michelle DRUON
Nadine GASSIE	Brian HARRIS	Cynthia HAZELTON
Tina KOVER	Jean LECLERCQ	Françoise LE MEUR
Dominique MATAILLET	René MEERTENS	Isabelle POULIOT
Joëlle VUILLE		Elsa WACK

 

 

 

 

 

The following interview was conducted between Los Angeles and London.

 

Photo: Ian Cole

You graduated in physics from Cambridge University, but it appears that at an early stage you switched the focus of your interests to music.

Yes, I had always sung and been involved in choral music, at school and university, where there was a wonderful choral tradition. I studied physics and then trained as a teacher and embarked on a career as a school science and maths teacher. It was then that I started missing the high quality choral singing that I had been used to, so I started singing more for myself and chose to go to the Guildhall School of Music and Drama as an external student for private singing lessons. In the end I decided to indulge myself for a year and go to study singing for my own pleasure at the Guildhall as a post-graduate student – but soon realised that my heart would have me stay longer and stayed for three years.

You also had a love of the French language. Where did you learn the language and how did you develop your command of French?

I had been exposed to French early on, as my mother was Belgian, but I really developed my fluency in the language when I spent a year in the Swiss Alps before going to university, working as a supervisor in a small boarding school and enjoying plenty of skiing. Consequently my understanding of the language is very much an aural rather than a studied grammatical one.

My first singing teacher, whilst I was at Cambridge, had also studied with Pierre Bernac, so I was soon introduced to the rich diversity of French mélodie. As a lyric baritone my voice lent itself to much of the French repertoire too.

Once at the Guildhall I continued to work at the repertoire, but I was becoming aware that my background as a scientist had not actually prepared me for working with language and poetry and I was looking for a way to engage more deeply with the texts of the songs I was singing. For my first serious recital I prepared a programme for the audience, and I translated the texts myself. I engaged with the texts as I hadn't done before. I started translating texts as a way of exploring the poetry, but also as a way of engaging with songs that I might never actually sing, such as songs for female singers.

My first significant professional work came in France and I spent a year working for Opéra de Lyon. I took the translations with me and spent many a happy hour in the city library. Eventually I developed a body of work that I thought might be the beginnings of something worth publishing. I started approaching a few publishers, but it was the early days of the internet and already it was looking as though quite a lot of this would be freely available and I gave up on that idea. Eventually I decided to join the trend and use the internet as a platform for my own website.

In truth much of this work is a student project. I have occasionally come across a glaring error from the days that my understanding of the language was less than it is now. Ideally all the translations would be re-edited, but with my current professional commitments that is unrealistic. I am now checking any translations that I am asked about as and when they are needed.

What was your first contact with the musical scene in France?

With my interest in French music I felt I should explore the possibility of settling in France as a base and I started looking for opportunities to perform there. In my last year at the Guildhall I saw that the chorus master from Lyon was holding auditions for extra chorus members and I signed up for an audition. He was rather surprised that I should be interested in what was relatively lowly work and I explained my situation. It happened that he had the brief of locating a singer to take over in a student production of Ravel's L'Enfant et les Sortilèges. He suggested that I come to Lyon and study at the Opera Studio there, whilst supporting myself financially by working for him and doing small parts for the main company. It was a wonderful way to get started in France.

You now concentrate on education. How did you turn to education rather than performance as your main professional activity?

I did have a very successful start to my professional career. I won several major international singing competitions and worked for all the major opera companies in Britain. French was always an important part of my repertoire, but I was equally comfortable singing in other languages of course. Unfortunately I started having a few small health issues which interfered with my singing and availability for work. Initially I took some private pupils as a way of keeping me afloat and supporting my family (I have a wife, who is also a singer and teacher, and a daughter).

As part of your private work, you have created and directed choirs, and unusually, you have made the teaching of French song one of your major occupations. You have given classes in French song at the Guildhall School of Music and the Royal Academy of Music. This is an unusual specialization. Is there a demand for language coaches? Is French a popular language in the world of song?

