Generally speaking, I read books in the language in which they were written. Which means I read English books in English and Hebrew books in Hebrew. When it comes to books in other languages, such as La Vie Devant Soi, Frøken Smillas fornemmelse for sne or Nesnesitelná lehkost bytí I usually I have a choice of reading them in English or in Hebrew.
People ask me, which language do you prefer to read in?
Well, I read Hebrew faster than I do English. In Hebrew, I can take in a whole page at a time. This comes in handy, but it's no fun.
Thing is, I can rarely read without thinking of a possible translation.
Reading a Hebrew translation of an English book is exhausting, because I'm constantly back-translating in my mind, trying to figure out what the original was.
On the other hand, when reading a Hebrew book in the original, and knowing it's been translated into English, I can't help thinking, "Hmm… I wonder what the translator made of this… and if he/she got this word right… and how on earth did he find an equivalent for this idiom, which surely doesn't appear in Neri Sevenier's book?..."
I'd been toying with the idea of buying a copy of a translated novel or two, so I could indulge my curiosity. Preferably second-hand. But never got around to it.
So imagine my joy when my exercise-class pal S., recently retired after 18 years of work at Steimatzky's, offered me a load of books! I declined the Dan Browns (in English, but would have declined them in any language), but pounced on the English versions of Amos Oz's A Tale of Love and Darkness, translated by Nicholas de Lange; and of David Grossman's Someone to Run With, translated by Vered Almog and Maya Gurantz.
What a treasure! Two novels that I thoroughly enjoyed. Now all I have to do is find time to read each book in both languages simultaneously, and all(???) my questions and wonderings will be(???) answered….
Priceless...
I guess if you're a lucky lottery winner, you don't care much what it said in the Lotto, Toto or Pais ad, so long as they shell out.
But I don't buy any lottery tickets, I just amuse myself reading the poor translations of their ads and making fun of their typos, if typos they are.
Below is the bottom part of a huge ad that ran in the J. Post for 2 days in a row, before the most recent draw.
Like I said – if I won 2nd prize, I wouldn't care much that they referred to it as Second Price… (Not to mention if I won first prize, or price, or whatever anyone wished to call it.)
But I don't buy any lottery tickets, I just amuse myself reading the poor translations of their ads and making fun of their typos, if typos they are.
Below is the bottom part of a huge ad that ran in the J. Post for 2 days in a row, before the most recent draw.
Like I said – if I won 2nd prize, I wouldn't care much that they referred to it as Second Price… (Not to mention if I won first prize, or price, or whatever anyone wished to call it.)
Do you, Nina R. Davis, take this client…
Taking on a new client is not a marriage. Neither is any arrangement with a client. You can change your mind. You may ask to alter the terms of the agreement. You can terminate the affair. Or – like with a marriage – you may be better off not getting into it in the first place.
In July 2010 I wrote a post about listening to your gut feeling and turning down a job. The other day I did it again.
A client gave my name to a prospective client, a respectable company. Let's call it Luftgescheft Limited. Another client chimed in and recommended me heartily. So far, so good. I'm deeply grateful to both.
Then Mr. Luft requested a getting-acquainted meeting. Generally, I hate such meetings. They're time consuming and often stressful. I'd much rather conduct my business from the comfort of my desk, via email and the occasional phone-call if absolutely necessary. Let my work and my polite emails speak for themselves. (I only rant and rave when I'm on very comfortable, familiar terms with a client…) But I went. I listened. Nodded. Spoke little. Tried to "get a handle" on the issues at hand. But mostly I was fascinated by Luft's physical and mental attitude. The guy reeked smugness, superiority and superciliousness. His attitude was so disconcerting that it actually got in the way of my absorbing what the company was all about; their "mission", credo, unique selling points, and so on.
So I made sure I had an escape hatch, and said I'm not quite sure I'm the right person for the project, and have to go home and think about it. Luft agreed, and only requested that I give him a "go/no-go" (his words) reply as soon as possible.
I went home and thought about it.
First, I realized that I have nothing to say about the company, and that wracking my brains to come up with good, convincing copy was the last thing on earth I wanted to do.
Secondly, I realized that I'd rather not deal with Mr. Luft at all.
To help me finalize my decision, I carefully read all the printouts I was given, and re-examined the company website. Everything I read confirmed my initial reaction. I could, and would be willing to, do a good job of editing their written material. But I did not want to get involved in writing new stuff. So I wrote a polite email that included an offer to give them names of other professionals, and sent it off.
That was a few days ago.
I would have expected a brief acknowledgement. Just "Thanks for your email", or "Thanks for letting me know", or even a stiff "We are in receipt of yours of the 12th inst." would have been fine. But I got nothing.
That in itself says something, does it not?
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In July 2010 I wrote a post about listening to your gut feeling and turning down a job. The other day I did it again.
A client gave my name to a prospective client, a respectable company. Let's call it Luftgescheft Limited. Another client chimed in and recommended me heartily. So far, so good. I'm deeply grateful to both.
Then Mr. Luft requested a getting-acquainted meeting. Generally, I hate such meetings. They're time consuming and often stressful. I'd much rather conduct my business from the comfort of my desk, via email and the occasional phone-call if absolutely necessary. Let my work and my polite emails speak for themselves. (I only rant and rave when I'm on very comfortable, familiar terms with a client…) But I went. I listened. Nodded. Spoke little. Tried to "get a handle" on the issues at hand. But mostly I was fascinated by Luft's physical and mental attitude. The guy reeked smugness, superiority and superciliousness. His attitude was so disconcerting that it actually got in the way of my absorbing what the company was all about; their "mission", credo, unique selling points, and so on.
So I made sure I had an escape hatch, and said I'm not quite sure I'm the right person for the project, and have to go home and think about it. Luft agreed, and only requested that I give him a "go/no-go" (his words) reply as soon as possible.
I went home and thought about it.
First, I realized that I have nothing to say about the company, and that wracking my brains to come up with good, convincing copy was the last thing on earth I wanted to do.
Secondly, I realized that I'd rather not deal with Mr. Luft at all.
To help me finalize my decision, I carefully read all the printouts I was given, and re-examined the company website. Everything I read confirmed my initial reaction. I could, and would be willing to, do a good job of editing their written material. But I did not want to get involved in writing new stuff. So I wrote a polite email that included an offer to give them names of other professionals, and sent it off.
That was a few days ago.
I would have expected a brief acknowledgement. Just "Thanks for your email", or "Thanks for letting me know", or even a stiff "We are in receipt of yours of the 12th inst." would have been fine. But I got nothing.
That in itself says something, does it not?
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