In vague reference to après moi, le déluge and José Luis Guerín, this, from Carmen Laforet, Nada (1945): – Espero que no habrás bajado hacia el puerto por las Ramblas. – ¿Por qué no? – Hija mía, hay unas calles en las que si una señorita se metiera alguna vez, perdería para siempre su reputación.…
Here‘s a lovely little thing by Jacques Prévert. Some of the best Dutch kleinkunst in the 60s was built according to French models, and brief Parisian romances with Annemaries were the order of the day. I once spent an evening listening to the splendid voice of one of Sonneveld’s writers, and I wish I could…
The last time I went down Ridley Road market, this geezer (nature of usage: advisèd) was selling a sheep that looked as if he’d slaughtered it himself while on acid in the back of his Mondeo. Things are changing, notes the wonderful Hackney Gazette, via April Angell@KissMyPanties.com, via Albert Pantygirdle, who is back on the…
Erik Dams has been czeching old French ladies who insist on being called “mademoiselle”, but it seems that moves are underway to end the official distinction between “madame” and “mademoiselle”. I’ve never understood why titles have to figure on forms anyway: I’ve filled in “Mrs” for years; no harm has ever come to me as…
I’ve got a soft spot for Denis MacShane, who never really fitted the New Labour mould. Here‘s a piece by him on France. The sentence that will probably annoy most: “Pour un Britannique, la France est comme un remake des années 70 au Royaume-Uni” (my emphasis).
Ramón Buenaventura’s published a journal of his translation of Jonathan Franzen’s The corrections. He concludes that, for several reasons, including the rapidity imposed by the coordination of publication in various languages and the lifelessness of Spanish slangs, it is impossible to translate the novel well. That seems narcissistic to me, but that may be because…