Greenery Again

Britspeak, continued.

Stoic's comments on my post about Why I Like British Writing got me thinking - I considered hammering out a comment answering his questions but instead have taken the easy road and created a blog post out of it. Voila, Instant Content!

Stoic had some good questions, which I'll reproduce here without his/her permission (this is my blog, content patent pending - check is in the mail or something):

Q: is it because we don't know the qualities of other literatures except through translations (and translators are usu. not as adept as the first author)? Your command of French may be enough to judge it in the originals. Comments?

I don't agree. Most folks who translate authors, at least those who do so these days, are not only adepts in the author's language but in the translated-to- language. They study for a very long time to get to that point and besides, most translations are done collaboratively. The lead translator is the one who gets to be named on the cover, but there are generally dozens of other sources that are plumbed, including in many instances the author. Your Mileage May Vary, however, and while this is a generalization, it's of course possible that translations of Albanian erotica fail dismally to convey the verve of the original.

I read fairly well in French, but not well enough to truly appreciate the specific phrases used due to their use of more formal language; thus for me the enjoyment is definitely muted. It's certainly a clear enjoyment, but more one for simply reading in another language as opposed to deeply feeling the story.

Reading in one's primary language will necessarily always be more satisfying, I think, which is why English literature is one native speakers will ultimately get. I'm reminded of Joseph Conrad, whose third language was English, yet it was the only one (if I recall correctly) in which he was published. Conrad's works resonate on a very high scale due more to his innate talent than his facility with language, I think; he certainly chose his words with extreme deliberation, and this thoughtfulness, in some of his works, really shows.

Q: if translation is a factor, why can't we find consistently high quality in American (or Canadian) authors? is it because the Brits have a longer literary history, and so much of our stuff (say, until the last century) was derivative?

I beg to differ with Stoic on this point, as he/she takes to task American and Canadian writers. Not listed are Australian, Irish, South African, Caribbean and Indian authors - countries where, due to emigration or status as former British colonies, most authors write in their native English (I'm wearing my pedantry hat for a reason - it's fun and it fits!).

There are a huge number of extremely talented American writers of whom I'm quite fond. I've not read so deeply into the other lexicons of the Used to Be Colonies Club as I could have, but even just skimming the surface of that Club has yielded for me quite a motherlode, which I look forward to plumbing further.

Q: is the appeal of British writing just the sharing of a culture? While institutions may differ, I think we define good/evil, gentleman/scrub, honor/dishonor, etc. much the same.

Our definitions are similar and yet they aren't: much as the film Master and Commander: Far Side of the World illustrated very nicely the class divisions and attendant institutions that have for centuries been (and still are, to a large degree) the bedrock of British culture, so the fundamental questions posed in Stoic's comment would vary wildly even there, much less in America, depending upon who's doing the writing. I'm reminded here of some extremely talented current British writers - Magnus Mills, Christopher Brookmyre, and Irvine Welsh, all of whom write earthy, witty, satisfying and astonishing novels featuring distinctly lower class protagonists.

Americans have our own class issues but ours are more subtle, ill-defined, and certainly shoved under the rug to a large extent - they exist more as a lingering aroma then issues confronted openly and frankly. (Although the fundamental dichotomies posed above could be those that are more easily filtered through a common Judeo-Christian lens than an aspect of shared literary culture.)

In the end I can only speak for my fascination, which I suppose boils down to this: the Brits are masters of the pithy retort, the breath-stopping rebuttal; emperors of the heart of the matter and kings of the components of situationally comedic episodes. The fact that the best of them seem to do it as naturally as breathing always surprises me, pleases me, and never fails to rouse the green of envy.