Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Number 5
Joe Dunthorne 7 On Austerlitz
W.G. Sebald 8 The Maxims
Roger Deakin 14 The Fearless Digressions of Sebald
Stephen Dunn 15 New Poetry
four translators 16 On the Second Oldest Profession
Kurt Weill 26 My Letters to Lenya
J.M.G. Le Clézio 28 How To Kill a Rat
. . . and indeed more.
C O N T R I B U TO RS
Five Dials is brought to you with the help of James Chant, matt clacher, Debbie
Hatfield, Anna Kelly, Nick Lowndes, Juliette Mitchell,
ellie smith and Simon Prosser.
subscribe: hamishhamilton.co.uk
leanne shapton
should have been horse- former students at the Uni-
whipped, but others were versity of East Anglia. Like
sublime. ‘Lydia Davis. Her Austerlitz, they too wish for
Swann’s Way trumps Scott- a more complete memory of
Moncrieff at every turn. the time, an ability to revisit
Moncrieff is fine,’ Wynne every last detail. They might
assured me, referring to not have transcribed every-
Proust’s first English trans- thing Sebald said in class. His
lator, ‘but he was Edward- ‘Maxims’ on fiction writing
ian. Proust is not an will have to be enough.
Edwardian writer. Mon- After speaking to Anthea
crieff does not know what Bell I loaded my own slightly
to do with the sexuality. He’s very prud- business English? Is there any beauty in battered rucksack and took the train back
ish and the book is filled with Christian the French word for ‘spreadsheet’? In the to London. Over the course of putting
symbols, which is bizarre given Proust is fifth Five Dials we’ve attempted to answer together this issue, we here at Five Dials
a Jew. Lydia Davis is precise, limpid, and these questions with the help of a few have come away with a lot of loose facts,
takes Proust at his word.’ experts. like the lifespan of an Abkhazian and the
Learning the right word isn’t enough. Sebald’s sentences, by the way, were meaning of ‘Blümchen’. It seems to con-
Language functions as part of a culture a joy to translate, Anthea Bell told me firm one of my favourite pieces of Sebald’s
and a translator, Wynne said, had to be on a pleasant day in Cambridge. She and advice: ‘There has to be a libidinous
fluent with irregularities, the phrases we Wynne sit on the opposite end of the delight in finding things and stuffing them
know without knowing we know them. translating spectrum, at least in appear- in your pockets.’
If this doesn’t happen he becomes like the ance. She spoke slowly, sipped white – craig taylor
3
C urr en t-i sh Even ts Abkhazia has long boasted that its people
live longer than the people anywhere else
The Dying Breed in Europe. Anthropologists have studied
the phenomenon, and been baffled.
In 1954, according to Sula Benet’s
Oliver Bullough meets the last of Abkhazia’s long-livers book Abkhasians: The Long-living People
of the Caucasus, two out of five Abkhaz-
4
a small place, where people know each generation of tramps. A pavement nearby He had been a Soviet conscript stationed
other. But even after a week of looking, bore the characteristic blast pattern of a close to the Polish border when Germa-
Leiba was the only truly ancient ethni- mortar shell, like a giant bear footprint in ny’s army destroyed its Soviet opponent
cally Abkhazian I could find. the tarmac, while almost every house was and cruised effortlessly towards taking
As we sat under a hazel tree in her pitted with bullet holes. Towering above control of the Soviet Union, from the
front garden, with the calf snuffling us them all were the blank windows of the suburbs of Leningrad to the Black Sea.
for treats, I asked her why it was that gutted parliament building, burnt out in His unit was vaporized, the officers rip-
Abkhazians had stopped living so long. the war. ping off their badges to avoid capture and
She said young people these days didn’t Leiba’s house had not been immune. execution.
eat the natural foods of their forefathers. A spray of bullet holes rose diagonally ‘If you lifted your head up you were
They preferred Coca-Cola to matzoni – a across the façade, a reminder that war killed, you would not have had a head any
fermented milk drink rather like a cross had crashed through this peaceful vil- more. It was 100 km from us to the bor-
between yoghurt and sour cream. In lage too, and that dogs had not always der, and they just came past us effortlessly.
restaurants they ordered chocolate rather dozed, thumping their tails in the sun. It was terrible, terrible,’ he said.
than mamalyga – the traditional Abkhaz Her grandson took me round to the back He was injured twice in the next four
maize porridge that sits in a steaming of the house to show me where, as a years of desperate fighting, and then was
mound on your plate. young teenager, he had hidden Georgian sent straight from conquered Berlin to
She complained that people smoked neighbours from the retribution of the attack the Japanese. He came home to
and drank too much these days as well, Abkhazian forces. Achandara in 1946, but 187 of his friends
but it was only when I pressed her on the Leiba lost one son in the war, forty- and neighbours did not. All of those peo-
fate of her contemporaries, and asked why nine-year-old Rudik, who vanished in ple could have been in their eighties and
they had not had the luck to live as long a mountain battle and was never seen nineties now, and their fate was referred
as she had, that I found the real reason for again. Two other fellow villagers also to like a natural disaster. It was too huge a
the decline. never came home. And, although there catastrophe to have been the work of man.
She counted them off on her fingers. At was now peace, there was not safety, since A whole generation was destroyed,
least thirty-five people from her village – Abkhazians are not immune to the dan- and without them to sustain it the social
Chernaya Rechka, which can’t have had gers of the modern world. The country’s system praised by Benet had slipped into
more than 500 inhabitants – vanished in roads are collapsing, and its cars rickety, disuse.
the repressions of the 1930s. Another forty meaning accidents are daily events. While ‘The role of old people is to speak, to
died in the Second World War, including I spoke to Leiba, her grandson – one of be concerned, but no one listens to us any
her second husband and her brother. Then her fifty-six direct descendants – was in more. The old people, we are sorrowful,
there was the war against the Georgians. hospital after a car crash, and the prog- because there is chaos everywhere. In my
Abkhazia fought Georgia for its inde- nosis was not good. ‘Long-livers’ have time, we listened to the old people, they
pendence between 1992 and 1993. It won, had to negotiate repression, war, poverty, spoke of clever things, of old traditions,
but the cost was terrible. Some 3,500 economic collapse and war again. Abk- of old ways,’ Dzheniya said. ‘There will
people died on the Abkhaz side: over one hazians were not dying early, they were not be old people like there were ever
per cent of its tiny population. Georgia being killed. again. They have lived, all the elderly
still demands the Abkhazians submit to Leaving Leiba’s village, we drove back people have lived.’
its rule, and considers Abkhazia to be part on to the main coastal highway, and then Perhaps his pessimism was well found-
of its territory, but it has no influence on almost immediately turned right towards ed. Abkhazia may have been without
events and no presence on the ground. the densely wooded hills that are Abk- war for fifteen years but it is not at peace.
Russia recognized Abkhazian inde- hazia’s main feature. We were heading for Every second house has been gutted, and
pendence last summer, following a one- another ‘long-liver’. At ninety-two, he most towns and villages on the coastal
day war that drove the Georgians from was just a child compared to Leiba, but plain between Sukhumi and the Georgian
their last toehold in the mountains. But his life needed to be counted in terms of border are empty of people and animals
the rest of the world – which still recog- experience, not years. alike. The houses are burnt out, vegeta-
nizes Georgia’s claim to Abkhazia and is Viktor Dzheniya’s house, in the village tion reclaiming their once-tended gardens.
keen to avoid destabilizing the rest of the of Achandara, was just downhill from The tea plantations in between are tangles
Caucasus – does not. Cut off from any one of the seven holy sites sacred to the of brambles and weeds, with just the
external markets throughout the 1990s, Abkhazians’ traditional pagan religion. jagged stumps of trees rising out of the
and even now largely isolated, Abkhazia The peace from the site, where accord- wreckage.
is desperately poor, and its infrastructure ing to legend no cow will graze and no Some 250,000 Georgians lived here
and housing remain half destroyed. axe will bite, seemed to drift down to his once. They picked the tea and lived in the
On the seafront of the capital Sukhumi, garden where we sat in a pleasant evening houses. Only 80,000 or so are left. The
the Hotel Abkhazia boasted elegant lines daze. rest are refugees and cannot come home.
and the best view in town. But it was Dzheniya wore a white shirt and dark The war they fled has ended, but peace
open to the sky, its ground floor repug- trousers, his straight back betraying a has not come. Even while I sipped a beer
nant from being used as a toilet by a military youth he has never shaken off. on Sukhumi’s promenade, I could see the
5
jagged silhouettes of Russian warships on tive black number-plates on their trucks, Abkhazians don’t care. They are safer now
the horizon. drove back and forth in Abkhazia con- than they have been for fifteen years.
Georgia massed troops on Abkhazia’s stantly while I was there. Their tanks Under the Russian shield, they may be
southern border this summer, in what stood guard on the river Inguri, on Abk- free to live simply again, and perhaps the
the Russians claimed was an attempt to hazia’s southern border, as they have since four dark-eyed great-grandchildren that
take control of the region. Moscow took 1993. During a victory parade in Sukhumi posed for photographs with Leiba will
pre-emptive action, rolling into western this summer, which followed Abkhazia’s follow her into their hundreds.
Georgia to destroy the arms dumps and one-day war against Georgia, Russian If they do, Leiba is planning to be
the army bases, forestalling any Georgian soldiers were mobbed by grateful Abkhaz- there with them. They crowded on to the
plans for the immediate future. Abkhaz- ians. I saw one being photographed with bench with her, jostling to get into the
ian troops seized the moment to drive the a woman on each arm and one around his picture. Her grandson in his pink shirt
Georgian army out of the last corner of neck. The Abkhazians remembered the tenderly held her right elbow, while to
their land still under its control. terror of the 1992–3 war, and were over- her left two girls – the younger in the
The Georgian inhabitants of that joyed that the Russians had spared them coveted position next to her, the older
remote valley – the Kodori Gorge – fled the indiscipline, the fighting and the loot- further away – and two boys, the smallest
before the Abkhazia advance, and their ing that Georgia had previously unleashed. with his feet dangling in space, completed
houses now stand empty and silent. Cows Now that Abkhazia’s independence has the family line.
wander through the ground floors. The been recognized by Moscow, its people ‘I am scared of dying, worms will eat
village dogs have already formed them- hope war is over for good. The rest of the my body,’ she said suddenly, as I lined
selves into packs. There are already not world still thinks the territory is a part up the shot. Then she paused, clearly
enough people in Abkhazia to fill up the of Georgia, but as long as Russia remains remembering something from her past.
houses in the lush lowlands. It is hardly their friend, the Abkhazians are sure they ‘I went to the grave of my brother once,
likely that native Abkhazians will move will be protected. The West can shout as and there were ants there and they made
into this mountain village. much as it likes about Russia violating me scared. I do not want to die,’ she added
The Russian soldiers, with distinc- Georgia’s territorial integrity, but the at last. ‘I want to live as long again.’ ◊
6
A Si n gle Bo o k pad and thinking, This is boring.