I love working with young singers. As it became harder to support a professional career I took the conscious decision to change my professional focus to teaching. I had trained as a teacher and education is still in my blood. I started a youth choir as a way of bringing my experience to a wider circle of young singers locally to me. I now enjoy performing with the choirs as much as I ever did as a soloist. I deputise for local conductors and offer technical expertise to any choir that asks me for support.

I would ideally like to have a post at one of the London conservatoires, but that hasn't yet been forthcoming, though many of my private pupils have gone on to study there very successfully. I am, however, still recognized for my work in French repertoire and, as you say, am often asked to deputise as a tutor for French song classes at all the conservatoires. They all set up classes in the major singing languages as part of the learning process for students.

 

Is singing in English available to French students, or does English by and large not lend itself to choral singing or operas.

English is very much a singing language. Many French singers find it quite difficult to approach English, and indeed other languages, so coaches are needed. It is not something I have been called upon to do much… yet…

Your website contains "A Guide to Singing in French", containing quite technical guidance on matters such as diphthongs, semi-vowel glides, nasal vowels, etc. But could you explain to our readers in general terms the advantage to English-speaking students of having a Brit teach them French pronunciation as opposed to a Frenchman doing that.

When I was at Lyon I spent a lot of time gaining the acceptance of native French singers as an interpreter of French repertoire. I worked with local coaches to ensure that what I was doing with the language and pronunciation was above reproach, at least in song. Some of the highlights of my career were certainly the major international competitions that I won in France, singing French repertoire. I learned a lot about how language worked with music and above all the details of French phonetics. I have spent a lot more time analyzing the phonetics than any native speaker would do and, though after twenty-five years back in England I might not speak as fluently as I once did, I am very aware of the specific issues that many non-native singers have with the language. Interestingly, when I coach at the conservatoires, I frequently come across French singers who are really surprised when I start picking them up on the details of their own language. The language is evolving and there are aspects of the phonetics that are appropriate for songs and poetry that are now largely glossed over.

Your website contains translations into English of the works of Auric, Bachelet, Berlioz, Bizet, de Breville, Casterède and many other French composers and lyricists. I would like to ask you about these translations, but first let me define the terms literal translations, non-singable and singable commonly used in this field:

1)  Literal translations, sometimes also including pronunciation guides, to aid those singing or hearing the lyrics in the original language.  They do not fit the music, so they cannot be sung.  Usually they are not poetic in diction and are not in verse.  They are often found in program notes.  

2)  Non-singable verse translations, for those wishing to understand the original lyrics, but willing to sacrifice some literality in order to experience something of the poetry of the original.  These translations also do not fit the music and thus also cannot be sung. 

3)  Singable translations, that is, translations which can be sung to the original music, having the proper meaning, number of syllables, accents, and diction level, and (usually) versification reminiscent of the original and compatible with the music.  They are performed, sometimes in the United States, often in England.

So my question relating to your own translations is which category they fall into and what considerations have determined your choice.

They are literal translations. I am trying to make the language of this vast and diverse repertoire accessible to non-native speakers – singers and audience alike. I try to stick closely to the meaning of the text and word order, but occasionally I might change word order to clarify meaning.

There was a time when I would have laughed at the concept of creating a translation of a Debussy mélodie to be sung – but interestingly I did understudy a performance of Pelléas in Pelléas et Mélisande for English National Opera. It was such a success in bringing the work to the wider British audience that I have softened my view. Creating a worthwhile singing translation is the work of a poet, however, and one with a gift for music at that. I have written singing translations of some things for my choir – notably for Brahms' Liebeslieder Waltzes – but it is not something I find easy, and there are many who would to the job better.

Finally it might be worth saying a little about how I chose which songs to translate… I would often browse scores and recordings and come across songs that appealed to me. I have tried to cover all the standard repertoire, but add a selection of the broader repertoire too. The Casterède songs, for instance, are a wonderful but challenging cycle. The composer had been on the jury of a competition that I won. Afterwards he composed this cycle and sent me the score. The texts are by a poet called Alain Suied, whom I had known for several years through his association with a musical organization called Le Triptyque.

