The Guardian's Blog, page 17
March 3, 2016
Food in books: Jollof Rice from Americanah by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
A second reading of Adichie’s novel has Kate Young exploring new culinary territory and trying out this homely Nigerian dish
By Kate Young for The Little Library Café, part of the Guardian Books Network
She made him the kind of jollof rice he liked, flecked with bits of red and green peppers, and as he ate, fork moving from the plate to his mouth, saying, “This is pretty good,” as he always had in the past, she felt her tears and her questions gathering.
Americanah, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie
He had already told Nigel many times that Nigerian cooking was not cosmetic, with all that pounding. It was sweaty and spicy and Nigerians preferred to present the final product, not the process.
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March 2, 2016
'How can they write about anything but pain?' The writing life in Afghanistan
Emerging Afghan writer Fazilhaq Hashimi looks back at an upbringing surrounded by war, even in language – and reclaims his country’s past status as the land of poetry, story-telling, fables and folktales
By Fazilhaq Hashimi for The Writing Life Around the World from Electric Literature, part of the Guardian Books Network
Here is a page from my elementary school math book [see below] from the Afghan civil war era (1992 – 2001). At the bottom of the page, the teacher’s guide notes that the instructor “must ask about the names, usage, and quantity of the above items.” The word “quantity” is the only math-related term. It is mentioned at the end of the series. The names and usages of the ammunitions are given pride of place.
Oh, my Mujahid brother, I’m a Muslim,
Lying injured at the infidels’ prison
Until the early 19th century, many of the former rulers shared an intense interest in poetry
In Afghanistan, we do not write for fun, passion, or money but to express the immeasurable pain inside
It is very easy for writers to be labeled “racist” or Kafir (infidel) in Afghanistan
I have traveled a long path (of wars, poverty, and illiteracy) to writing, and so did many of my fellow Afghan writers
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March 1, 2016
Translation Tuesday: excerpt from The Lights of Pointe-Noire by Alain Mabanckou
Celebrate translation with this extract from the latest novel by Congolese writer Alain Mabanckou, winner of the French Voices Grand Prize 2016
By Alain Mabanckou and Helen Stevenson for Translation Tuesdays by Asymptote, part of the Guardian Books Network
My father was a small man, two heads shorter than my mother. It was almost comic, seeing them walking together, him in front, her behind, or kissing, with him standing up on tiptoe to reach. To me he seemed like a giant, just like the characters I admired in comic strips, and my secret ambition was one day to be as tall as him, convinced that there was no way I could overtake him, since he had reached the upper limit of all possible human growth. I realised he wasn’t very tall only when I reached his height, around the time I started at the Trois Glorieuses secondary school. I could look him straight in the eye now, without raising my head and waiting for him to stoop down towards me. Around this timeI stopped making fun of dwarves and other people afflicted by growth deficiency. Sniggering at them would have meant offending my father. Thanks to Papa Roger’s size I learned to accept that the world was made of all sorts: small people, big people, fat people, thin people.
Related: Translators must read with their ears
I don’t dare enter the building, as though I fear my father’s ghost might be lurking somewhere
I will never forget the time he fell into a deep gloom, when the stories he brought home from work dried up
The old man came down from his room in his bermudas around ten in the morning. First he did his round of the restaurant
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Welsh-language literature tells a local, but universal story
With a relatively small audience, Welsh writing is nonetheless full of energy and invention – and grappling with cultural questions that we all face, writes the next national poet of Wales
We live in a world of plural identities – and Wales is no exception. I live in Caernarfon. The young man who runs the mobile phone shop is Indian, the guy from the Baptist church is from Tennessee, my children’s swimming instructor was Chinese. But what makes this different to other parts of Britain is that we all speak Welsh.
So, the first and most obvious thing to say about Welsh literary identity is that it’s mediated through two languages. Readers of this site will undoubtedly be familiar with Dylan Thomas and RS Thomas, Gillian Clarke and Owen Sheers. They are less likely to be familiar with the works of Caradog Prichard, Caryl Lewis or Menna Elfyn.
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Tips, links and suggestions: what are you reading this week?