It must have been a year later – after his
Austerlitz death – that I finally got round to reading
the book that I was supposed to have read
for his lecture: Austerlitz. It became, and
For Joe Dunthorne, its traces remain remains, one of my favourite books. It was
a revelation to me that a novel that was – in
7
W RITING TIPS On Description
8
• Exaggeration is the stuff of comedy. • None of the things you make up will be On Style
as hair-raising as the things people tell
• It’s good to have undeclared, unrecog- you. • Every sentence taken by itself should
nized pathologies and mental illnesses mean something.
in your stories. The countryside is full • I can only encourage you to steal as
of undeclared pathologies. Unlike in the much as you can. No one will ever • Writing should not create the impression
urban setting, there, mental affliction notice. You should keep a notebook of that the writer is trying to be ‘poetic’.
goes unrecognized. tidbits, but don’t write down the attri-
butions, and then after a couple of years • It’s easy to write rhythmical prose. It
• Dialect makes normal words seem other, you can come back to the notebook and carries you along. After a while it gets
odd and jagged. For example, ‘Jeziz’ for treat the stuff as your own without guilt. tedious.
Jesus.
• Don’t be afraid to bring in strange, elo- • Long sentences prevent you from having
• Particular disciplines have specialized quent quotations and graft them into your continually to name the subject (‘Gertie
terminology that is its own language. I story. It enriches the prose. Quotations did this, Gertie felt that’ etc.).
could translate a page of Ian McEwan are like yeast or some ingredient one adds.
in half an hour – but golf equipment! • Avoid sentences that serve only to set up
another matter. Two Sainsbury’s manag- • Look in older encyclopaedias. They later sentences.
ers talking to each other are a different have a different eye. They attempt to be
species altogether. complete and structured but in fact are • Use the word ‘and’ as little as possible.
completely random collected things that Try for variety in conjunctions.
are supposed to represent our world.
On Reading and Intertextuality
• It’s very good that you write through On Revision
• Read books that have nothing to do another text, a foil, so that you write out
with literature. of it and make your work a palimpsest. • Don’t revise too much or it turns into
You don’t have to declare it or tell where patchwork.
• Get off the main thoroughfares; you’ll it’s from.
see nothing there. For example, Kant’s • Lots of things resolve themselves just by
Critique is a yawn but his incidental writ- • A tight structural form opens possibili- being in the drawer a while.
ings are fascinating. ties. Take a pattern, an established model
or sub-genre, and write to it. In writing, • Don’t listen to anyone. Not us, either.
• There has to be a libidinous delight in limitation gives freedom. It’s fatal.
finding things and stuffing them in your
pockets. • If you look carefully you can find prob-
lems in all writers. And that should give On Other Things
• You must get the servants to work for you great hope. And the better you get
you. You mustn’t do all the work your- at identifying these problems, the better • The best academics are often Welsh. They
self. That is, you should ask other peo- you will be at avoiding them. come from a linguistic tradition which
ple for information, and steal ruthlessly mixes the vernacular with the biblical.
from what they provide.
• I went into my local video shop. It’s filled
with video nasties. A generation which has
never known war is being raised on horror.
9
CO M PEN DIUM and captivating work, it documents and
interweaves the lives of four Jewish émi-
An A to Z of W.G. Sebald grés with overwhelming moral and emo-
tional force. Susan Sontag summed up the
response to The Emigrants when she wrote:
Simon Prosser ‘Is literary greatness still possible? What
would a noble literary enterprise look like
10
Nobody wrote like him, and he has Sontag contemplated making a selection how she put it when I met her.)
transformed the literary imagination from these photographs and writing a text My favourite of her prints, ‘At Regens-
with the few books he had the time to to accompany them. Sadly, she died before burg he crossed . . .’, hangs in the Hamish
write and we have had the luck to read.’ being able to commit to such a project. Hamilton offices and also above my sofa
In The Emigrants, Max’s narrator wrote at home, never failing to evoke a memory
Humour · Max’s sense of humour is often of looking at photographs that we feel ‘as of Max.
underestimated, perhaps because it seems if the dead were coming back, or as if we Having befriended one another, Tess and
at odds with the overwhelming serious- were on the point of joining them’. And Max collaborated on the beautiful collec-
ness of his subject matter and the appar- Max himself remembered that ‘In school I tion of texts and ‘micro-poems’ published
ently archaic style of his writing. Yet it was in the dark room all the time, and I’ve in 2001 as For Years Now, which introduced
was a vital weapon in his armoury, and always collected stray photographs; there’s the mysterious haiku-like writing of Max’s
personally one of the sources of his con- a great deal of memory in them.’ last years. The final poem reads:
siderable charm. At the heart of debates over Max’s use
His visits to our offices would begin, of illustrations is the question of whether For years now
typically, with a mordant account of the they actually illustrate. The art critic Brian I’ve had this
trials of his journey from East Anglia to Dillon has suggested, rightly I think, that whistling
London, made all the more amusing by the ‘they suggest instead a ceaseless shuttle of sound in
comic gap – of which he was well aware – meaning between word and image’, as in my ears.
between the details of his travels (leaves on ‘the endless and ruminative contemplation
the line, phantom connecting trains) and of materials that defy introspection’. Kant · One of the most fugitive of Max’s
the mournfulness of his delivery. works, which I have never managed to track
Anyone who doubts Max’s humour Jaray · In 2001 the painter Tess Jaray exhib- down, is a radio play which he supposedly
should reread his narrator’s account of ited an extraordinary sequence of sixteen wrote for the BBC on the life of Kant. Does
eating armour-plated fish and chips in prints responding to passages from The anyone know where we might find a copy?
Lowestoft in The Rings of Saturn (‘the Emigrants and The Rings of Saturn. Once a
fish . . . had doubtless lain entombed in the part of the loose grouping of artists who Lac de Bienne · In perhaps the last inter-
deep freeze for years’), or look at the max- formed the British Pop Art movement of view with Max before his death, with
ims printed in this issue of Five Dials. the 1960s, she found inspiration later in life, Arthur Lubow for The New York Times,
The critic James Wood was delighted first in the spiritual patterning of Islamic Max was asked if there was any place in
when he met Max to find him as quietly art and then in the patterning and moods which he had ever felt at home:
funny in person as in his writing: of Max’s work. (‘Morocco and Max’ was
11
‘He thought of one spot: the island of the majority of German writers have father and grandfather had spent the last
St Pierre in the Lac de Bienne in Swit- remained silent about the mass destruc- years of their lives morbidly depressed. As
zerland, famous as a refuge of Rous- tion of German cities during the Second Arthur Lubow recalls from his late inter-
seau in 1765: “I felt at home, strangely, World War – and his explanation as to view with Max:
because it is a miniature world,” he said. why – heralded a more widespread exami-
“One manor house, one farmhouse. A nation of Germany in the last few years of ‘His father, who in Sebald’s telling
vineyard, a field of potatoes, a field of the country’s painful recent history. Max resembled a caricature of the pedantic,
wheat, a cherry tree, an orchard. It has argued in the book’s preface that: subservient, frugal German, didn’t like
one of everything, so it is in a sense an to read books. “The only book I ever
ark. This notion of something that is ‘When we turn to take a backward view, saw him read was one my younger sis-
small and self-contained is for me an particularly of the years 1930 to 1950, ter gave him for Christmas, just at the
aesthetic and moral ideal.”’ we are always looking and looking beginning of the ecological movement,
away at the same time. As a result, the with a name like The End of the Planet,”
Music · Much might be written about the works produced by German authors Sebald said. “And my father was
musicality of Max’s work and it is intrigu- after the war are marked by a half- bowled over by it. I saw him underlin-
ing to know what he himself enjoyed consciousness or false consciousness ing every sentence of it – with a ruler,
listening to. At the Evening for Max that designed to consolidate the extremely naturally – saying, ‘Ja, Ja.’”’
was convened by his closest colleagues at precarious position of these writers
the University of East Anglia in June 2002 in a society that was morally almost Queen Elizabeth Hall · The last time I
– the nearest to what might be termed a discredited.’ saw Max was at London’s Queen Eliza-
memorial for Max – the following works beth Hall, for a reading from Austerlitz.
were chosen to be played, as music that Of all Max’s works this is the only one Uncomfortable in the formica surround-
he knew and loved: Four Sea Interludes: in which anger is allowed to rise to the ings of the Green Room, he suggested a
‘Dawn’ by Benjamin Britten; Ich bin der surface of the writing – and it is also per- short walk along the Thames, in which he
Welt abhanden gekommen by Gustav Mahler; haps the closest to an explanation of why talked a little of his recent trips to France
the second movement of Symphony No. 1, he abandoned Germany for England as a and of his plans for a new prose fiction,
also by Mahler; and finally Schoenberg’s young man. partially inspired by his research there.
Strauss Transcriptions. Sadly, as we now know, no substantial
Psychoanalysis · Commentary on Max’s part of this work-in-progress survives.
Norwich · The University of East Anglia in work has tended to avoid psychoanalytic
Norwich provided Max with a home fol- analysis, although the analyst and writer Rings of Saturn · For many readers this
lowing his departure from the University Adam Phillips recently delivered the is the most beloved of Max’s works. It
of Manchester, which was where he first plenary address at a conference on Max’s begins with the narrator recovering from
studied and taught on leaving Germany. work. Of his own melancholia Max did a bout of illness which is often assumed
A professor of modern German literature speak a little, mentioning that both his to be psychological. When I asked Max
for thirty years, he also set up the first
British Centre for Literary Translation at
UEA, and much later, at the very end of
his life, taught on its famous creative writ-
ing course. The maxims in this issue of
Five Dials date from this period. For many
years he lived nearby, at the Old Rec-
tory in Upgate, Poringland – a place he
described as, ‘very much out in the sticks.