Because creating singable translations is difficult, the best known English lyrics of popular songs that were originally not in English are sometimes not translations at all.  Though they (usually) bear the same title as the original, they are entirely new English lyrics having only a tenuous relation to the meaning of the original. Some examples that come to mind are Edith Piaf's song "La vie en rose" and "Les Miserables".  Would you agree with that?

Certainly the best singing translations must be faithful to the spirit of the original, but be very natural in translation. This will often mean that the translation will differ markedly from the original. The nature of the French language compared to English, which has a much stronger rhythm, makes French vocal music much more fluid. However, even in translations this can make a significant effect. When I was at Lyon I was involved in the company's performance of Richard Strauss's Salomé, in the composer's own re-working of Oscar Wilde's original French text to his score. [1] Strauss spoke about the difficulty he had adapting the French language to his music, and the final opera feels quite different in French.

[1] Blog note:

Salomé is a tragedy by Oscar Wilde. The original 1891 version of the play was in French.  The play tells in one act the Biblical story of Salome, stepdaughter of the tetrarch Herod Antipas, who, to her stepfather's dismay but to the delight of her mother Herodias, requests the head of Jokanaan (John the Baptist) on a silver platter as a reward for dancing the dance of the seven veils.

 

–-S. E. Gontarski

Waiting for Godot has been a plural, bicultural, international work from its inception. The play was written in French in 1948 as En attendant Godot, between the novels Malone meurt (1948, Malone Dies, 1956) and L'Innommable (1950, The Unnamable, 1958), by an Irishman imbued with the biculturalism of his native Ireland and the internationalism of his adopted France. For critics like Eoin O'Brien, however, the French play is "unmistakedly Irish" in mannerisms, speech, and landscape. In the midst of his tirade, for example, the slave called Lucky refers to the women's version of the Irish game of hurling, "camogie," among "the practice of sports." His overlord, Pozzo, evidently buys his pipes from the fine Dublin pipe shop of O'Connell and Grafton Streets, Kapp and Peterson, Ltd. And Vladimir and Estragon let slip some overt Hibernicisms like "ballocksed" and "run amuck," according to O'Brien. But such language may finally be as Anglo as Hibernian. And the territory that Vladimir and Estragon (hardly Irish monikers) seem to have recently traversed is "Le Vaucluse" ("the Mâcon country" in English), even as Estragon insists that he has always and only lived "dans la Merdecluse" (orin "the Cackon country," in Beckett's translation). Lucky's "quaquaquaqua" punctuates his tirade in both languages with another echo of Gallic scatology, "caca." The complementary couple dreams of wandering through the Pyrenees, moreover. Before they became so disreputable, they might have jumped, "Hand in hand from the top of the Eiffel Tower." In their current state they would be denied entrance. The bond between the couple was strengthened when during a "vendange," the grape harvest, Estragon threw himself into the Rhône River, and Vladimir fished him out. Vladimir seems unable to recall the name of the farmer from whom they bartered wine for work, but he is identified specifically in the French text as the vintner Bonnelly, from whom Beckett himself bartered for potatoes and wine during the writer's war-time exile in the village of Rousillon, or Rousillon d'Apt, the less famous of the Rousillons in the département Vaucluse. (The family winery still in operates, producing a serviceable if undistinguished Côtes du Ventoux: "A Bonnelly Propriétaire-récoltant— Bâtiments neufs—Roussillon Vaucluse.") Viewed in its full multiplicity, the "unmistakedly Irish" play becomes at least as unmistakedly French, its Gallic references as prominent as its Hibernian. The publication of a bilingual edition of Samuel Beckett's most celebrated play thus underscores this cultural and linguistic plurality and is a cause for celebration. One might in fact justly wonder why it has been so long coming.

