1. Paris Review 의 '소설 속 대화'에 대한 기사
나는 왜 소설 속 인물들처럼 말하지 못할까, 헤어진 뒤에 했어야 할 말들을 주억거리며 가슴을 치고,
문학을 좋아하는 너와 나의 대화는 왜 문학적이지 못한 것인지, 관계 자체를 폄훼하곤 했는데...
말하는 언어와 읽는 언어의 낙차에서 오는 현기증,
일상언어와 문학적 언설의 간극은 이렇게 절감되는데,
왜 슈젯 없는 일상과 슈젯에 지배되는 문학의 간극에 대해선 쉽게 타협이 될까.
http://www.theparisreview.org/blog/2011/01/14/excellent-dialogue-a-dubious-seduction-strategy/
Excellent Dialogue; A Dubious Seduction Strategy
January 14, 2011 | by Lorin Stein
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Good dialogue has never saved anyone from either head banging or self-abuse, as far as I know. If anything, I think, good dialogue tends to teach us how little it resembles real speech. Real speech deals with whole-wheat crackers. That’s what it’s for. Dialogue deals with whole-wheat crackers only if those crackers tell a secret—if they reveal something about the character speaking. In this sense, dialogue is closer to lyric poetry than it is to expository prose. It does more work in less space, and it tends to deal in repressed or unconscious knowledge.
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Since readers of “Ask The Paris Review” are probably tired of seeing me recommend the novels of Henry Green, I suggest Philip Roth’s Deception, anything by Richard Price or Virginia Woolf or the great pioneer of dialogue, Jane Austen (yes, she depresses me, but she uncovered the possibilities of the form), or Ivy Compton-Burnett or Don DeLillo or Ann Beattie or Raymond Carver or Elmore Leonard or Eudora Welty ... The fact is, most great writers have great ears. We may not think of Henry James as a master of dialogue, but his novels nearly always turn on the ambiguities of invented speech. And this tends to be the case.
Are there any circumstances under which it might be a successful seduction strategy to quote poetry for a girl? —Anonymous
I once knew a man who claimed to have seduced several women by reciting Algernon Charles Swinburne’s “Sapphics.” I never entirely believed him, and even he never pretended they were sober.
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음... 내가 보기에 최고의 대화(대화의 모든 역학관계와 본질을 보여주는)를 쓰는 소설가는 ... 역시 나쓰메 소세키!!
특히 '명암'!! 은 간담이 서늘할 정도.
도스또예프스끼보다도 체홉보다도 소세키.
2. John Banville on Franz Kafka (가디언)
http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2011/jan/15/john-banville-kafka-trial-rereading?CMP=twt_fd
카프카는 작가들이 쓴 작가론이 재밌는 작가. (체홉도 작가들의 작가라 할 만한데, 그 어떤 체홉론을 읽어도, 나의 체홉은 그게 다가 아니야, 하는 반감이... ) 좋아는 하지만, 잘 모르겠는 작가라 그런가.
3. 번역가들의 책상 위에는 지금.....?
http://www.granta.com/Online-Only/Translations-in-the-Making
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Natasha Wimmer
I’ve just finished the translation of the latest posthumous work by Roberto Bolaño, a novel called The Third Reich. The book was a joy to translate, mostly because Bolaño seems to have had such fun writing it. It’s a buoyant novel, ominous at moments but mostly just funny. I am, however, left with one lingering translation problem. One of the main characters, a South American pedal boat attendant on the Costa Brava beach where the novel is set, is covered with burn scars. Everyone calls him El Quemado, which literally means The Burned One. I’ve tried all kinds of solutions from the near literal (Burned Man) to the derivative (Scarface – OK, OK, I know I can’t use it) to the silly (El Scorcho) to the catchy-but-wrong (Scabs). My clever editor suggested Burn Victim, and that’s the placeholder for now, but I’m still not satisfied. Names are so tough. And so critical.
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스페인 문학 얘기라 특별히 얻은 정보는 없지만, '번역가들의 책상'하니까 괜히 반가워서.
사실 나는 번역가의 책상보다는, 번역가의 침대 머리맡에 있는 책이 더 궁금하다.
번역하고 있는 책은 아무리 사랑하는 작가의 작품이라도(그 작품이 설사 볼라뇨, 나보꼬프의 작품이라 해도^^;;) 그 자체로 괴로운 독. 일상의 모든 순간을 압도하고 좀먹는다.
그 독을 자기 직전에 겨우 붙잡은 책으로 해독해야, 다음 날 다시 책상에 앉을 기운을 차린다.