And I do feel that I’m better there than I
am in the centre of things. I do like to be
in the margins if at all possible.’
Max died in a road accident on the
way from the Rectory to the train station,
killed in a crash with a lorry while negoti-
ating a left-hand bend.
12
enigmas, conflicts and contradictions he
chose not to clarify.’
Smoking · Max was one of those smok- Unrecounted · Several of the texts from For Young Austerlitz · The perfect introduc-
ers whom it suited to smoke. When I Years Now also appeared in the posthumous tion to Max’s prose fiction, this 60-page
asked Max whether, like me, he had plans collection Unrecounted, which is a col- excerpt from Austerlitz was published as
to stop, he raised his eyebrows as if to laboration with Max’s oldest friend since Pocket Penguin No. 28 in 2005.
say, ‘Why – with so many other ways we school days, the artist Jan Peter Tripp. The
might die?’ translator of this book was another old Zembla · Perhaps the best short introduc-
friend, the poet Michael Hamburger, who tion to Max and his writing was written
Translation · Although he might easily spoke for many when he wrote: by Robert Macfarlane for the winter 2004
have written his books in English, Max issue of Zembla, named after the distant
chose to write them in German, then to ‘What sets these reductive epiphanies northern land in Pale Fire by Vladimir
work extremely closely with his translator apart from the earlier works is not so Nabokov, one of Max’s favourite writers,
on the English version. He was blessed in much their extreme brevity, spareness who makes a cameo appearance, with his
his choice of translators – latterly Anthea and seeming casualness . . . but their butterfly net, in The Emigrants.
Bell, who has written movingly about break with the narrative thread in all
their collaboration: the preceding works.’ The A to Z above is of course highly sub-
jective and we would welcome any further
‘We worked on the text mainly by cor- They were, he felt, written ‘at a time of contributions from Five Dials’ readers
respondence, Max’s preferred method crisis in my friend’s life and work, full of which might be added to it. ◊
13
INTRODUCIN G Bedford Bridge, Bunyan’s home town.
Sebald often does something similar,
W.G. Sebald transposing a familiar or actual place into
fiction and metaphor, like the antiques
bazaar in Austerlitz, full of memories of
Thoughts from the late Roger Deakin the holocaust objectified à la Roland Bar-
thes, all unavailable for inspection or pur-
14
St e ph e n Dun n
Permissions
The veil of weather, the hopeful smell
of just-cut grass, the who-knows-what
that goes on behind closed doors –
15
THE J OB AT HAND It will begin like this:
Four translators discuss the world’s second oldest profession Making you sit up a little straighter,
eager for what comes next. What comes
Gail Armstrong barking: ‘This! One day I will replace next is:
you all with this!’
Nor ought a genius less than his Thankfully our craft has not yet been The all numbers of subscribers has sur-
that writ attempt translation. tossed in the dustbin of history, along- rounding 3,1 millions and the reparti-
– Sir John Denham side scribes and papyrus farmers (and tion by operators is supplying at the
word is that this manager was usurped by chart following.
16
a quadrature phase shift keying modula- Anthea Bell you think ‘What exactly was he getting at
tor circuit is used for. Two things that here?’ And of course he’s dead, so I can’t
TDMA stands for – one of them is too damn Anthea Bell has translated the Asterix books, ring him up and ask him. So I read the
many acronyms. Which there are. And Freud, Sebald and countless other authors. Her book, then I do a draft, and then I revise
when one doesn’t exist in French, they’ll study has a shelf to hold her thick reference and revise. Finally I print out and read
put in the English one. So you’ve got to books and a shelf for the works of her father, through only for the English. A transla-
know your acronyms. God I hate acro- Adrian Bell, who chronicled the Suffolk coun- tor’s got a double duty to the author and
nyms. GIHA. tryside and compiled The Times crossword. the readers of a translation. You have to
Outside of my work there is nothing It is also is the resting place for a considerable balance between the two of them.
to do with this knowledge. I do occa- amount of ribbons for excellence in cat breed-
sionally spring it on an unsuspecting ing. She used to name her new cats after What are the challenges?
neighbour at a dinner party after I’ve had Shakespearian characters, and got through most, You come across unique problems. Max
a little too much to drink, but that never though she decided she would not offer up a pet Sebald, for instance, famously wrote in
ends well. So mostly this great lump of with the name Lady Macbeth. an almost nineteenth century German
stuff just loiters in my brain, kicking the When I asked her about the solitude of the which reintroduces you to the joys of the
dirt while contemplating the advantages job she looked at me for a moment through her subordinate clause and the long, long sen-
of mutualized civil infrastructure and large glasses before offering a shrug and a loud tence. In his Austerlitz there is a sentence
wondering why it has no friends. laugh. It was nothing new to her, this writing that is all of nine pages long and when I
Having this area of specialization also life. She watched her father go, without fail, was drafting that, and Max was still alive,
means I translate two kinds of text. There into his study at 9 a.m. to clack away until I remember about two pages in I put in
are deliberately ambiguous government midday. In the afternoon he cycled the back a full stop. I did it without thinking and
documents that have all the elegance and lanes of Suffolk, freeing his mind to think of the didn’t have to wait for Max to tell me
playful brio of concrete blocks. Hun- next day’s crossword clues. no, he didn’t want it. I took it out again
dreds of pages of sentences apparently because the whole vast passage describes
modelled on Stalinist architecture, where
epochs elapse between subject and verb,
forming paragraphs more lengthy and
I loved learning languages when I
was a girl, though my degree is not in
French and German. I studied English
the way the Nazis were prettifying up the
camp of Theresienstadt when there was
going to be a Red Cross delegation and
drab than a French civil servant’s sum- but went on reading French and German they were going to be giving the impres-
mer holidays. If bottled, they could and became a translator quite by accident. sion it was a holiday home for Jews, and
induce coma. And then there are market My then-husband worked at what was the whole, long nine pages described the
reports, by and for totally psyched, choir- called the National Book League and he frantic and utterly pointless activity and
preaching, high-fiving, point-oh-faced, knew a lot of publishers. One day one that’s why it goes on and on like that in
social-networking, micromessaging, came in and said ‘Any idea who could one huge interlinking sentence. So it was
cross-platform-marketing wienies lever- read a German book for me and give me quite a challenge.
aging the convergent synergies and brand an opinion?’ My husband said ‘I guess
equity of the latest killer app to monetize my wife could do that’ and after that it What were conversations with Sebald like?
eyeballs and get us all on the winning side was the grapevine. I had small children Max was not a man for technology. You
of retail Darwinism. at home and I remember translating my correspond with practically all authors
The brass ring is to have their white first book on the kitchen table with a by email and email attachments, but not
paper read by one of the big boys, i.e. manual typewriter and a baby asleep in Max. They delivered a computer to his
someone just like them, but that you’ve the carry-cot beside me. Before coming room at UEA and, after his tragic accident,
heard of. So it’s champagne all around to this house, about twenty years ago, I’d it was still found in its box there. It hadn’t
when I get a breathless email from one of never had a separate room where I could been opened and set up. So I would draft
my usually just-coasting middle manag- have all my junk and not have to tidy up a chunk and I would send it off to him
ers, suddenly swooning with exclamation because I’d work at the dining table or in and while I was drafting the next chunk
marks: Your translation was quoted at length the spare bedroom. he would make comments and sugges-
in a Morgan Stanley report today!!! tions and send my previous chunk back
Oh! It’s like being asked to the dance What is the first thing you do with a book? to me.
by George Soros! Read it, of course. I know two people Both Rings of Saturn (which Michael
When told by a reader that his stories who say they prefer not to have read Hulse translated) and Austerlitz, they
read better in French, James Thurber a book first. I’d be terrified, actually, are full of moths. He was fascinated
replied, ‘Yes, I tend to lose something in because suppose you didn’t like it when by moths. I actually have a full-blown
the original.’ If I know that consciously you embarked on it? It’s very risky unless moth phobia. I will run screaming from
working to improve on the source text you know the author’s name and take it the room. There are three months in
is against the rules, I have to confess that on trust. I do a lot of Stefan Zweig. He’s summer – July, August and early Sep-
when I sit down to translate some of rather difficult to translate. He appears tember – when I have to be very careful
these voiceless pages, it really does seem absolutely lucid and clear as anything on of opening the door or window to a
like the only humane thing to do. the surface but when you get into him lighted room after dark. My son said
17
to me once, What do you do now that trick of the mind working the same way. don’t agree with the new ideas of visible
we’re not here at home anymore? I said, The humour in those books ranges translation.
I fling. I wait for it to settle if possible from the absolutely obvious to the
and I fling a very heavy dictionary on nuanced. ‘The slaves are revolting’ gets What happens when translation goes wrong?
top of it and leave it there to die. I told a simple laugh from the eight-year-old, I revise more if I can see that it doesn’t
Max I had this phobia and he was rather and then there are extended cultural sound right. I did a title in the new Freud
amused. He told me Graham Greene jokes. Asterix takes on a Roman legion- series. My book was The Psychopathology of
had a bird phobia, which I didn’t know ary in a rendering of the swordfight Everyday Life, and my particular problem
before. from Cyrano de Bergerac, composing a was the term invented in English espe-
ballad while he fights. As it was, the cially for the first translation of this book
Are there words you dodge? most famous swordfight in English lit- – ‘parapraxis’ – which was invented to
There are certain words. I spend my life erature is probably between Hamlet and translate the famous ‘fehlleistung’ – the
trying not to use ‘so-called’ for Ger- Laertes and so the whole thing, practi- Freudian slip – which literally in German
man ‘sogenannt’. In German it’s just a cally a page, where there were Rostand means a failed or mistaken performance
throwaway word but in English if you say quotations in the French, there are now or achievement. You set out to say or
‘so-called’ it looks as if you’re implying quotations from Hamlet in the English. think or do something and it comes out
something is claiming to be something It’s practically a page of Rostand quotes other than you intended. Parapraxis. Was
it’s not. It’s like the little French habit of in French and Shakespearian quotes in I going to keep it? I thought about it and
punctuating sentences dying off into a English. Is an eight-year-old going to thought, no, I’m not. My mind was made
three dot ellipses. In English that suggests know that? up. It’s a non-word that was invented
to me there is something sinister yet to René Goscinny died in a very sad way particularly for the translation of this
be told. and yet he would have laughed at it. He book. So I wriggled around it.