    Beckett claimed on 25 June 1953 that his translation for Grove Press "had been rushed" and noted again on 1 September 1953 that "It was done in great haste to facilitate the negotiations of [producer] Mr. Oram and I do not myself regard it as very satisfactory." After the French production had closed at the end of October, Beckett improved his English text, asking his publisher, Barney Rosset on the 14^th of December 1953 to delay publication in favor of a better text: "Could you possibly postpone setting the galleys until 1^st week in January, by which time you will have received the definitive text. I have made a fair number of changes, particularly in Lucky's tirade." Throughout the revisions French and English versions retained subtle differences, finally, beginning with their titles. The French title might well have been rendered as While Waiting for Godot, but Beckett omitted the adverb from the English. (The adverb may have resonated more fully in the French capital where a popular brand of chewing gum sold in Métro vending machines adopted the apparently simple slogan, "En attendant . . .") The French adverb accents the burden of time in the title more directly than the English text, which, on the other hand, is given a specific subtitle, "tragicomedy in 2 acts," missing from the French. On the whole the English-language text tends more toward the indefinite, loss of memory, like the vintner's name in Roussillon, grown more pronounced. Vladimir's "He said Saturday. (Pause.) I think" is decidedly less assured than "Samedi soir et suivants." On the other hand, the French text does not include Vladimir's evocation of Proverbs 13:12, "Hope deferred maketh the something sick," which gives the English text extra poignancy. Estragon's "Les gens sont des cons" lacks the Darwinian implications of "people are bloody ignorant apes." In English Estragon calls Lucky's dance "The Scapegoat's Agony," which gives the text a curious echo of Leviticus 16:7-10, intensifying the play's religious anguish, the scapegoat released to wander "into the wilderness."

    Fully revised, Waiting for Godot was finally published by Grove Press in April of 1954, in advance of any English-language production. Beckett continued making revisions to his translation for three separate, almost simultaneous productions, however: one in London, which opened at the Arts Theatre Club on 3 August 1955; one in Dublin, which opened at the Pike Theatre on 28 October 1955; and one in America, which opened at the Coconut Grove Playhouse in Miami Beach, Florida, on 3 January 1956, in preparation for its New York debut. By the Broadway opening at the John Golden Theater on 19 April 1956, two years after the play's publication by Grove Press, three decidedly different English-language texts were performed. The British production was a special case, since the play was censored for its West End debut to comply with the Lord Chamberlain's objections. The first Faber and Faber text of 1956 was this bowdlerized, what Beckett called mutilated, version. Faber's note to its first edition announced: "When Waiting for Godot was transferred from the Arts Theatre to the Criterion Theatre, a small number of textual deletions were made to satisfy the requirements of the Lord Chamberlain. The text printed here is that used in the Criterion production." In fact hundreds of variants existed between the Grove Press Godot of 1954 and Faber's 1956 edition. Faber went on to "correct" its Godot in 1965, in an edition they called the "complete and unexpurgated text . . . authorized by Mr. Beckett as definitive," which differed from the American text. To mark his eightieth birthday Faber and Faber collected all of Beckett's plays into a single, celebratory volume, Samuel Beckett: The Complete Dramatic Works, in which the venerable house of Fabers inexplicably reprinted the bowdlerized text of 1956, at least in its initial, hardbound release. Moreover, in March of 1975 Beckett directed the play himself for the first time and in the process produced a substantially altered, trimmer acting text. Those changes are detailed in The Theatrical Notebooks of Samuel Beckett, Volume I: Waiting for Godot. Beckett also made independent revisions for the Pike Theatre production of 1955 that have never appeared in any publication of the play, even that final acting version published in The Theatrical Notebooks.

