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jopopipo's review against another edition
4.0
the book itself is not amazing - an interesting life told well. however, it is a who's who of Latin American authors who I would never had heard of had I not read this book. For me, it's been a map to finding some of the best books i've ever read.
spacestationtrustfund's review against another edition
3.0
I think gatekeeping is fun and good, sometimes, and mostly that means (in practice) that I don't think people who aren't good at something should do it professionally. The "professionally" is key here; I myself love mucking about with translation just for fun, but I'd never dream of trying to get my amateur sandbox creations published, because I'm not that narcissistic. I also don't think just anybody can fling paint at a canvas and become the next Jackson Pollock, regardless of how I feel about Jackson Pollock himself (it's complicated), because you really do have to understand the rules intimately, inside and out, before you break them. Anyway, this opinion of mine is reasonable enough, if I do say so myself, although I'm sure it's not made much more palatable by the fact that most literary translators who are actually good at their jobs are... prickly. The laypeople will find Deborah Smith more accessible than Gregory Rabassa, Ezra Pound more relatable than Lawrence Venuti, and so on. Really my point is just that it's okay to let professionals do what they're actually good at.
wordwrestler's review against another edition
4.0
The only reason this is marked 4 stars and not 5 is because I haven't finished it.
Ever since St. John's days, I've been reluctant to read works in translation, since I know how much can be lost by a bad translation, having committed more than my fair share of treason in language tutorials. Reading the first half of Rabassa's memoir, about craftsmanship required of the translator who wishes to avoid betraying author, readers, and herself, led me to a New Year's resolution--to stop avoiding works in translation, and instead make the effort needed to read them intelligently. Rabassa's talent for rich expression in English drew me in instantly. His references and overlapping lines of thought are dense and complicated without giving the sense that he's enamored of his own cleverness. Like a good seminar used to, this book made me want to delve deeper into the ideas expressed in passing.
The second half of Rabassa's book, which I skimmed, consists of chapters devoted to authors he has worked with in his long career. I have a new booklist. And I have yet another reason to brush up my Spanish.
Ever since St. John's days, I've been reluctant to read works in translation, since I know how much can be lost by a bad translation, having committed more than my fair share of treason in language tutorials. Reading the first half of Rabassa's memoir, about craftsmanship required of the translator who wishes to avoid betraying author, readers, and herself, led me to a New Year's resolution--to stop avoiding works in translation, and instead make the effort needed to read them intelligently. Rabassa's talent for rich expression in English drew me in instantly. His references and overlapping lines of thought are dense and complicated without giving the sense that he's enamored of his own cleverness. Like a good seminar used to, this book made me want to delve deeper into the ideas expressed in passing.
The second half of Rabassa's book, which I skimmed, consists of chapters devoted to authors he has worked with in his long career. I have a new booklist. And I have yet another reason to brush up my Spanish.
meganzc's review against another edition
3.0
This year, I'm trying to tackle the books on my shelves that sit half-read, but show some sort of promise. In that spirit, I picked up If This be Treason for the third time. Third time's a charm: I finally finished it.
I pre-ordered this book a decade ago as soon as it was announced, as I was translating a book (Dos Mujeres en Praga) for my senior thesis in undergrad. A year later, a close friend gave me a second copy (he was unaware I had a first). Unfortunately, the first part of the book turned me off. I was disappointed by Rabassa's platitudes about translation, I was bored by the personal history that brought him to the trade.
It was particularly unfortunate because the first part nearly kept me from the second, a much richer, more personal account of the translator's craft. I put the book down with the hackneyed plan of reading the other bits whenever I got around to tackling the books he was discussing. Ten years later, I still hadn't gotten around to any of them. I'm glad I abandoned that plan because Rabassa's discussion was plenty interesting without having read most of the books. He might even inspire me to pick a few of them up sooner rather than later.
I liked reading the more specific particularities and problems he encountered as he translated. I enjoyed the passages about his personal relationships with several of the authors. That said, the whole book hangs together quite loosely. I am the ideal audience: both a big fan of Latin American Literature and an amateur translator with a fascination for the craft. I still found the book only mildly interesting.
Rabassa brings up his aversion to non-fiction (except the most novelistic variety) on several occasions, and I think that comes through in this book. He is passionate about literature, but not so much translation - he enjoys translation as an act of deep reading, little more. As such, he seems bored by his own stories of translation, resigned to the impossible problems, not quite satisfied but neither nagged by dissatisfaction. This may be exactly what makes him a great translator, but it produces a rather dull memoir.
I pre-ordered this book a decade ago as soon as it was announced, as I was translating a book (Dos Mujeres en Praga) for my senior thesis in undergrad. A year later, a close friend gave me a second copy (he was unaware I had a first). Unfortunately, the first part of the book turned me off. I was disappointed by Rabassa's platitudes about translation, I was bored by the personal history that brought him to the trade.
It was particularly unfortunate because the first part nearly kept me from the second, a much richer, more personal account of the translator's craft. I put the book down with the hackneyed plan of reading the other bits whenever I got around to tackling the books he was discussing. Ten years later, I still hadn't gotten around to any of them. I'm glad I abandoned that plan because Rabassa's discussion was plenty interesting without having read most of the books. He might even inspire me to pick a few of them up sooner rather than later.
I liked reading the more specific particularities and problems he encountered as he translated. I enjoyed the passages about his personal relationships with several of the authors. That said, the whole book hangs together quite loosely. I am the ideal audience: both a big fan of Latin American Literature and an amateur translator with a fascination for the craft. I still found the book only mildly interesting.
Rabassa brings up his aversion to non-fiction (except the most novelistic variety) on several occasions, and I think that comes through in this book. He is passionate about literature, but not so much translation - he enjoys translation as an act of deep reading, little more. As such, he seems bored by his own stories of translation, resigned to the impossible problems, not quite satisfied but neither nagged by dissatisfaction. This may be exactly what makes him a great translator, but it produces a rather dull memoir.
smokeyshouse's review
slow-paced
3.0
Good source for Spanish and Portugese authors, most unknown to me. Very "academic white male" in tone and style, boring, no insight into the act of translating since he claims his method is intuitive.
emmashutup's review
I've been a fan of Gregory Rabassa's translations of One Hundred Years of Solitude and Chronicle of a Death Foretold for a while and admire him greatly. Though I think he's an excellent writer on his own, as is shown by this wry and clever memoir, I agree with others who think he's not very passionate about writing ABOUT writing. He doesn't explain how he translates in great detail, save for the broad "follow the voice of the writer." His chapters about each writer he translated are fun to read, less because of the explanations of the translating process than because of Rabassa's relationship with each writer. He was close with Julio Cortázar in particular, who is described as a genial man who got along splendidly with children (he was "a great child" himself, says Rabassa) and sometimes changed his own manuscripts to better fit ideas Rabassa had for the translation. I'm glad I read the book, but I don't know that I'd call it a favorite.
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