did have heart trouble. He was only just That book is about slips of the tongue
When do you have most freedom? fifty, I think, and he was a very rotund, and the pen. I’ve often said my transla-
The Asterix books, of course, where good-living Frenchman who went into a tions range from Freud to Asterix, but
you’ve got to be free. Albert Uderzo clinic for a check-up, and got on one of one day I thought, no, those two exam-
had developed a very sophisticated those exercise bikes where they monitor ples are not so far away. When you’re
drafting style for the illustrations, and your blood pressure and heartbeat. They translating a pun or substituting a pun,
René Goscinny was at his most inven- connected the electrodes and he died then in effect you are trying to do on purpose
tive in what I call the good mid-period and there. It was the saddest thing but I what the Freudian slip of the tongue does
Asterixes. With those, of course, you couldn’t help but think if there’s anything accidentally.
get a pun in French and you get the on the other side René Goscinny is sitting
names in French. You get the terrible there roaring with laughter writing the How do you force a slip?
bard Assurancetourix, which means car story up. You puzzle away at the words and how
insurance in French. That doesn’t make they might go wrong and that is the trick
a name when you translate it anyway, How do you deal with the constraints of the of wordplay. It’s a word going ever so
certainly not ending in -ix. He comes speech bubble? slightly wrong.
out as Cacofonix in English because he’s If you’re reinventing a joke it may come
the worst bard ever. For those, you have out a little too long for the speech bubble There’s a benefit in being a little inaccurate?
to reinvent the pun. and so then you have to rethink it again, If it is truer to the spirit of the original.
Of course you have to keep it all in counting letters on your fingers all the That is always the dichotomy, the spirit
tune with the size of the speech bubble while. and the letter.
and the expressions on the character’s
faces. Every time I translated there was a Do you belong to a certain school of thought? How do you hone the ability to perceive spirit?
solemn little contract saying nothing shall There are two schools of thought now. I think it’s a little trick of the mind, you
be changed from the French version. The The modern school of thought is that the know. First of all, I suspect you are
whole essence of the thing was to change translator should be visible. You should partly born with it. I think the mind
it quite a lot. You can justify it, you have be aware of the translator working on lives in a little space between the two
to, by saying you are being true to the the book. I am far too old to adopt this languages for a moment. With luck you
spirit which is more important than being fashionable viewpoint. I like to be an then come down on the right side in
true to the letter. invisible translator and hope that it will your own language. There’s a little no
I used to draft out a translation and read as if it’s been written in English in man’s land between the languages where
type in ‘joke needed here’ or ‘this is the first place. I was asked once to give nothing but the meaning and the feel
tricky’ and then go back. I don’t do cross- the keynote speech at a seminar on trans- of it exists. For a minute you inhabit it
words, even though my father compiled lation organized by a couple of young and, of course, if you don’t come down
them. Reinventing the Asterix puns are lecturers. I was asked to give a speech right away you’ve got to go back and do
the closest thing I’ve ever done to solving about the new ideas of visible translation. it again.
or compiling a cryptic crossword. It’s a I said, I can’t do this for you. I simply
18
Paul Wilson technical: How do you deal with puns? to myself over and over again as I walked
How do you recreate the author’s ‘voice’ through the streets. I spent time in bars,
19
in what amounted to a cultural vacuum: Compared with reading, translation in- is always exceptionally vivid, almost like
there weren’t centuries of commerce creased activation in anterior cingulat- a brief, waking dream. I can usually see
between our two languages, the way ed and bilateral basal ganglia structures, a person or a place or recall an incident
there is between, say, French and English. the left insula, the left cerebellum, and with great clarity, often with vivid mem-
Moreover, because of how I learned it, I the supplementary motor area. Rela- ories of tastes and smells to go along with
had no ready connections between Czech tive to reading, translation deactivated it. Moreover, it is usually something I had
and English in my own mind, certainly some areas previously associated with completely forgotten, something I could
not for the more complicated ideas in the semantic decision tasks, including the not have voluntarily recalled. But it is
works I was starting to translate. So, with medial superior frontal gyrus, the left always real, not a mere daydream or a fan-
the help of Czech friends and the great middle temporal gyrus, the left poste- tasy, not an invention. And there is never,
Dr. Peter Mark Roget and his Thesaurus, rior parietal region, and the posterior as far as I can tell, any direct or obvious
I started to forge what I visualized as a cingulate and precuneus. connection between the memory evoked
network of neural pathways between the and the word or phrase I am struggling
part of my mind that contained Czech So there, in the poetry of clinical lan- with. This, too, is part of the psychology
and the far more developed, deeply guage, is what some neurologists think of translation. Sometimes, on their way
rooted part that contained English. That happens in your brain when you translate. through your brain from one language to
network, I believe, is the terrain where If I get their drift, the tendency of the another, words can become like Proust’s
the real work of translation takes place. brain to cough up the meaning of the madeleine, astonishing you yet again with
I developed a rudimentary theory source language is suppressed when you their ability to evoke entire worlds.
based on how I perceived my mind to be start looking for equivalents in another
working: that in bilingual or multilingual language, thus freeing your brain to focus
people, each language occupies a separate on finding the right word.
area in the part of the brain responsible Well, maybe. But absent the technical
for language. A few years ago, something jargon, translation, when you engage in
happened that appeared to confirm this. A it, feels a lot more complicated than a Howard Goldblatt
colleague, Jaroslav Koran, who translated series of ‘semantic decision tasks’. When
many of the works of Kurt Vonnegut Jr. at work, literary translators exist in two Howard Goldblatt has inhabited the often mys-
into Czech, had a massive stroke that left worlds at the same time. These are not tifying world of Chinese literary translation for
him unable to speak his native language the classic dualisms like mind and matter, more than 25 years, frequently in collaboration
but still able to communicate quite hand- or body and soul, or of fact and fantasy, with his wife, Sylvia Li-Chun Lin. I recently
ily in English. For me, it was a Eureka or dreams and reality, or even the subjec- worked with Howard on a collection of short
moment: there must have been a physical tive and the objective. The translator’s stories – I as editor, he as translator – and was
separation between the two languages dual world is a little like being on two consistently impressed with his deft approach
in his brain, otherwise would not the sides of a mirror at the same time. If we to the idiosyncrasies of Chinese writing; for
stroke’s electrical storm have disabled think of language as a complex and pow- instance the absence of personal pronouns, or the
both? Fortunately, Jarda eventually got erful sensory organ, as a means of percep- indifference between the singular and the plural.
his Czech back, but, as far as I know, he tion and a repository of experience, and On this day, however, he was at times frustrated
doesn’t translate any more. Perhaps the not just as a collection of semantic units, when pressed to explore these nuances. I had the
job of rebuilding those neural bridges then the translator’s dual vision is of one distinct impression that, for Howard, talking
between the two languages was more world perceived through the instrument about translating Chinese was just as complex
than he could face. of two languages. The best translations and full of discrepancies as translating it.
Recently, neurologists have attempted bring these two views together in a sin- His translations – more than 30 novels and
to crack the mystery of translation using gle stereoscopic version, in which it is short story collections to date – include seminal
brain imaging techniques, like PET (Posi- the slight differences, the blurry areas, work by Mo Yan, Wang Anyi and the Tai-
tron Emission Tomography) or fMRI (func- the imperfections, that give the view wanese author Chu T’ien Wen. Last year,
tional Magnetic Resonance Imaging) to see its depth, its third dimension. It’s what his translation of the novel Wolf Totem by
what happens in brain areas where linguis- makes a good translation a work in its Jiang Rong won the Man Asia Literary Prize.
tic activity (‘phonological, lexical, seman- own right. Howard splits his time between the Rocky
tic aspects of language’) is thought to take But there’s a phenomenon I’ve noticed Mountains of Colorado and Notre Dame Uni-
place. According to Journal Watch Neurology, while translating that connects it with a versity, where he is Director of the Centre for
published by the New England Journal of far vaster mystery of the mind, that of Asian Studies. He spoke to me on the telephone
Medicine, scientists took six right-handed memory. Suddenly, usually in moments from his home in South Bend, Indiana.
men, mostly in their thirties, who were of greatest mechanical concentration (in – Jakob von Baeyer
fluent in both German and English and the middle of a ‘semantic decision task’
scanned their brains while they were read- perhaps), my mind cuts loose from the Have you ever been stumped?
ing or translating groups of words in both material in front of me and releases a You mean in the last fifteen minutes? Yes,
languages. Here’s what they found: bubble of memory. It is always a memory it happens all the time. [laughs] I’ve just
from my time in Czechoslovakia and it run into a problem in a Wang Anyi short
20
story, and I’ll have to ask Sylvia. Allu- and what follows? It happens all the time, friends who do. Let me give you an
sions creep into Chinese literary texts all particularly when you have writers who example: I translated a book called Wolf
the time. Some of them are quite ancient. are quite literate, like Wang Anyi. Totem. They brought me out to China.
They have become modern terms, but The Chinese publisher had bought the
they have an ancient grounding. Internal rhythm in Chinese poetry and prose English language rights to my translation
Let me step back a bit. Chinese is an seems to exist on a micro scale, whereas English for sale in China only and they printed
even language. In Chinese it sounds writers tend to focus on the rhythm of para- 50,000 copies, for crying out loud. And
best – to those of use who read and speak graphs and longer passages. so I was there and I talked to people and
Chinese – if there is an even sound. So it’s I agree completely. Chinese focuses on signed hundreds of books. I was inter-
four characters, eight characters, sixteen the micro term, clause, sentence and sel- viewing from eight in the morning to six
characters. Oddness jars a bit. Of course dom goes beyond that. You will probably at night. I was the most famous man in
when you’re having regular conversation notice that paragraphing is a ‘sometimes’ China for a about a day. All the newspa-
that doesn’t count. But when you’re writ- thing in Chinese. Punctuation is hit and pers had photographs. I was in the For-
ing – and this goes back to the earliest miss. We [translators] clean that up, and bidden City. It was just wonderful.
book of poetry – almost all of the Chi- usually editors will say: ‘Should we have They were able to talk the author
nese sayings, these hoary and sometimes a paragraph break here?’ Sure go ahead, into having a public dialogue with me. I
quite mystifying sayings, are in four it doesn’t make any difference because thought it was a great idea. I had met him
character lumps. It sounds good because the Chinese writer never considered it. before and we got along fine. So we were
of the tones. In translation I try really And if I think there is intent I will go to sitting there in front of about a hundred
hard to keep the rhythm going in English. the author and ask ‘Is it okay that I do people, half to two thirds Chinese and a
But I almost always fail to take it very this because the editors wants it’. And third Westerners. And my first question
far because English has no preference for sometimes they will say, ‘No.’ Mo Yan to him was: ‘What do you like least about
the evenness of sound. In Chinese it’s the is a good example: ‘I want a four page my translation of your book?’ He reads
most common literary device. paragraph.’ English, but only with dictionary help.