    Over the years Grove Press had silently revised its text, correcting most instances of "well" for "we'll," for instance, so that by the 1970 uniform edition in 16 volumes, The Collected Works of Samuel Beckett, with which Beckett was delighted, most of the typos had been corrected. For the publication of this centenary bilingual edition of Beckett's most famous play, Grove Press has not only reunited the long separated fraternal twins, the English and French editions of Godot, but has brought British and American texts closer to harmony. Minor differences remain. In the discussion of the Eiffel Tower, for instance, Vladimir notes, "We were more respectable in those days." The Faber edition has the couple more "presentable." And in the discussion of Vladimir's urinary difficulties, the Faber edition has the characters responding "angrily" two fewer times. And Vladimir "peers" into his hat one time fewer in the British text, Beckett revising the fourth "peers" to a "looks." But such differences as remain, mostly stylistic, are further testimony to the play's plurality not only between French and English but among English versions as well, the Grove text remaining closer to the spirit of Beckett's original translation.

Further reading

 

Ackerley, C. J. and S. E. Gontarski. The Grove Companion to Samuel Beckett: A Reader's Guide to His Works, Life, and Thought. New York: Grove Press, 2004.

 

Dukes, Gerry. "Beckett's Synge-song: The Revised Godot Revisited." Journal of Beckett Studies 4.2 (spring 1995): 103-12.

 

Knowlson, James and Dougald McMillan, eds. Waiting for Godot New York: Grove Press, 1995. Volume I of The Theatrical Notebooks of Samuel Beckett. Four vols.1992-1999.

 

O'Brien, Eoin. The Beckett Country: Samuel Beckett's Ireland. Dublin: The Black Cat Press, 1986.

 

Zeifman, Hersh. "The Alterable Whey of Words: The Texts of Waiting for Godot." Educational Theatre Journal (1977): 77-84. Rpt. in Beckett: Waiting for Godot. Ed. Ruby Cohn. London: Macmillan, 1987, 86-95.

Gregory Rabassa

 New Directions; First Edition  2005

 

 

 

Review

 

 

Today's guest is Helen Oclee-Brown, a commercial translator from French and Spanish into English. Helen has an undergraduate degree in modern languages from the University of Southampton and a master’s degree in specialised translation from the University of Westminster. After working in house for an international marketing agency and for a translation company, Helen became a freelance translator in 2009. She firmly believes in the importance of professional  associations and is an active member of the British  ITI (Institute of Translation and Interpreting) and MET (Mediterranean Editors and Translators). Helen lives in Kent in South East England. We warmly welcome her first contribution to the blog. Helen@HelenOcleeBrown.co.uk 

 

 

You may not know his name but you probably have some of his work on your bookshelves. Gregory Rabassa is a giant of literary translation. He has translated more than thirty Spanish- and Portuguese-speaking authors, many of whom hail from Latin America. Rabassa's translations have opened the eyes of English-speaking readers to the rich wave of folk-inspired modern literature produced during "The Boom" by authors such as Julio Cortázar, Mario Vargas Llosa and, of course, Gabriel García Márquez.

If This Be Treason is Rabassa's slim yet thought-provoking memoir. It is liberally peppered with linguistic delights, historical facts and literary references – it's clearly the work of a master wordsmith and it really keeps you on your toes. Despite being a memoir and featuring many a personal anecdote, Rabassa maintains a sense of distance throughout. Perhaps this is because, as a translator, he is used to a life in the shadows, merely following his authors' words, an idea that he insists on "to the point of boredom" (his words not mine).

And yet following an author's words does not mean shirking any responsibility. Far from it. The translator's greatest burden is to consider his own treason, as Rabassa goes on to do in the first of his memoir's three sections. Here, he plays on the old Italian cliché traduttore, traditore. Does he, or any translator, betray the language, the culture, the author or "saddest of all" himself when translating? As translators well know, some sort of betrayal (or loss) is almost inevitable. Indeed Rabassa goes so far to say that translation is mere imitation because we cannot perfectly replicate in one language what we say in another. And yet we must try. As Rabassa says, "Translation may be impossible, but it least it can be essayed."

