Be sure to swing by the Litblog Co-Op this week, where the Summer 2006 finalist, Michael Martone’s Michael Martone, is being discussed or, at the very least, referenced through all manner of strange Contributor’s Notes.
Month / August 2006
The Bat Segundo Show #53: Michael Orthofer and Betsy Wing
Guests: Michael Orthofer and Betsy Wing (translator, LBC nominee, Summer 2006)
Condition of Mr. Segundo: In absentia, fleeing the silly hipsters.
Subjects Discussed: How to raise awareness of translated fiction, an idea involving Chad Post, on being a designated translator, language adopted by literary critics, a very friendly dog in the Wing household, breaking down a novel, dictionaries, on hooking up with Paule Constant, working class vernacular, dialects, maintaining the tone between funny and heartwrenchingly sad, working against first impressions in translation, the myth of auctorial spontaneity, a forgotten movement in the late 1970s and the early 1980s to bring attention to translators, the advantages of freelance translating, and putting the translator’s name on the book spine.
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Traditionally, Activists Have Been Drawn Like Moths to the Great Light of Self-Immolation
So Many Books: “Here’s my problem. Instead of fighting for a bigger piece of the pie for all women writers–more bylines and review space at the literary publications, chick lit vs literary fiction sets up a dynamic pitting women writers against each other for the same small piece of pie. This is so old-school. Has everyone forgotten what we learned from the feminist movement? I’m not looking for chick lit and literary writers to band together and get all kum-ba-ya or anything, that’s plain dumb and naive. But it’s even dumber for the two genres to fight against each other especially after acknowledging there is a bigger issue involved.”
Naughty Reading Contest Winner
The people have spoken, democracy has triumphed, and Naughty Reading Entry #6 is the winner!
Congratulations to Kimberly Askew, who was sent a Powell’s gift card this morning.
But the fun isn’t over by a long shot. I will have further details on the 2006 Naughty Reading contest early this week. Get your cameras ready!
Forgive Bush for Rash Acts?
Bush is reading Camus’s The Stranger while on vacation right now. And not only that, but he’s “quoting” Camus in his speeches. In a speech last year, he noted, “Albert Camus said that, ‘Freedom is a long-distance race.’ We’re in that race for the duration — and there is reason for optimism.” But one wonders whether Bush fully groks Camus’s concept. Here is the complete passage from Camus’s The Fall that Bush is alluding to:
Without slavery, as a matter of fact, there is no definitive solution. I very soon realized that. Once upon a time, I was always talking of freedom: At breakfast I use to spread it on my toast, I used to chew it all day long, and in company my breath was delightfully redolent of freedom. With that key word I would bludgeon whoever contradicted me; I made it serve my desires and my power. I used to whisper it in bed in the ear of my sleeping mates and it helped me to drop them. I would slip it� Tchk! Tchk! I am getting excited and losing all sense of proportion. After all, I did on occasion make a more disinterested use of freedom and even — just imagine my naivete — defended it two or three times without of course going so far as to die for it, but nevertheless taking a few risks. I must be forgiven such rash acts; I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know that freedom is not a reward or a decoration that is celebrated with champagne. Nor yet a gift, a box of dainties designed to make you lick your chops. Oh, no! It’s a choice, on the contrary and a long-distance race, quite solitary and very exhausting. No champagne No friends raising their glasses as they look at your affectionately. Alone in a forbidding room, alone in the prisoner’s box before the judges, and alone to decide in face of oneself or in the face others’ judgment. At the end of all freedom is a court sentence; that’s why freedom is too heavy to bear, especially when you’re down with a fever, or are distressed, or love nobody.