I’ve run into a difficult passage in Wang Chinese love big books, they love long He can read words at a time. He said:
Anyi’s story where she is talking about a paragraphs, they love long sentences ‘Well, what I like least is on page one.’
child. As the child grows it cries all the separated by commas that go on forever. And I thought we were off to a bad start.
time. It could be scared of lightning or its Those are mechanical things that we do He said that I translated a passage when
mother’s milk is inadequate. In the pas- all the time, because the Chinese, as I say, an elder Mongol man turns to the protag-
sage someone writes a message on little don’t care much. A comma means you’ve onist and says, ‘There’s fear of wolves in
slips of paper and sticks them up on lamp- stopped. The niceties of colon versus your Chinese bones.’ It is a direct transla-
posts. I have no idea why they do that. semicolon just don’t exist. tion of the Chinese, with one exception.
It’s a cultural thing and I’ll have to find Some writers will put an exclamation The word for ‘Chinese’ he had down was
out somehow. And we have no idea who point after every other sentence. I’ll say: ‘Han yan’. The ‘Han’ are one of the five
this person is because it’s not given in the ‘Do you know that’s like putting capital ethnic groups in China: The Hans, the
text. I translated the message as ‘We have letters in an email message? Do you want Mongols, the Tibetans, the Uighurs, the
a cry baby in the house’. The next line is people to know you’re shouting?’ And Manchus. And he said, ‘The Mongols are
a four character phrase: ‘Zhong shen zhu they’ll say, ‘No’. It was like they found a Chinese, too.’ And I said, ‘Yes, in a geo-
fu’. ‘Zhong shen’ is all the people’, or ‘all new toy and really wanted to play with political sense they’re all in China, but
the human beings in the world’. ‘Zhu it, so they play with exclamation points. they’re not Chinese.’ He said, ‘Of course
fu’: ‘cry out for a benediction’, or some- This sounds judgmental, like they’ve they’re Chinese.’ And I said, ‘No, in the
thing like that. I understand the meaning, not yet risen to our level of quality, or West if I said “Han” most readers would
but I have no idea what it’s doing there. nuance. I hope I don’t come across like not have a clue what I was talking about.’
I’m going to have to play with it for a that. I don’t mean it that way. It’s just not I could have tried to [foot]note it, but
while. I’m going to have to add some important to a Chinese reader, and if it’s that’s something I don’t like to do. I said,
text. In Chinese it’s compact, it’s neat, not important to a Chinese reader, than ‘If we talk about Chinese, we immediately
and it sounds good when you read it to a it’s perfectly acceptable to me. But I have sense that ethnic Chinese and Mongols
Chinese person, yet in English, if I were to do something with it for an English would be different.’ He couldn’t accept
to translate it literally as ‘all humanity reader. It’s something Chinese translators that. So we put it up to a straw poll and
thinks a benediction’ it would be utterly need to do all the time. That’s why I envy all the Chinese agreed with him and all
meaningless, and people would think I people who translate from languages clos- the Westerners agreed with me; that
have completely lost my mind. These are er to English, who have the same body of Chinese in this case meant Han. And I
the kinds of things that we run into that understanding of how a text works. said, ‘You write for Chinese, I translate
mystify. And they don’t mystify because for Westerners.’
we don’t understand the words, or how Have any of your writers ever questioned your There was another case he disliked.
they work together. What we don’t translation? He has an opening to a paragraph when
understand is how they work into the Yes, sure. And it’s almost always those they’re trying to take a wolf cub to a new
text. What are the links to what preceded who don’t read English. So they get pasture and he doesn’t want to go. He’s
21
digging in with his paws, they’re getting you’re really saying. Literally, you cannot ferent. You can tame lions and bears and
bloody and the cub absolutely refuses to pull a lion, you cannot pull a bear. If you tigers. People do it all the time. But a
leave. The opening line is something in tried they’d kill you. In Chinese this has wolf is untamable. I thought the word
the order of, literally, ‘You can pull a tiger, metaphorical value that it doesn’t have in tame was anything but tame. I thought
you can pull a lion, you can pull a bear, English, and it requires another term. it was a pretty powerful image. He kind
but you cannot pull a wolf.’ That’s the of bought into that one. But he wanted
literal translation. I said that doesn’t work. It seems to me there’s a lot of logic involved in to hold back on absolute approval. There
So I translated it: ‘You can tame a lion, the decision making. was another one, but I don’t remember it.
you can tame a tiger, you can tame a bear, You have to understand what he’s saying. So as it turned out there were three things
but you can’t tame a wolf.’ That’s exactly You’re right. In this case if I had trans- in a 500-page book that he didn’t like.
right in my view. But he said the word lated literally it would have been a really Later, a couple of the young women
tame is too tame. One of the Chinese bad translation because no English reader who came down from a Beijing transla-
stood up and said, ‘What about the word would have appreciated the idea. ‘You tion institute as simultaneous interpreters
tug?’ And I said this is not an improve- can take a rope and pull a lion, and you knocked on my door, and came in and said,
ment. Again, the Chinese tended to agree can pull . . .’ And they’re thinking give ‘We think you’re right. We just couldn’t say
with him. But with this one I tended to do me a break, this is like a traveling circus. it.’ I said, ‘Thank you, but he’s right too.’
a little better. I said: That’s exactly what But taming is something altogether dif- He’s right to a degree. ◊
22
Civil War. I know that some people find the connection to a long-lost and now The devil span the coin high into the air
his autobiographical writings a little irri- near-mythological time, was in an arti- So far it has not come down
tating, the work of a self-mythologizer, cle in a literary magazine that compared
but they didn’t seem that way to me. I extracts from poets’ journals with their As these were translations there was no
was nineteen years old! Here was a poet published poems. The quotes from both telling what I was missing by not reading
who was both intensely serious about his Fusi’s journal and his poetry concerned them in the original Spanish; somehow
art and politically active; who spent con- the moon. I wrote them down and this I suspected that translation itself, a proc-
siderable time on the run from repressive time didn’t lose them. The journal entry ess that can add an echoey distance to a
governments; and who was literally taken comes first. writer’s voice, as if it is being heard over
to the heart of his readership, which on an old radio, rather suited this under-
occasion both hid and fed him. There June 10 1934 stated Argentinian. The biographical note
was one incident that particularly moved The sky tonight, the moon glimpsed amid at the foot of the article was brief. ‘The
me. He arrived at the mouth of some salt boiling clouds, reminds me of something. Italian-born, Argentinian poet Alberto
mines in the inhospitable far south of What is it – oh yes, washing a fountain pen Fusi published one book of poetry and
Chile, at the end of a shift. As he tells it, in the sink, the way the blue-black ink coils a collection of essays in Argentina in the
when the men coming out of the mouth as it spreads through the water, obscuring the 1930s. His poetry was almost exclusively
of the mine saw him there they began white porcelain. about the moon. He worked as a union
reciting his verses spontaneously – they organizer in a cigarette factory and disap-
knew them by heart. In my country this Then came two very short poems: peared shortly after the outbreak of the
was the kind of reaction a rock star might Second World War.’
get on the street, or a comedian with a On a Cloudy Night I was at the earliest stages of research-
popular TV show, but a poet? Impos- On a cloudy night ing a book with a lunar theme at the
sible. Of course I realize now that, for a The moon is a silver coin passed across time and so I put my notes about Fusi
certain kind of Chilean (most particularly a table – into a box file with various other scraps
an unknown poet), being asked ques- Visible for a moment of paper, newspaper cuttings and post-
tions about Neruda was probably rather Then made to vanish by a gambler’s card reproductions of moonlight scenes,
insulting. He was the only Chilean writer sleight of hand awaiting some future moment when I
much known beyond the country’s bor- would have time to deal with them. Once
ders at the time, the sole example of its Full Moon again Fusi settled to the bottom of my
literary culture the world had deigned God and the devil agreed to spin a coin consciousness, like sediment in a pond.
to notice. Far from ingratiating myself I for the soul of man. Two more years passed in the way years
had merely revealed my own gaucheness
and lack of knowledge. ‘Ffffft,’ was the
reply the poet gave to my question, purs-
ing his red lips comically in the middle of
his beard, which was impressively bushy
and Castro-esque. ‘Neruda was a good
man, but really, as a writer, a bag of hot
air. If you want to read Latin American
poetry you should read the Argentinian,
Alberto Fusi.’ And with that he proceed-
ed to ignore me. I nodded dutifully and
wrote down the name in my pocketbook,
where it remained, presumably, until the
book went missing on a 24-hour expedi-
tion into another part of the city, the
way most of my disposable possessions
did at the time. I never saw the Chilean
again, or his girlfriend. (Or was she his
girlfriend? Perhaps he was merely woo-
ing her in his own peculiar way and she
belonged to someone else; this would
explain the electric current that crackled
between them through what passed for
air on that long, subterranean afternoon).
