![]() ![]() ![]() Proust, though many a stiff body is found on the lower slopes, with the other readers stepping over it gingerly.īut the ease of Moncrieff’s translations also started a fistfight, ongoing, about whether his Proust is Proust, near Proust, Anglicized Proust, or not Proust at all. John Middleton Murry, in an early review, wrote, “No English reader will get more out of reading ‘Du cote de chez Swann’ in French than he will out of reading ‘Swann’s Way’ in English,” and amateur book readers, for whom other works of mega-modernism-“The Man Without Qualities,” or “Buddenbrooks”-remain schoolwork, still read Proust. Mostly thanks to Moncrieff, Proust is part of the common reader’s experience in English. Newly published volume by newly published volume, working almost as a simultaneous translator, Moncrieff inserted Proust into the English-speaking reader’s consciousness with a force that Proust’s contemporaries in continental languages never really got. ![]() ![]() Scott Moncrieff (1889-1930), whose early-twentieth-century English version of Marcel Proust’s masterpiece, “À la Recherche du Temps Perdu,” has been a classic in our own language since the day of its first publication. A few translators’ names are familiar to the amateur reader-we know about Chapman’s Homer, through Keats, and Richard Wilbur’s Molière is part of the modern American theatre-but mostly translators struggle with sentences for even less moment (and money) than other writers do. The art of translation is usually a semi-invisible one, and is generally thought better for being so. ![]()
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