Rabassa also uses the first section to delve into his background. For someone who fell into translation, he was quite well prepared. The child of word-loving parents, with grandparents from four different countries, he enjoyed a linguistic education and embarked on a brief military career that took him to far-flung Europe and Africa as a cryptographer. Rabassa then goes on to set out his stall on such thorny issues as translation theory (as a proud "dinosaur" he's not a fan), large publishing houses (he doesn't much like them either) and what he sees as the role of the translator (again, you simply follow the words).

He is rather scornful about teaching translation: "I've tried to teach the unteachable. As I have said before, you can explain how translation is done, but how can you tell a student what to say without saying it yourself? You can tell him what book to read but you can't read it for him." And reading is a hugely important subject, as silly as that sounds, because Rabassa seldom reads the books he translates before getting down to work, saying "When I'm translating a book, I'm simply reading it in English". Incidentally, Rabassa sees translation as an art, not a craft ("You can teach Picasso how to mix his paints but you cannot teach him how to paint his demoiselles").

The second section is the meatiest part of this tome. In it, Rabassa discusses the thirty or so authors that he has translated. He deals with them in chronological order because each work influenced the next in some way. It's an experience game, after all. Rabassa recalls some of the authors with great affection, having met many of them, become great friends or simply studied their work when a student. Some he some lavishes with praise: Juan Benet is the Proust of Spain, Gabriel Garcia Marquez, the direct heir to Cervantes, and Clarice Lispector, he says, "looked like Marlene Dietrich and wrote like Virginia Woolf" – high praise indeed. His deft, understated phrasing also lends itself to the heart-breaking fate suffered by Lispector, with the brutally simple note that she "was not treated well by life".

Unsurprisingly, Rabassa devotes more pages to Gabriel García Márquez than to any other author, having translated six of his novels. García Márquez was said to have preferred Rabassa's English translation to his original. True to form, Rabassa deals with this compliment in characteristically modest style: "My mystical feeling […] is that Gabo already had the English words hiding behind the Spanish and all I had to do was to tease them out". As a side note – and a rather shocking one – Rabassa did not receive any royalties from this work.

Politics is an inescapable theme, although one Rabassa does not dwell on too much. Magic realism, that oft-debated term, was in Rabassa's mind a folkloric call for freedom and justice. Elsewhere, he briefly mentions how difficult it was to send drafts back and forth to José Lezama Lima in Cuba and describes how "the brutes who have ruled the place so often" left writers impelled to explore the darker aspects of the Latin American psyche. Against the weight of such history, it's hard not to share Rabassa's mischievous delight that Demetrio Aguilera-Malta, founder of the Ecuadorian Socialist Party, was given his big break by the beacon of capitalism that is The Wall Street Journal.

Throughout the book Rabassa plays down his role, commenting rather charmingly that he is "quite aware that the translator is the squire of the arts, but comfortable with the fact that it was Sancho Panza who made Don Quixote possible". He sees it as his job to transpose rather than to translate, and he goes to great lengths to ensure that his translations retain that sense of "the other". To do this, he proposes a pleasant little test: reading the translation in the character's local accent. How many of us have found ourselves doing just that when reading one of his translations?

In the third (very short) section, Rabassa judges his own treason – he has dismissed all other (often self-appointed) authorities within the book. Reassuringly, he suffers from the same affliction as many translators: he is simply never satisfied with his work when he looks back at it. One can never be too sure of oneself. So, are we translators guilty as charged? I will leave it up to you to find out the verdict.

Some have criticised this book for being a bit brief, but I suspect that it is purposefully short. The real stars of the show are the works themselves, both the authors' original Spanish or Portuguese texts and Rabassa's English readings. And with that in mind, I feel that this book, for all its brilliance, should come with a warning. If you're blessed (or cursed, depending on your viewpoint) with an inquisitive mind, then this tiny tome may not be a quick read. I for one couldn't help but reach for the originals in my collection and compare sections to Rabassa's exquisite translations. Time well spent, in my opinion.

Helen Oclee-Brown, Commercial Translator