Your space to discuss the books you are reading and what you think of them
Welcome to this week’s blog. Here’s a roundup of your comments and photos from last week, including reads on jazz that will grow your to-be-listened-to list, a book on the maths of The Simpsons, and why you should go back and read Agatha Christie, if you haven’t already.
ShutUpBanks read The Age Of Innocence by Edith Wharton over the weekend for the first time:
I found her writing to be sharp and insightful and the story, though it’s become hackneyed through overuse since then, was compelling and interesting. What surprised me, though, was my reaction to the setting: I despised nearly every character and couldn’t bring myself to give a damn about them. They lived all across the world but only concerned themselves with several dozen people in it. The main character was having an existential crisis about who he loved and what he thought he stood for, but was able to take weeks off from his job at a time for frankly spurious reasons. I get that they lived in a different world with completely different concerns and priorities but it caused a huge disconnect for me that I’ve rarely experienced in literature before. But I did read the introduction which included a brief biography of Ms Wharton and I’d love to read more about her: she seems to have led an amazing life.
As a fan of the programme it was interesting to see how the writers worked in various maths references but I found the format a bit repetitive after a while. Also I didn’t feel like I actually learned much about maths – as I said last week I’m not a maths person so this might be why, but I didn’t get a lot of the more complex “jokes” in the tests between sections. That said it was a fairly easy read (so maybe not one for those who like their maths reading more challenging) and the chapters were bitesize enough to read one over lunch.
I’m now onto And Then There Were None. Gosh it’s good. Even though I know what happens from the TV version that was on over Christmas, the characters are so well-drawn and I love the flitting back and forth between each one, as well as the little snippets of each person’s backstory. At the risk of spoilers – although I am pretty sure most people here have seen/read it – there does seem to be a bit more focus on characters who become more prominent later on, but I suppose that makes sense; no point doing loads of background stuff for the ones you bump off first. If they’re all this good I suspect there’ll be lots more Agatha Christie in my future reading.
Evans is one of my favourite jazz musicians and I already know his music quite well. I was hoping to learn more about the man himself but this “biography” is more of a “discography” with a forensic examination of virtually every one of the pianist’s recordings and performances. Pettinger is himself an international concert pianist and is certainly impressive at describing Bill’s compositional methods and analysing his music, though it felt like over-analysis at times (a whole page enthusing about one single opening note, for example). But as for Evans’ personal life, Pettinger only gives us bare-bones glimpses, and only when they impinge on the minutely detailed musical journey. I was left wanting to know more. (I was also left with a long list of CDs that I need to buy!)
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February 29, 2016
Translating the Iliad: webchat with Caroline Alexander – as it happened
The latest translator of Homer’s masterpiece – the first woman to recreate it in English – answered your questions about tackling this ancient epic
2.23pm GMT
Thank you everyone for a very stimulating hour---I regret there are so many questions I couldn’t get to. Thanks again, Caroline
2.22pm GMT
One of the most well-known (and scorned and ridiculed) aspects of Plato’s thought are (his character) Socrates’s prosecution of poets and poetry on the grounds of impiety and the deformations of character they inspire (especially at the end of Book III and beginning of Book IV of The Republic, returned to in summary in the first half of Book X). (Keep in mind, off the bat, the capital charges that Socrates had already been convicted of and punished for when The Republic was composed.)
I take Plato's fear as a great tribute to the power of poetry. In an era when there were no broadsheets, no radio, no tv, no media, poetry served to entertain and to disseminate opinions---a very dangerous mix. Plato is labouring away in the cause of higher reason, while one good song or poem can tumble one's wits and heart. When I lived and worked in Malawi, President Hastings Banda directed that many traditional songs, such as those women would sing while pounding maize, should be 're-worded' with political praise for him....he was clearly keenly aware of the power of ungovernable song!
2.20pm GMT
To follow up on the question by philipphilip99, when translating The Iliad did you feel some passages were of a different quality or texture than the others (ie, perhaps from a different writer) and if so, was your approach to translating them to smooth over the differences, or to highlight them so readers in English could also get a feel for the idea that more than one person worked on it?