But clearly, I did not completely forget
Fusi’s name. The next time I came across
it, with a small frisson of recognition at
23
do, a mixture of work, love, frustration The face of the Chilean poet came back his financial troubles, which depressed
and writing; of missed opportunities to me suddenly, with his pursed, disdain- me for being so much less serious than
and, thankfully, some small achievements. ful lips. Had he been mocking me when my own, and turned my attention to
When the time came to open up the box he recommended I sought out the work the package. Inside was a tattered paper-
file and try to animate its contents, like a of this obscure and minor figure? Had he back, an anthology of twentieth century
scientist looking for the right combina- detected, perhaps, with the heightened Argentinian poetry published in the 1960s,
tion of elements to initiate a reaction, it sensitivity of the lover, my interest in his together with a note, written in English.
seemed as though Fusi had risen to the Mexican companion? (I had visited, later Dear—, it read. I enjoyed our conver-
top; only by finding out more about that evening, the stage door of the thea- sation at Mike and Michele’s party. You
this marginal figure, whom no one now tre where she was performing, but had were the only Englishman I spoke to in
seemed to remember, could I breathe not gained admittance.) At that moment the three and a half weeks I spent in your
life into my own researches. I had long someone entered the kitchen through country – apart from my tutor, who was
ago abandoned the odyssey I had been a door behind me and Angelina’s face very old, like a tortoise, and spent most of
engaged on through the city, but I still changed completely and in an instant, his time sleeping – who was interested in
paid attention to chance encounters. At a as if a light had been switched on; in literature and didn’t spend all the time star-
party at the house of some friends, who an equivalent passage of time I neatly ing at my breasts. I found some Fusi for
had taken to renting out their attic room folded and put away any hopes I had you – in Spanish! You can translate it, it
to foreign students to help pay the bills, begun to entertain of getting to know will be good practice for you. Your Span-
I met their lodger, a young literature her better. She ran across the room to the ish is really terrible! But he is not such a
student from Buenos Aires named Ange- figure in the doorway, a young man in a great poet, I think, and so you will not be
lina. She had arrived in the country a faded red t-shirt with a large bag at his hurting literature too much. (By the way,
few weeks previously. Her English was feet, and wrapped herself around him. for Argentinian girls he is not a very good
not good and she had retreated to the They cooed to each other in Spanish and chat-up line.) Come and visit us in Buenos
kitchen on the pretence of getting some rubbed cheeks, like doves. Remembering Aires if you like. Your friend, Angelina.
more trays of food but really, I think, to my presence, he shared some of his smile It was a good letter and it made me
escape the torture of having to field the with me over the tangle of her hair spread laugh. It didn’t put me off Fusi. I did work
questions of the other guests. I was there across his chest and I raised my glass to on translating the half-dozen poems I
for the same reason. Fortunately I had him in salute. found inside the book and a few others I
drunk enough wine to feel unembarrassed That should have been the end of my tracked down subsequently, and he helped
about the quality of my own Spanish, interest in Latin-American literature. improve my Spanish, although the vocab-
which was rudimentary. She ignored my Two enigmatic and unobtainable women ulary I learned was probably rather unsuit-
stumblings, out of a sense of relief, I sus- and two unambiguous put-downs in ed for everyday conversation. I enjoyed
pect, at being able to abandon her English response to my enquiries should have the way he combined surreal or romantic
for a few minutes. She made no attempt been enough for anyone. A couple of imagery with elements of folklore and
to speak slowly for me, but revelled in weeks later I agreed to meet up for a vignettes of everyday life in a modern city.
the linguistic extravagances of her own beer after work with the friend who In bringing my story to a close, I offer
tongue, at the same time eating vora- had given the party; he rang to say he only one of my efforts, a translation of a
ciously and seemingly at random from had something that had arrived for me. poem by Fusi called Night Song, that epito-
the plates of food spread on the table. We As I sometimes used his house as my mises something of this mood.
spoke of her studies and of Argentinian postal address when I was between flats,
writers she admired, including Puig and I expected a handful of unpaid bills and Night Song
Borges. She was a keen advocate for the a selection of glossy brochures, trying As I stood at the window
literature of her country and clearly tal- to sell me credit cards or foreign holi- I heard a woman at the street corner
ented in her own right. I hoped my fasci- days. When we sat down he rummaged singing to the moon,
nation was not too apparent. in his bag and pulled out a travel-worn Her voice liquid as a bird’s
‘Perhaps you know the poetry of jiffy-bag with my name on it. ‘Angelina
Alberto Fusi?’ I asked, rather proud to sent this for you from Argentina,’ he said. Come down Oh Moon, she called,
have the name, which had risen unbid- ‘You must have made an impression.’ He Come down, my breast aches for you
den from the unreliable databank of my leered momentarily (and unattractively,
memory, at the tip of my tongue. ‘I read I thought) then became gloomy. ‘She I lay down on my bed
some of his work some years ago, but turned out to be a real pain in the ass. She Trying to take comfort from the cool
haven’t come across it since: I don’t think left, a couple of days after the party; her white sheets
he is much translated.’ boyfriend came with a ticket and took her Her voice filled my mind like smoke
She paused with a canapé halfway to home. I think she was unhappy. We’re
her mouth and gave me a quizzical look. in a right mess; we still haven’t rented Somewhere a dog barked
‘Fusi? Oh, I am afraid he is not much the room.’ He lapsed into silence and Joining the chorus
in fashion now. Perhaps he is still read by began biting the nails of his right hand Until a man threw a boot at its head
some older people, I don’t know.’ with ferocity. I didn’t wish to hear about With an angry curse ◊
24
H e lp pages stylish than ours, they interview people
who are far wealthier than we are and who
The Agony Uncle seem constantly to fall in love in thrilling
ways, or have a lovely time making films,
or else look grave and important jumping
Alain de Botton will sort you out out of ministerial jets. The contrast with
more ordinary lives can be painful.
Because of my work, I have recently been forced beings are about). The flâneurs are avid The Dutch painter Johannes Vermeer
to move from a small and beautiful village in the enthusiasts of what Baudelaire called ‘the (1632–75) seemed to understand only too
Lake District to the centre of Glasgow. Ever since modern’. Unlike so many of Baudelaire’s well how depressing it is to be surrounded
I was a child, I have had a deep hatred of city life highbrow contemporaries, flâneurs aren’t only by beautiful images of fancy interiors
– I can find in it none of the beauty that I can see just interested in the beauty of classical and exotic people doing dramatic things,
in the countryside. I can’t understand why some objects of art, they relish what is up to which is perhaps why he spent most of his
people say they love big cities like London, Paris, date, they love the trendy. short life painting incredibly simple eve-
New York. Do you have any suggestions on how It’s a paradox of cities that, though ryday scenes, the kind we all know from
one might learn to be happy in a city? they bring together huge numbers of our own lives, but which rarely feature in
people in small spaces, they also separate works of art, let alone in glossy magazines.
For people who think of city streets as them from each other. So it’s the goal In one canvas, a woman is sitting by an
nightmarish environments of noise and of flâneurs to recover a sense of com- open window reading a letter, in another,
litter (and for whom happiness is a hut munity, as Baudelaire put it, ‘to be away a woman is sleeping in her kitchen at a
in the hills), Charles Baudelaire (1821–67) from home and yet to feel everywhere at table beside a bowl of fruit.
may be the perfect guide to a particular home.’ To do this, flâneurs let down their It’s all incredibly simple, and at the
charm one can find in urban life. guard, they empathize with situations same time completely beguiling. We
In his prose and poetry of the 1850s they see, there’s a permanent risk they will might explain the beauty of Vermeer’s
and 60s, Baudelaire described walking be moved, saddened, excited – and fall in work by saying that there was prob-
down city streets as one of the most love. Baudelaire’s poem ‘À une Passante’ in ably something unusually pretty about
exciting adventures open to mankind, far Les Fleurs du Mal is one of the finest poems Holland in the seventeenth century and
more dramatic than any play, far richer in on the mini-crushes one can, as a flâneur, about the kind of women he was paint-
ideas than any book. And he settled on a develop on city streets. A man walks past a ing. We might claim that the View of Delft
word to capture the attitude he felt one beautiful woman in a crowded thorough- was attractive principally because Dutch
should adopt when walking along the fare. He sees her for only a few seconds, she towns were much more picturesque than
streets. One should become, he suggested, smiles at him and he is filled with longing they are now because there were no elec-
a flâneur, translated literally as a stroller or and a sense of what might have been. The tricity pylons or skyscrapers with rotating
saunterer, though Baudelarians normally poem ends with the sigh ‘Ô toi que j’eusse signs saying ‘Mercedes’ or ‘Holiday Inn’.
keep it in the original. aimée’ (‘You whom I might have loved’). But that would be to miss out on Ver-
So what do flâneurs do that ordinary peo- Crucial advice on how to become meer’s whole message. It’s true that Delft
ple on their way to work usually wouldn’t? a flâneur and enjoy Glasgow: 1. Read probably was a bit prettier than London
Perhaps the defining characteristic of these Baudelaire’s Le Spleen de Paris and his art or the Hague are today, and that Ver-
flâneurs is that they don’t have any practical criticism. 2. Buy a turtle. meer’s women (for example, his lovely
goals in mind. They aren’t walking to get Girl with a Pearl Earring) wouldn’t have
something, or to go somewhere, they aren’t I love reading fashion and glamour magazines. difficulty finding a date. However, what
even shopping (which is as near as most of Every month, I buy all the big glossy ones and ultimately makes his paintings so special
us get to this Baudelarian ideal). Flâneurs often read them in the bath and on my travels. I is not what they feature, but how they are
are standing in deliberate opposition to love seeing pictures of elegant clothes and beau- painted. There was nothing remarkable
capitalist society, with its two great impera- tiful locations. Nevertheless, all this expensive about the famous milkmaid pouring milk;
tives: to be in a hurry and to buy things (as beauty also leaves me feeling a bit sad. Why there was something remarkable about
a protest against the former, there was, in can’t my life be more like that! Why can’t I the way Vermeer looked at her. He knew
Paris, a brief vogue for flâneurs to amble glossify my life? Do you ever feel this? What how to find beauty in places we don’t
around town with turtles on leashes). can I do about this feeling? even look – because we are snobbishly
What the flâneurs are doing is looking. trained to expect interest only in the lives
They are wondering about the lives of It’s easy to feel a little depressed after read- of film stars and grave-looking politicians.
