etc.

I’ve been maintaining a solid non-fiction diet for the last little while and find that the only time I pick up a novel is when one is recommended to me, usually wrapped in boundless praise, by friends, family, colleagues. This one came thusly recommended.

I’m wary of translations. I believe that there are probably some very good and ethical literary translators out there today, but whenever I read a translation, I find myself constantly second-guessing persnickety details: is that an appropriate word in this context? is that what the author really meant? where do you draw the line between conscientious loyalty to the original and minor deviations to ensure that the text works in translation? If I was some sort of language maven, which I am not, I might have some basis for this skepticism. As it is, I’m probably just being over-critical.

While I was vaguely preoccupied with all of these questions while reading this book, I still quite enjoyed it. It’s a story not dissimilar to Stephen King’s The Body (think Stand By Me), but more sensitively recounted. The other thing I was preoccupied with while reading it was what a great film it would make, in the hands of a careful director and unknown actors. So I looked into it and it’s been done, with a writing credit to the author. Which probably accounts for the decent reviews, at least in part. (The film was picked up by Miramax at the Berlin Film Festival, so the media blitz is probably forthcoming.)