Anne Carson -- yoohoo, Anne!
So, one of the finest writers in the English language (ever) has a new book out -- a translation of four of Euripides' tragedies: "Grief Lessons: Four Plays By Euripides"
Not sure how even a bad translation could deaden Euripides for a reader, but the thought of Carson's pen at the job has me slobbering, so's I head out into the cooler than expected evening to gets me a copy.
As an aside, if you are virginal via Carson, might I suggest a start with Carson's "Autobiography of Red." If that don't make your literary bone stiffen then nothing will and you can forget all about her -- even though she won the American prize, "genius award" (can't remember what it's officially called but it's for like half a million bucks!) a few years ago. I should also warn that she's a poet and a classics scholar and academic. Canadian.
Anyway, I go to Book City on Yonge St. and they don't have the book. Of greater sadness is the clerk (I've come to rely on Book City clerks actually being readers) has never heard of Carson.
I'm forced to go to The Bitch's Books (the big blue machine) where the computer explains they have 5 copies in stock, although they are mysteriously said to be shelved in general poetry. When I can't find nary a copy, I ask for assistance and one of Heather's sad minions surprisingly and reassuringly snorts derisively and questions why the book would be in poetry -- a book store clerk that knows Euripides is a playwright. But the book ain't playing with the plays either, nor is it on the "new and hot" tables. One computer search on Indigo's very own system reveals nothing at all Euripides having been touched by Carson. My search on the same system brings Carson's new book up as first hit and suggests those now mystical 5 copies. A third search in the employee stock checking server thingy says they don't have the book in any store, ain't never heard of it. Much amusement is had by He is Here Now from the clerk's "what the fuck" face twisting at that computer response.
The Globe had a lovely review of the book today which compared translations and there was a an excerpt too (I didn't read that -- something I avoid much like I avoid reading the last line of a book first -- although it appeared it was one of Carson's essays accompanying the plays.
Her translation of Sappho was excellent. Her book of poetry "The Beauty of the Husband: A Fictional Essay in 29 Tangos" which responds essentially to Keats’s suggestion that "beauty is truth" is just really smart writing that slaps the intellectual off yer mug with its beautiful beautiful handling of the language. “Men in the Off Hours” is damn lovely too, but again it's poetry and well who the fuck reads poetry any more among this blog audience?
I'll bet Carson's publisher would be delighted that neither Indigo nor Book City can cough up the new Euripides volume. Now THAT's a tragedy (not quite worthy of Euripides)...
Not sure how even a bad translation could deaden Euripides for a reader, but the thought of Carson's pen at the job has me slobbering, so's I head out into the cooler than expected evening to gets me a copy.
As an aside, if you are virginal via Carson, might I suggest a start with Carson's "Autobiography of Red." If that don't make your literary bone stiffen then nothing will and you can forget all about her -- even though she won the American prize, "genius award" (can't remember what it's officially called but it's for like half a million bucks!) a few years ago. I should also warn that she's a poet and a classics scholar and academic. Canadian.
Anyway, I go to Book City on Yonge St. and they don't have the book. Of greater sadness is the clerk (I've come to rely on Book City clerks actually being readers) has never heard of Carson.
I'm forced to go to The Bitch's Books (the big blue machine) where the computer explains they have 5 copies in stock, although they are mysteriously said to be shelved in general poetry. When I can't find nary a copy, I ask for assistance and one of Heather's sad minions surprisingly and reassuringly snorts derisively and questions why the book would be in poetry -- a book store clerk that knows Euripides is a playwright. But the book ain't playing with the plays either, nor is it on the "new and hot" tables. One computer search on Indigo's very own system reveals nothing at all Euripides having been touched by Carson. My search on the same system brings Carson's new book up as first hit and suggests those now mystical 5 copies. A third search in the employee stock checking server thingy says they don't have the book in any store, ain't never heard of it. Much amusement is had by He is Here Now from the clerk's "what the fuck" face twisting at that computer response.
The Globe had a lovely review of the book today which compared translations and there was a an excerpt too (I didn't read that -- something I avoid much like I avoid reading the last line of a book first -- although it appeared it was one of Carson's essays accompanying the plays.
Her translation of Sappho was excellent. Her book of poetry "The Beauty of the Husband: A Fictional Essay in 29 Tangos" which responds essentially to Keats’s suggestion that "beauty is truth" is just really smart writing that slaps the intellectual off yer mug with its beautiful beautiful handling of the language. “Men in the Off Hours” is damn lovely too, but again it's poetry and well who the fuck reads poetry any more among this blog audience?
I'll bet Carson's publisher would be delighted that neither Indigo nor Book City can cough up the new Euripides volume. Now THAT's a tragedy (not quite worthy of Euripides)...
posted by Heipel at
10:09 PM
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