those they pass, constructing narratives ing most lifestyle sections of newspapers Vermeer’s excellent idea was to
for them; they are eavesdropping on con- and magazines. Despite their finest inten- remind us – through the example of
versations; they are studying how people tions, they often unwittingly leave us with some everyday scenes in Delft – that
dress and what new shops and products a vague sense that our own lives are rather there may be profound beauty, inter-
there are (not in order to buy anything lacking in glamour and interest when com- est, even glamour, in the most everyday
– just in order to reflect on them as impor- pared with the kind of scenarios we’ve read scenes, in cleaning the patio and pouring
tant pieces of evidence of what human about. They feature houses infinitely more a bowl of milk for breakfast. ◊
25
• Pi: ‘pal’
H ow to Wr ite a Let te r
• Schäpschen: ‘little schnapps’
Kurt Weill and Lotte Lenya • Schnäubchen, Schnäubi, Schnäubschen
• Schnäutzchen: ‘little snout’
The pet names • Schnubchen, Schnübchen, Schnubschen
• Didi • Schnube, Schnübi, Sch–sch–sch–sch–
They were linked to the great cultural figures
nubi
of the time but wrapped tightly in each other. • Freunchen: ‘little friend’
Their relationship was tempestuous and unlike- • Schwänzchen: ‘little tail’
• Frosch: ‘frog’; Froschi: ‘little frog’
ly, ending in a European divorce before being • Schweenchen: ‘little piggy’
given life again on a new continent while every- • Glätzchen: ‘little baldy’
thing their collaborations embodied in Weimar • Sir Weill
• Hubby
Germany burnt away. He was bald, bespecta- • Sugar
• Jésus; Jésus-Bub: ‘Jesus-Boy’
cled and could spend all day composing alone in
• Sonnenblume: ‘sunflower’
a room, while she felt most alive after stepping • K---
on to the stage. Because of his travels, many • Träubchen, Trräubchen, Traubi, Träubi,
• Knudchen, Knut, Knutchen, Knütchen,
of Lotte Lenya’s letters were lost on the road Träuby, Trrrrröubi: ‘little grape’
Knute, Knuti, Knuuuuti, Knut Garbo,
to Amsterdam or Paris or New York. Lenya Knut Gustavson • Tröpfchen, Tröööpfchen,
stashed Kurt Weill’s responses and they survive Tröööööööpfchen, Tröpfi, Tropfi:
to show the composer’s grand passions, his petty • Kurt, Kurti, Kurt Julian, Kurtio
‘droplet’
complaints and, even better, the joy that came Weillissimo
with the convergence of his music and her voice. • Trrrrr
• Mordspison: ‘big shot’
‘For me all of you is contained within this sound; • Weilchen, Weili, Weilili, Weillchen, Weilli
• Pünktchen: ‘little dot’
everything else is only a part of you; and when I
envelop myself in your voice, then you are with • Schnub, Schnüb, Schnübchen, Schnube,
me in every way.’ Schnüberich, Schnubi, Schnubinchen, Lenya’s Signatures
Their collected letters brim with declarations, • Schnutz • Blümchen, Blumchen, Blumi: ‘little
gossip and insights into the lives of their con- flower’
temporaries, but as a composer states his intent • Träubchen, Trräubchen: ‘little grape’
by choosing a key, their relationship was made • Trrr, Trrrrr, Trrrrrr • Blüte: ‘blossom’
unique by its own private language – the key of • Carolinchen, Caroline
• Weili, Weilili, Weillchen, Weilli, Weillili,
Weill and Lenya. The collection of letters gath-
Weilli-Knut • Jenny Lind Lenya
ered by Lys Symonette and Kim H. Kowalke,
published under the title Speak Low (When • Zappelfritz: ‘fidget’ • Karoline, Karoline Weill
You Speak Love), contains an appendix listing • Lenya’s Pet Names for Weill • Kleene, Kleenchen: ‘kiddo’, dialect for
Weill and Lenya’s pet names and signatures. All ‘little one’
the themes of their life together are here in mini- • Bitrübelchen: ‘little woebegone one’
ature. Over the years, through the tumult and • Bläumchen, Blumchen, Blümchen, • Kneubchen Träubchen Schleubchen
the affairs, Weill and Lenya loved each other in Blumi: ‘little flower’ Läubchen
a broad and complicated way, which is perhaps • Lady Weill
• Boy, Boyly
why ‘little baldy’ and ‘little ass’, and ‘famous
• Darling, Darling-Tröpfi • Linderl, Linerl, Linnerl
one’ and ‘dung blossom’, can all be found below.
• Döfchen: ‘little dummy’ • Lollie
Weill’s Signatures • Lottie
• Fröschlein: ‘little frog’
• Affenschwanz: ‘monkey tail’ • Madame Weill
• Glätzchen: ‘little baldy’
• Äppelheim • Missi
• Herr Johann Strauss-Weill
• Bibi • Nibbi
• Hollywoodpflanze
• Bibiboy • Pips
• Honey, honeyboy, honneychild;
• Birühmti: ‘famous one’ honneybär: ‘honey bear’ • Plänzchen
• Boy • Knutchen, Knuti • Schnüb, Schnübe, Schnubi
• Bubü • Kurtchen, Kürtchen, Kurti, Kurtili, • Träubi: ‘little grape’
• Buster • Pflänzchen: ‘naughty boy’ • Tülpchen: ‘little tulip’
• Dany • Pfläumchen: ‘little plum’ • Weib, Weibi: ‘wife’
26
• Wilhelmine • Muschelchen, Muschi: ‘little mussel’ • Tüti-Pison
• Zippi: ‘little tip’ • Negerkindl: ‘pickaninny’ • Weillchen: ‘little Weill’
• Zybe • Pflänzchen, Pflanze: ‘fresh, sassy urban • Weilliwüppchen: ‘little Weill woman’
girl’, ‘city chick’, in Berlin dialect • Wüllichen, Wülli
Weill’s Pet Names for Lenya • Pilouchen: ‘little flanelette’ • Zibelinerl, Zibelyne, Zybeline,
• Ameisenblume, Ameisenpflanze: • Pison, Pisönchen: ‘little person’, ‘buddy’, ‘pal’ Zybelienerl, Zybelinerl, Zyberlinerl
literally, ‘ant flower/ant plant’, but • Pfläumchen: ‘little plum’ • Zippi: ‘little tip’
probably better ‘flower of the
• Pummilein: ‘little plump one’
Ameisegasse’ (Lenya’s address in Vienna)
• Rehbeinchen: ‘little deer leg’ Private Expressions in Dialect or
• Betrübelchen: ‘little sad one’ Invented Language
• Roadschweinchen: ‘little road hog’
• Bibi-Schwänzchen • Affenschwanz: ‘monkey tail’
• Rosenblümchen: ‘little rose blossom’
• Blümchen, Blumchen, Blümelein, • auf Wiedili, auf Wiiiiiidisehn, Wiedi,
Blumi, Blümi, Blumilein, Blümilein, • Schätzchen, Schätzi, Schätzilein: ‘little Wiedisehn, Widisehn: ‘bye-bye’
Blümlein: ‘little flower’ treasure’
• beese (Berlin dialect): ‘angry’
• Blume: ‘flower’ • Schmöckchen
• Berühmti, Birühmti: ‘famous one’
• Blumenblümchen: ‘little flower of • Schnäpschen, Schnapspison: ‘little
schnapps’, ‘schnapps person’ • Bobo: ‘fanny’
flowers’
• Schnäubchen, Schnäubi, Schneubi • büsschen, Bussi: ‘little kiss’
• Blumenpflänzchen, Blumenpflanze:
‘flowering plant’ • Schnäuben-Träubchen • Feinlebe, finelebe: ‘the good life’, ‘living
it up’
• Bubili: ‘little boy’ • Schnäutzchen, Schnäuzchen: ‘little
snout’ • Gi, Gazette: ‘newspaper’, ‘tabloid’
• Darling, Darling honey, Darling-honey,
Darling sweet; me/my darling Caroline • Schnübchen, Schnube, Schnübe, • gilant, gillant: ‘elegant’
• Delicious Schnübelein, Schnubelinchen • G’schamster, Gschamster: ‘kowtowing
• Schnubenblümchen, minion’
• Diden, Diderle, Didilein
Schnübenblümchen • ich küsse ihre Hand: ‘I kiss your hand’
• Doofi, Doooofi: ‘little dummy’
• Schwämmi: ‘little mushroom’ • Klugi: ‘smarty’
• Duchie
• Schwänzchen: ‘little tail’ • Knüschen, Knüüschen. Kn ö ö ö ö ö ö ö
• Girly
• Seelchen: ‘little soul’ schens: ‘little kisses’
• Honey-chil’, Honey chile’
• Spätzlein: ‘little sparrow’ • Lebe: ‘farewell’
• Kleene: ‘kiddo’, dialect for ‘little one’
• Süsses: ‘sweet’ • niedelich: ‘cute’, ‘nice’
• Lenja-Benja
• Sweetie • paperchen: ‘little newspaper’
• Lenscherl
• Sweetie-pie, Sweety-pie, Sweety-honey- • Pison, Pi: ‘person’, ‘pal’
• Liebchen
pie, Sweety-honey-sugar-pie • Poo’chen: ‘little fanny’; Popo: ‘fanny’
• Liebili: ‘dear little one’
• Tobby Engel, Tobili • primi: ‘first rate’
• Lila Schweinderl, Lila Schweindi: ‘little
• Träubchen, Trrräubchen, Trrrräubchen, • Sächelchen: ‘trifles’, ‘small items’
purple pig’
Trrrrrräubchen, Träube, Träubi, Trräubi,
• schliepeln, schlippeln: ‘to sleep’, ‘to
• Lilipe Lencha: ‘dear Lenya’, in Saxonian Trrräubi, Trrrräubi, Trrrrräubi, Träubili,
snooze’, ‘to go beddy-byes’
pronunciation Träubilein: ‘little grape’
• schnecki: ‘sluggish’
• Linderl, Linerl, Linerle, Linnerl, • Träubchenpison, Träubchen-Pisonchen,
Liiiiinerl Träuben-Schätzchen, Träuben-Spatz, • Schneckidibong, Schniekedibong
• Linercherl sweetheart, Linnerl-Weibi, Träubenspatz, Träubenträubchen, • schneepeln, schniepeln, sneepeln see
Linntchkerl, Linntschkerl, Linutschkerl, Träubentröpfchen schliepeln
Linschkerl, Linscherl • Tröpfi, Tröpfilein, Trröpfchen: ‘little • Schniepelpison: ‘sleepyhead’
• Littichen droplet’
• Schweinerei: ‘mess’
• Lottchen • Trrrrr
• Warschi, Arschi: ‘little ass’
• Mistblume: ‘dung blossom’ • Tütchen, Tüti, Tütilein: ‘little paper
bag’; also, a playful colloquial term for • Zippi: ‘little tip’ ◊
• Mistfink: ‘dung bird’ someone slow to understand
27
THE HH AR CHIVE tions of its hot-flower perfume, minute by
minute, between four walls. The yellow
The Interrogation scent of a yellow rose in the yellow room.
