A2R.
Member
The soul of the author is lost once the book is rewritten. We rewrite the story but leave the spirit behind. His thoughts become the translator's. His choice of words, his poetry and talent, his sequence and rhythm are gone. We no longer read the author's thoughts but a second hand interpretation of them. The author no longer speaks directly to us.
And so, sadly I ask you, are some books forever unavailable to us? They probe us to learn their language for sake of lost lustre. A story is never told the same as the man whose mind it originated.
The genius chooses his words wisely and assembles them accordingly. Like a chef in his kitchen, every word is an ingredient. Take that away from him and you strip him of the title.
Out of respect, Flaubert sits on my shelf unread. He waits for me to learn his tongue. He waits for me to become worthy of his intellect.
And so, sadly I ask you, are some books forever unavailable to us? They probe us to learn their language for sake of lost lustre. A story is never told the same as the man whose mind it originated.
The genius chooses his words wisely and assembles them accordingly. Like a chef in his kitchen, every word is an ingredient. Take that away from him and you strip him of the title.
Out of respect, Flaubert sits on my shelf unread. He waits for me to learn his tongue. He waits for me to become worthy of his intellect.