I never presumed to 'edit' Homer! But yes, there are uneven passages. This relates to an earlier question about whether I found Homer nodding. The answer is yes, for example at the beginning of the problematic Book Ten, the Doloneia, which is probably Homeric but may not have been original to the Iliad. There is a very inept simile describing Agamemnon's turmoil of mind (as when he husband of Hera flashes lightning forth...so again within his breath did Agamemnon groan aloud). Very clunky. But there it is; it's part of the text, and the only thing to do is address it with the same care as one of the anointed passages---my aim was to allow it to sink or float on its own merits.
2.18pm GMT
Hi, how much you find The Iliad relevant to the modern world, and in what ways?
No, I don't think the Iliad is a critique of these values, any more than it is "anti-war" in the modern sense of the term. I believe it sees this type of warrior ethic and war tragedy as being an inevitable part of the human condition, like mortality itself. I have military friends and have written some articles on modern military themes and I am very respectful of much of this "warrior" ethic---the desire to test oneself in the face of danger, to fight for a cause, to stand by one's buddy. Homer's genius is to pull back and believably evoke the complete war experience ---the tragedy, the blighted lives, the mourning and tears, the destruction of whole societies, as well as the warrior's dedication to fighting.
1.48pm GMT
MGFMSKM’s question made me think of another one: which, if any, of all the lost works of the Epic Cycle would you most like to be discovered?
Out of sheer curiosity, probably the Aethiopsis with the death of Achilles. But that said I believe Homer channelled the really great themes into his epics.
1.47pm GMT
I see you’ve already been asked about a translation of The Odyssey, but what about any of the other Greek classics? I understand why Homer is probably the most interesting and exciting (and maybe even important) author to focus one’s translation skills on, but I do feel like (with some exceptions) this often leads to an unfortunate neglect of many other Greeks, at least outside expensive academic editions.
I'm not sure about other authors. I love Aeschylus and Euripides, and also Catullus---but so far am content to read these authors only.
1.46pm GMT
I was wondering whether Ms Alexander had always intended to translate the Iliad or did something happen during the process of researching or writing The War That Killed Achilles that gave her realise this was something she wanted to do.
Both is true. I have always wanted to translate the Iliad, always known I would, although I imagined doing it much later in my life and career. Writing the War that Killed Achilles lit the fire under me.
1.44pm GMT
What is your attitude to homeric epithets - translate them as they appear or omit them as a burden?
I love them. I can't imagine the Iliad without them. They are the stitching that runs through the epic fabric, and they can be deeply moving. For example, when Hector runs for his life from Achilles around Troy, and one realises it is "swift-footed Achilles" in pursuit. There were times when they were awkward to work into English, but there is only one place in the epic I believe where I did not honour the epithet---I just couldn't get the grammar and cadence to work. (And I'm not saying where that one place is!)
1.44pm GMT
I’ve had a go at a passage or two and found the most thrilling aspect was getting insights into a deeply foreign world sometimes missed by translators or just too damn difficult to get into English. For example in the passage about the storks and the pygmies it is very hard to get across the sense of sacrilege in the acts of the storks without adding too many words and breaking down the feeling of action. And some translators, like Fagles, sacrifice too much for fluency - he seems to think these are like two modern armies with a clear chain of command whereas they are much looser, more tribal, less coherently hierarchical. I would love to know what you discovered as you translated, or what you came to understand that you hadn’t realised before you started, even though you had probably read it many times.
Although I am trained as a classicist I've been working as a free-lance writer of many unrelated topics over the past years. I consider myself as a writer first, and a classicist second. And what I came to understand was what a brilliant writer Homer was, that I was working in the shadow of a towering genius, not just someone handling an extraordinary story in an extraordinary tradition. So when I encountered any of the great scenes, of the soaring images--and I think the cranes and pygmies is a small soaring image---I backed off, so to speak, to make sure I did not impose any of my own flourishes, but just trusted Homer and deferred to Homer.
1.35pm GMT
This might be rather cheeky, but there are so many English translations of the Iliad already. Why another one?
