I planned a less pithy review of this sensational feat of translation, until virus particles invaded my nasal passages and had a pathogen party for anI planned a less pithy review of this sensational feat of translation, until virus particles invaded my nasal passages and had a pathogen party for an entire week, ruining any post-Christmas relaxing or reading I might have savoured. Thank you, lads. In this brief version, let me praise this monumental feat of translation, where these ancient Arabic stories—themselves feats of proto-Oulipian brilliance—untranslatable into modern English, have been reinvented via a panoply of similarly-spirited styles by Michael Cooperson. From pastiches of Samuel Johnson, Mark Twain, and Charles Dickens, to a variety of vintage patois and slang, to more modern homages such as a lipogram in honour of Gilbert Adair’s take on George Perec’s La Disparation, these tales are vivid and linguistically orgiastic little wonders, and the world’s first crossover between ancient Arabic texts and the Oulipo. The only drawback to these tales are the frequently overabundant use of slang terms—requiring several pages of annotations for the shenanigans to make sense—and the insanely detailed cacademic annotations that follow each story. I’d recommend simply immersing yourself in the tales themselves, and taking each translatory feat on its own terms. That way bliss abounds....more
Alongside the equally splendid Brains Confounded by the Ode of Abu Shaduf Expounded in two volumes, Leg Over Leg (in four), is tremendous feat of tranAlongside the equally splendid Brains Confounded by the Ode of Abu Shaduf Expounded in two volumes, Leg Over Leg (in four), is tremendous feat of translation by Humphrey Davis. This scatty encyclopedic epic, a huge proportion of which is written in rhyming prose, and constitutes lists of obscure Arabic words or phrases, is clearly something that only the most ambitious and unhinged translator would take on, and thankfully, Davis was the man. Following the adventures of a semi-autobiographical character as he widely traverses various terrains and takes on many occupations, ruminating on the anatomies and pleasures of women, the sore points of Arabic grammar, the manners of the English, and all kinds of amusing and sometimes tedious matters of deportment on the way, the book is a fairly sprawling and maddening effort, serving up hundreds of pages of ribald, repetitious, rumbustious prose, rendered in heroic English with more endnotes than anyone could possibly stand. Brains Confounded is perhaps the more hilarious and entertaining of the two, this the more innovative and layered masterwork....more
An unusual mini-masterwork from the canon of bawdy, naughty, and perverted Arabic literature from the 18th century, featuring more pissing, shitting, An unusual mini-masterwork from the canon of bawdy, naughty, and perverted Arabic literature from the 18th century, featuring more pissing, shitting, romping, and violation of young boys than a hen night in Ancient Rome. The first volume contains a series of merciless excoriations of the peasantry, who were simpletons and morons worthy of contempt from the upper orders (forget about the satire “punching up” here), featuring anecdotal depictions of their escapades, their bumbling rustic ill-manners, their dervishes, their pastors, and most importantly, the slack nature of their poets’ scansion, which is comprehensively trounced as slipshod. These episodes are mostly hilarious, and slap-bang in the Rabelaisian tradition. The second volume allows me to wheel out the overused term that no one uses, “pre-postmodern”, containing a long and semi-spurious expounding of the titular ode, Pale Fire-like, although much funnier, including enough scatological nicknames and digressive tales to lead one through a section less readable for its puns and plays on Arabic grammar (a lot of which loses its chuckledom en route to the koine—translator Humphrey Davis’s efforts are to be applauded, for he wrings as much merriment as he can from the most pedantic parts). These two volumes are packed with violently meticulous endnotes, making these releases a triumph for the scholar and the new reader alike. [Note: NYU Press have also released Al-Sanhuri’s Risible Rhymes, an earlier work that performs similar poetic expounding with less amusing results]....more
A provocative novel from the Hebrew exploring the impact of a sister’s childhood rape on a newspaper columnist and her husband. The rapist, known as tA provocative novel from the Hebrew exploring the impact of a sister’s childhood rape on a newspaper columnist and her husband. The rapist, known as the ‘Not-Man’ is protagonist Elinor’s uncle, and after time in exile in America, is due to appear in Jerusalem repenting a first-person autobiography of Hitler, and perhaps his earlier crimes. The novel is readable with its straightforward prose and thought-provoking themes (not unlike those middlebrow ‘dilemma’ novels in this language), although its focus on the protagonist’s detailed feelings and opinions on her uncle, her sister, her husband, her column’s heroine (a “pigtail-sucker”, we are told 1000+ times), and all other aspects of her life means the reader has to beg the narrator’s indulgence often (and question when she is fibbing or not, or if it matters), and proceed in spite of her repetitions, and the standoffish and humourless tone. Otherwise, an adequate read. ...more
A sensational comedic novel from a sharp-penned (or sharp-fingered) Israeli author spinning a fantastical tale of a lovelorn obese woman and her simplA sensational comedic novel from a sharp-penned (or sharp-fingered) Israeli author spinning a fantastical tale of a lovelorn obese woman and her simple but beautiful prostitute friend in hiding from her love-fisted protector. The first section in particular delivers some stylish and compulsively readable antics, riddled with dark comedy, and those ice-bucket moments of bleak (in)comprehension about the state of the Israeli female experience. The second section ups the fantastical with its population of tigers and the narrator’s metamorphosis into an Asian feline, sinking a little into the less readable towards its climax, however still resplendent in one of the prettiest book covers designed by Dalkey in recent years. A thoroughly magnificent translation all round. ...more
Bonkers is the best descriptive for these two sixties novellas: reprints of the only translations of this Hebrew writer in existence. The title novellBonkers is the best descriptive for these two sixties novellas: reprints of the only translations of this Hebrew writer in existence. The title novella is best (and hilariously) summed up in this review from Eddie Watkins (so requires no work from me—thanks Eddie, and please bring your brilliance back to GR). ‘Ants’ is the second novella: a surreal and blackly comic tale about a house being overrun with ants, and a disturbing marriage involving a partial metamorphosis into a kind of ant-loving mentality (or something). As ever, Dalkey have released a book that defies explanation and is the most insane and brilliant thing you have read since the last Dalkey pub. How do they do it? They have strange powers. The two quotes I put in my status update demand repeating:
“A man walks along and smells flowers, then walks along wallowing in mud and smells flowers, then walks along wallowing in mud and no longer smells flowers, then walks along and is just—wallowing in mud.”
“There are those who ask dreams questions and dreams answer them, they say. Then there are those who the dreams question, and so they answer or try to answer. My dreams—what are they?—floating shadows, an invisible tumult, vanishing smoke that leaves a smoldering in the eyes, a bitter and sometimes icy smoldering on waking. Wisps like tails, slipping through my grasping hands.” ...more
I saw the movie of Satrapi’s Persepolis and found it deeply irritating. But, being a pioneer in the graphic novel form—hell, a lone populiser of the fI saw the movie of Satrapi’s Persepolis and found it deeply irritating. But, being a pioneer in the graphic novel form—hell, a lone populiser of the form—I had to read something by her. This graphic novella (must I start a separate shelf for shorter graphic works?) is a melancholy folktale about a poor musician whose wife snaps his tar (like a sitar) in two. Finding no replacement for his prize instrument, he takes to his bed to die, where he reflects on his thwarted life—marrying the wrong woman, neglecting his only son, but mainly losing his tar. The question raised: if all great art is borne out of misery, who needs great art? Interesting A.L. Kennedy article about this in The Guardian recently. Anyway: very gloomy and very good. I will read Persepolis if someone twists both my arms....more
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