Adam was turning into a white rat,
but by a strange kind of metamorpho-
Looking back to 1964 with J.M.G. Le Clézio sis; he still kept his own body, his hands
and feet did not turn pink nor his front
Last October, a few weeks before J.M.G. Le on his heels, so as to be more or less level teeth lengthen into fangs; no, fingers still
Clézio was awarded the Nobel Prize in Litera- with the beast’s eyes. He reflected that it smelt of tobacco and his armpits of sweat,
ture, the New Yorker printed one of his short must be living in the house, like himself, and his back was still bent forward in a
stories entitled ‘The Boy Who Had Never Seen though perhaps it hadn’t been there so crouching position, close to the floor, reg-
The Sea’, which followed this particular boy long. It must come out at night from a ulated by the S-shaped bend in his spine.
until he did. Le Clézio’s debut novel, published hole in some piece of furniture, and trot But he was turning into a white rat
forty-four years before, also features a young upstairs and downstairs, hunting for food. because he was thinking of himself as
man who goes to live alone near the sea. The Adam did not know exactly what rats one; because all of a sudden he had
short story is elegaic while The Interrogation ate; he couldn’t remember whether they formed an idea of the danger that the
is blunt and confrontational, and its protagonist, were carnivorous or not. If it was true human race represented for this breed of
Adam Pollo, is less interested in the life-giving what the dictionaries said: ‘Rats: s. Spe- small, myopic, delicate animal. He knew
properties of the ocean and more worried about cies of small mammiferous rodent with a that he could squeak, run, gnaw, stare
the shifting nature of his own identity. He’s long annulated tail.’ with his two little round, blue, brave, lid-
a brutal, troubled man and Le Clézio brings He could not remember the two or less eyes; but it would all be in vain. A
him to life in a swirl of body odour and cigarette three legends related to the subject of rats, man like himself would always be suf-
smoke. Why is he on the coast? Has Pollo in connection with sinking ships, sacks of ficient; he need only resolve to take a few
deserted the army or just been let out of an corn and plague. To tell the truth he had steps forward and lift his foot a few inch-
insane asylum, and, more importantly, will not even realized until today that there es, and the rat would be killed, crushed,
he be able to hold onto his mind? The question were such things as white rats. its ribs broken, its oblong head lolling on
is especially pertinent in the following passage, Adam stared at this one, listened hard; the floor-boards in a tiny pool of mucus
where Pollo meets the other resident of his tem- and discovered in the rat something and lymph.
porary accommodation in an abandoned seaside akin to himself. He reflected that he too And suddenly he stood up; he had
villa. might have gone to ground in the day- turned into fear itself, been transformed
time between two worm-eaten boards into danger-for-white-rats; his head was
28
guns and rat-poison. And in the second to the far end of the room. Adam crawled terror into a man. The little animal kept
place you’re a white rat in a country towards it, holding his kitchen knife. twitching nervously, as though about to
where rats are generally black. So you’re With his eyes he thrust the animal against burst into tears or fall on its knees and
absurd, and that’s an extra reason . . .’ the wall; he noticed that the stiff fur was begin to pray. Adam, moving stiffly on
He counted the balls; there was one slightly blooding, the ribs rising and fall- all fours, advanced towards it, shrieking,
missing. It must have rolled under the ing spasmodically, the pale blue eyes bulg- growling, muttering insults. There were
cupboard. Adam scraped about with the ing with terror. In the two black rings no such things as words any longer; they
bamboo stick and brought out the sphere set in their limpid centres Adam could were neither uttered nor received; from
of ivory. It was a red one, and cold, and read an inkling of doom, the anticipa- intermediate stage they reissued eternal,
held in the palm of the hand it felt bigger tion of an outcome heavy with death and veritable, negative; they were perfectly
than the others. And consequently more anguish, a moist melancholy gleam; this geometrical, sketched against a back-
lethal. fear was mingled with a secret nostalgia ground of the unimaginable, with a touch
When everything was ready, Adam relating to many happy years, to pounds of the mythical, something like constella-
took up his stance beside the billiard and pounds of grains of corn and slices of tions. Everything was written round the
table, resolute; all at once he felt himself cheese devoured with quiet relish in the central theme of Betelgeuse or Upsilon
becoming a giant, a very tall fellow, ten cool dusk of men’s cellars. Aurigae. Adam was lost amid the abstract;
feet or thereabouts, bursting with life and And Adam knew he embodied this fear. he was living, neither more nor less; occa-
strength. At a little distance against the He was a colossal danger, rippling with sionally he even squeaked.
back wall, close beside the square of pale muscles – a kind of genetic white rat, if He grabbed some of the balls and
light falling from the window, the animal you like, ravenously craving to devour its hurled them at the beast, hitting the tar-
stood, planted on its four pink paws, dis- own species. Whereas the rat, the real one, get this time, breaking bones, making the
playing great patience. was being transformed by its hatred and flesh clap together under the hide, while
‘Dirty rat,’ said Adam.
‘Dirty rat!’
And he threw the first ball, with all his
strength behind it. It crashed against the
top of the skirting-board, an inch or two
to the left of the animal, with a noise like
thunder. A split second later the white rat
squealed and leapt aside.
‘You see!’ exclaimed Adam triumphant-
ly. ‘I’m going to kill you! You’re too old,
you don’t react any more, you beastly
white rat! I’m going to kill you!’
And then he let himself go. He threw
five or six balls one after the other; some
of them broke against the wall, others
bounced on the floor and rolled back to
his feet. One of the balls, as it broke, fired
a splinter at the rat’s head, just behind
the left ear, and drew blood. The rodent
began to run along by the wall, with
a kind of whistling draught emerging
from its mouth. It rushed towards the
cupboard, to hide there, and in its haste
bumped its nose against the corner of the
piece of furniture. With a yelp it vanished
into the hiding-place.
Adam was beside himself at this.
‘Come out of there, you filthy brute!
Filthy rat! Rat! Filthy rat! Come out of
there!’
He sent a few billiard balls under the
cupboard, but the white rat didn’t budge.
So he shuffled across on his knees and
poked his bamboo stick about in the
darkness. It hit something soft, close to
the wall. Finally the rat emerged and ran
29
he yelled disconnected words such as foam, disassociated from blood and ter- Nothing remained on the parquet floor
‘Rat!’ ‘Crime! Crime!’ ‘Foul white rat!’ ror, sailing on the surface of dirty water. to testify to the beginning of the mas-
‘Yes, yeh, arrah!’ ‘Crush . . .’ ‘I kill’, ‘Rat, It was what remains from an instant of sacre except a few tufts of light-coloured
rat, rat!’ linen-washing, what floats, what turns hair, some scraps of ivory-like splinters of
He drew the knife, blade foremost, and blue, what traverses the thick of the air bone, and a pool. A pool of thick, purple
drowned the white rat’s words by shout- and bursts before ever it can be polluted, blood, dulled already, which the dirty
ing one of the greatest insults that can before ever it can be killed. boards were swallowing drop by drop.
possibly be flung at that species of animal: Adam saw it gliding first left, then In an hour or two, the time required to
‘Filthy, filthy cat!’ right, in front of him; a kind of fatigue penetrate bodily into eternity, it would
It was by no means over yet; the added to his determination, sobering him. all be over. The blood would look like
myopic little beast, maimed though it Then he stopped talking. He stood a stain caused by no matter what liquid
was, bounded out of Adam’s reach. It had upright again and decided to finish the – wine, for instance. As it coagulated it
already ceased to exist. fight. He took a billiard ball in each hand would harden or become powdery and
At the conclusion of a life full of con- – nearly all the others were broken now. one could scratch it with a finger-nail, put
centrated memories it was a kind of pale And he began to walk towards the rat. As flies there and they wouldn’t be drowned
phantom in ghostly outline, like a dingy he moved along beside the skirting-board or be able to feed on it.
patch of snow; it was leaking away over he saw the famous spot – he would mark With a veil of moisture in front of his
the brown floor, evasive and persistent. it later on with a charcoal cross – where eyes, Adam walked up to the rat. He saw it
It was a lobular cloud, or a fleck of soft the white rat had begun to lose its life. as though he were trying to look through
a shower-curtain, a nylon hanging with
little drops of water trickling down it and
a naked flesh-coloured woman concealed
behind, amid the dripping of rain and the
smell of soap-bubbles.
The white rat was lying on its stom-
ach, as though asleep at the bottom of an
aquarium. Everything had drifted out of
its ken, leaving a naked, motionless space:
now very close to bliss, the rat was await-
ing the ultimate moment when a half-
sigh would die away on its stiff whiskers,
propelling it for ever and ever into a sort
of double life, at the exact meeting-point
of philosophy’s accumulated chiaroscuros.
Adam listened to its calm breathing; fear
had left the animal’s body. It was far away
now, scarcely even in the death-agony;
with its two pale eyes it was waiting for
the last ivory balls to come thundering
down on its bones and dispatch it to the
white rats’ paradise.
It would go down there, partly swim-
ming, partly flying through the air, full of
mystical rapture. It would leave its naked
body lying on the ground so that all its
blood could drain out, drop by drop,
marking for a long time the sacred spot
on the floor that had been the scene of its
martyrdom.
So that Adam, patient, should stoop
down and pick up its dislocated body.
So that he should he should swing it to
and fro for a moment and then, weeping,
fling it in a wide curve from the first-floor
window to the ground on the hill-top. A
thornybush would receive the body and
leave it to ripen in the open air, in the
blazing sunshine. ◊
30
to present these. I could have convinced
them. Never mind.
The Best Bit Stevie got to play Vladimir, obviously,
and he is not bad in rehearsals when his
wife isn’t having a baby. We had been
Tony R., Harlow, aged 41, on Waiting for Godot by Samuel Beckett rehearsing the section where Vladimir
and Estragon discuss ‘the last moment’,
31