Of all the modern translations few aim to stick closely to the Greek--Lattimore is the great exception. My idea of a good translation, which others may not share, is that it should stick closely to the Greek and it should evoke as much as possible the experience of reading the Greek. Mostly I did the translation because I love the Iliad and always knew I would do this; but I like to think my translation fills a niche.
1.34pm GMT
Did you find yourself humming as you wrote, and if so, what sort of music?
Alas, no; I'm not musical enough. But I did feel the energy, the cadence, if that makes sense. I very much knew I was working in poetry not prose.
1.26pm GMT
Having been so close to it, do you think it’s the work of one author or many?
I am utterly convinced it's the work of one author, with possible small interpolations here and there. This is based less on consistent vocabulary or 'epic style' as one the sense one is confronting a vision, a personal reworking of traditional material. It just feels like a very confident, assured master's voice.
1.25pm GMT
I’m assuming you will have read some/many/all of the famous past editions of the Iliad, but I wanted to know if you attempted to insulate yourself from other translations while working on this edition or whether you consciously referred/contrasted your work with that of others? And why or why not?
This is a good question---yes, I was very wary of background music from readings past buzzing in my brain. Mostly I was afraid of avoiding a good word simply because it had been used. Generally I avoided reading any translation ahead of addressing any passage. Afterwards I often read out of curiosity ---and as I progressed I had the warm, secret confidence that I was holding my own. In terms of how it would be used: realistically, today, I see it being read silently, like any other book. But I did read out loud myself, all the time, to check the cadence. There is to be an audio version of the translation and I'm very much looking forward to hearing it read aloud.
1.18pm GMT
Hello! I’m interested to know what your favourite passage of the text is and whether you felt any pressure when translating it?
There are so very many favourite passages--think how many of the standout scenes in all literature are in the Iliad! I think my visceral favourite is Achilles' repines to the Embassy that comes begging for his return in Book 9. It's so startlingly unexpected---all convention confrontations of this time set one up to believe he will accept the long list of gifts and return covered in glory. To have him renounce not only the offer, but the whole warrior code---glory compensates for loss of life--is electrifying. Translating Achilles's speeches is sometimes like handling a flame-thrower, and this is one of those examples.
1.17pm GMT
When is your Odyssey coming out?
Ummmmm----you know, I don't think I will be doing this. The Iliad has been under my skin since childhood. I love the Odyssey, but not in such a personal way.
1.17pm GMT
Hello! I’m interested to know what your favourite passage of the text is and whether you felt any pressure when translating it?
There are so very many favourite passages--think how many of the standout scenes in all literature are in the Iliad! I think my visceral favourite is Achilles' repines to the Embassy that comes begging for his return in Book 9. It's so startlingly unexpected---all convention confrontations of this time set one up to believe he will accept the long list of gifts and return covered in glory. To have him renounce not only the offer, but the whole warrior code---glory compensates for loss of life--is electrifying. Translating Achilles's speeches is sometimes like handling a flame-thrower, and this is one of those examples.
1.16pm GMT
Hello, my question relates to war and how, if at all, you think reading The Iliad helps to throw any light on modern conflicts?
Hello! Yes--very much so. For example, at the time of the invasion of Iraq I was reading Book 2, where Zeus mulls over the many ways in which he could turn the tide of battle against the Greeks. And the best option is to send a false dream of victory to their commander and chief. Agamemnon then wakes up raving about how he knows they will take Troy that very day. That's just one small incident. More powerful is the Iliad's overarching vision of war, or evocation of war---it's both true to the warrior ethic, and to the tragic reality of all war's aftermath.
1.13pm GMT
How long did it take you to decide how to translate the Iliad’s first sentence? I really like yours - it’s such an iconic beginning that I imagine all translators must mull that sentence over for a particularly long time.
The first sentence I knew in my heart before I 'officially' embarked upon the translation. Everyone who's studied the Iliad knows how strategically placed the first word is---so I was determined to get Homer's first word first.
9.23am GMT
Caroline Alexander is an author and journalist who has written for the New Yorker, Granta and National Geographic and has several books to her name. These include The Bounty: The True Story of the Mutiny on the Bounty (2004), and The Endurance: Shackleton’s Legendary Antarctic Expedition (1998). In 2009, she also published The War That Killed Achilles: The True Story of Homer’s Iliad and the Trojan War, which Tom Holland described here as “a worthy memorial to Homer’s poem: compassionate, urgent and unfailingly stimulating”.
