Alison Anderson's Blog, page 2

Claudie Gallay – The Breakers

A huge bestseller in France, this was a delight to translate – atmospheric, evocative, and close to the creative spirit that informed my own second novel – solitary women, birds, love, the sea. And a gripping mystery story.

Claudie Gallay - The Breakers

A huge bestseller in France, this was a delight to translate - atmospheric, evocative, and close to the creative spirit that informed my own second novel - solitary women, birds, love, the sea. And a gripping mystery story.

Am̩lie Nothomb РHygiene and the Assassin

This was Amélie Nothomb’s first novel and established her reputation. Delightful literary vitriol, stand well back and watch the fun. And I’m delighted that it has been longlisted for the Best Translated Book Award for 2010.

Amélie Nothomb – Hygiene and the Assassin

This was Amélie Nothomb’s first novel and established her reputation. Delightful literary vitriol, stand well back and watch the fun. And I’m delighted that it has been longlisted for the Best Translated Book Award for 2010.

Amélie Nothomb - Hygiene and the Assassin

This was Amélie Nothomb’s first novel and established her reputation. Delightful literary vitriol, stand well back and watch the fun. And I’m delighted that it has been longlisted for the Best Translated Book Award for 2010.

Jean Teul̩ РMonsieur de Montespan

This was a real challenge to translate – and a wonderful romp at the same time. A chance to explore the rich vocabulary (and customs?) of the past in this story of the cuckold whose wife became the favourite of Louis XIV…and who did not want to submit gratefully.

Jean Teulé – Monsieur de Montespan

This was a real challenge to translate – and a wonderful romp at the same time. A chance to explore the rich vocabulary (and customs?) of the past in this story of the cuckold whose wife became the favourite of Louis XIV…and who did not want to submit gratefully.

Jean Teulé - Monsieur de Montespan

This was a real challenge to translate - and a wonderful romp at the same time. A chance to explore the rich vocabulary (and customs?) of the past in this story of the cuckold whose wife became the favourite of Louis XIV…and who did not want to submit gratefully.

Anatolie, mon amour

Some years ago—many years ago—I traveled with my daughter and then husband  to Turkey. I remembered it, for years—or chose not to remember it—as a trip that was fraught with problems—the car breaking down, horrible intestinal infections, petty thefts, and worst of all, marital strife in the form of raging arguments in the most gorgeous places or stubborn silences that lasted for days. It should have been the trip of a lifetime. Not the usual tourist circuit down the Aegean coast, but a month-long drive that took us all through Anatolia to the Iranian border, and the Soviet border, and all along the fog-shrouded Black Sea. I remember waking in some town, it could have been Trabzun, or Giresun, I don’t recall, and realizing that I was a married woman, and had been married for only four months, and was deeply unhappy. Was it my expectations that had been too high? Was I clinically depressed for some reason—the strangeness of the country, the constant moving, the uncertainty of the future?

For my most recent birthday I was given a magic box that converts old slides and negatives to digital photographs. For the last four months I have been patiently traveling back through time and revisiting my school years, my first boyfriends, my grown niece and nephews as children, countries as diverse as Norway and Greece and Russia. Today I came upon a box of slides:  Anatolia 1986.

Of all the photos I have seen over these months, and there have been hundreds, none have been so strangely moving and beautiful as these shots of Turkey. Granted, the country is beautiful, and I found the people, especially the children, extraordinarily photogenic. But I did not expect to find so many pictures, nearly an entire roll, of near-perfect shots, at least for an amateur like myself, speaking so eloquently of some strange process that was going on despite my anger and sadness and depression. Perhaps I channeled all my unhappiness into my camera lens. I am glad I have been able to preserve something, for otherwise I might have felt there was a hole in my life. Instead, it was a shutter that took twenty-five years to close.

Ingrid Betancourt: Even Silence Has an End

A great privilege to contribute to the English version of this personal true account of great hardship and suffering and the survival of the human spirit. Despite the oppressive, stifling atmosphere of the Colombian jungle  I was often moved to tears by Ingrid’s courage and the extraordinary glimpses of humanity at the most unexpected moments.

Translated with the collaboration of Sarah Llewellyn.