Most recently, Alexander has translated the Iliad, which has to be the literary equivalent of climbing Everest. I’m also tempted to reach for another metaphor and suggest that wrestling with Homer must sometimes feel a bit like taking on Achilles himself – an almost impossible task, yet also the ultimate test … But she’ll be able to tell you her feelings about that on Monday 29 February at 1pm, when she joins us for a live webchat.
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February 26, 2016
Flash Friday: Fable of the Man by the Water
A man stops and stares at the water ... the poet Craig Morgan Teicher reflects on the experience of looking for something in this fragment of fiction
By Craig Morgan Teicher for Flash Fridays by Tin House, part of the Guardian Books Network
A man stops and stares at the water for a long time, looking for something. A while later, he walks away.
You see him from a distance. You are sitting, watching, you realize, the man watching the water. Did he find what he was looking for? You decide to approach the water to see if you can find it too, some meaning perhaps, some small vision.
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JG Ballard is March's Reading group selection: help choose a novel
To mark the release of a film version of High Rise, our focus this time will be on the prolific master of uneasy speculative fiction. Please share suggestions for the best novel to select
JG Ballard needs little introduction. He’s so important and influential, he even has his own adjective: Ballardian. Collins online dictionary defines this word as “resembling or suggestive of the conditions described in JG Ballard’s novels and stories, especially dystopian modernity, bleak manmade landscapes and the psychological effects of technological, social or environmental developments”. Wiktionary also gives this beautiful usage: “The desolate character of this once-thriving industrial district takes on a Ballardian pall in the noonday sun.”
Enjoyable as these definitions may be, they should also be taken with caution. No one word can really describe Ballard’s opus – not even his surname. His work was immensely varied and rich in ideas, characters and settings. Early, apocalyptic Ballard is very different to late, dystopian Ballard. Empire of the Sun is unlike them all again and, oh boy, then there’s Crash.
Related: Why JG Ballard’s High-Rise takes dystopian science fiction to a new level
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Fear of Flying still soars above tabloid outrage
The indignation that greeted Radio 4’s adaptation of Erica Jong’s feminist classic is testament to an unflinching gaze on life and gender that still has the power to shock
“RADIO 4-LETTER” was the Sun’s headline earlier this week as it raged at BBC Radio 4 and its feminist series Riot Girls, for the week-long broadcast of a reading of Erica Jong’s 1973 novel Fear of Flying. After objectifying women on page 3 for, say, 45 years, the Sun decided that Radio 4 had somehow lowered the tone. Listeners were apparently “furious”, the paper declared, noting that “Ofcom confirmed they had received one complaint.” Huh.
As a millennial who spent most her teenage years reading fantasy novels and pulp crime, I never picked up the feminist classic Fear of Flying as a teen. Unlike a few of my colleagues, who start speaking about the novel and find themselves glazing over with memories of nervous readings hidden away from parents during school breaks in the 70s. But in the wake of Fifty Shades and all its virgin fisting and tampon yanking (yep), is there anything in Jong’s novel to blush over?
Related: Fear of Flying by Erica Jong – read the first chapter
Related: Erica Jong: 'There are a million ways of making love…'
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Amazon's bookstores should be celebrated, not feared
The web giant’s move into bricks-and-mortar bookselling has upset many in the books community – but there is much to praise in this innovation
You could describe it as a troubling development in publishing: someone comes along with no real knowledge of the book business, a brash salesman who sells books cheaply, undercuts established rivals, drives them out of business. Then he moves into publishing as well, and allows people to publish themselves without recourse to the gatekeeping taste-makers.
But I’m not talking about Jeff Bezos and Amazon. I’m talking about James Lackington, who turned the book business upside down – at the end of the 18th century. His London bookshop accepted cash only, so he could slash prices, and he used his accumulated wealth to buy whole libraries and pounce on publishers’ remaindered stock to sell dirt cheap. One of the books his company subsequently published in exchange for a payment from the author’s husband was Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein.
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