Critique Magazine :: On Writing II

In November, 2001 I found on the international literary ezine, Tower of Babel, the Russian translations of two of my short stories. The translations were signed by Michael Kassianik, a professional translator in the historic city of Volgograd—formerly Stalingrad—where in the cold winter of 1943 Russians crushed the German army in a great battle that turned the tide against Nazi Germany.
       Since I have loved and studied about Russia most of my life, know the language quite well, and used to go there frequently as a journalist, I was happy to see my fiction in the language of the Russian masters. I e-mailed my thanks to Kassianik for translating my stories and at the same time raised the question of publishing my fiction in Russia.
       Michael Kassianik answered that he in turn was glad to have a translation appraisal from a person “who knows intimately the content of the source text and is also capable of assessing objectively the worth of the translation product.” Commenting on the “vibrancy” between himself and the story, the translator pointed out attractive particulars in it, and wandered off into mysterious Russia.
       “Like your turning to Samuel Beckett’s play in your story, ‘Mexican Paradise,’ which was my favorite back in my university days (1968-1973), and the fact that I too played the Ghost in our Students’ English Language Theater staging of Shakespeare’s drama. Nostalgic, you might say. The translation flowed smoothly and was finished in four hours. Then I decided to reconcile the translations of the excerpts from the play itself with the versions already published in Russian. That turned out to be the hardest part. I didn’t have the play at home so I went to the largest public library in town and found two editions (1998 and 1999) on their card-catalogue, but they had lost both copies. I visited several more, including the library of the Actors Union. No luck. The communal children’s library reported having one copy in a remote branch. I called there, and they confirmed having it on the shelf. I rushed out there (15 kilometers, the northern outskirts of the city), and was met with apologies—the librarian had found the card in the catalogue all right, but failed to check for the book’s physical presence. It was not there.
       “Utterly distressed, and angry with the city, with the country, and with life in general, I took a taxi back, and prayed for a solution to the problem. And sure enough, I followed a sudden inspiration, stopped the car, and went down to a small bookstore in the basement of an apartment house. And there it was, a collection of Beckett’s plays, sitting on the shelf, waiting for three years for me to buy it.”
       In short, Kassianik agreed to translate the twenty pieces of my new short story collection, Icy Current, Compulsive Course, into Russian, warning me that author’s fees are “disgustingly low” in Russia, that my potential readership forms a thin layer of society—mostly intellectual middle-aged people with some life experience, and that interest in the short story genre had declined in Russia in the last ten years.
       A photograph he sent of himself working in his study—possibly on my story “Dogman”—sealed our gentleman’s agreement to go on with the translation/publication project on a share alike basis. A copious correspondence thus ensued which has embraced problems of literary translation, but has reached into many social-historical-ethical fields. We have tried to reflect some of these matters for this edition of On Writing.

Rome, November 25, 2001

Hello Michael,
       Your description of your Kafkaesque chase for the source of the Beckett play is a story in itself. It reminds me of Pirandello, a character in search of an author. And what a coincidence that you played the ghost! I made that up but it was based on a man I knew in Mexico. Since I'm dissatisfied corresponding with someone I can only imagine, I appreciate your photo. By the way, the books on your shelves over your head look familiar. Among the attached press materials about Icy Current, Compulsive Course—there is also my photo.
       I enjoyed immensely your translations. By the way, how does the Russian title, "Sobachnik," [Dogman] ring to your ears? I was pleased when my painter friend in New York, Anatoly Krynsky, complimented the translator, that is, you, when he read the story. Krynsky is originally from Kharkov, migrated first to Moscow where he flourished as a painter, then to Rome and New York. He is a bear who hibernates in his Manhattan studio, and has never learned English well, so we have always spoken Russian together. While I was in New York for two years he was my photographer, my drinking companion, my barber too, and I was his interpreter. I attach here my article based on him—“The Power of Solitude”—that appeared in several literary magazines, together with about 10 of his paintings. The cover of my book is Anatoly’s painting from his Central Park series.
       You're right that the short story has suffered, but in recent years in the USA it is enjoying a certain comeback.
       As to longer works you asked about, my novel that takes place in Italy and Mexico, titled Walks of Dreams [ from a poem by Walt Whitman] is more or less finished. I'm now reworking some parts of it.
       This can't go on ... and on and on! So I will stop here. Ochen priyatno poznakomitsa!

Volgograd, November 25, 2001

Hi Gaither,
       In my Beckett quest I did experience a dramatic leap from utter frustration to relaxed happiness, from that helpless feeling of the total unavailability of anything urgently needed (a rash generalization, of course) to overwhelming joy at finding (with divine help) what I was seeking. Not because I needed the book so badly, nor because I was obliged to use the "official" translation of the play, just a sudden obsession. I just had to accomplish the task. And I needed to splash it out on somebody.
       I revisited The Tower of Babel site today, and found ten works of yours there, “Power Of Solitude” inclusive. I downloaded them all and plan to start doing them soon. I might begin with the "Power Of Solitude". Anatoly's paintings and etchings are fascinating, but the Central Park series has a particular magic to it. And the winter flash in his work on your book's cover is marvelous. As my wife commented, 'It immediately creates a romantic and lonesome atmosphere'. The colors and the composition reminded me of Vrubel's Demon.
       If anything comes out of selling your short stories here (hopefully, the genre recovers here as well), I would be pleased if you entrust me with the translation of your novel, Walks Of Dreams. I have begun searching for Walt Whitman. Where does the line "Walks of dreams" come from? I have reread all Walt Whitman I have in English, but failed to find it. What meaning(s) do you attach to the words? I matched the epigraph to Icy Current: Compulsive Course to the translation by Korney Chukovsky:

No, Sobachnik is not the most melodious word in the Russian language, but it was the best choice for the title, for it means both a person who loves dogs, and a person who catches stray dogs. Since both are present in your story, I thought the title "Sobachnik" would suit the purpose of keeping it a mystery to the last line.

Rome, November 25

Michael:
       Professor Maxim Frank-Kamenetski at Boston University, whose name I mentioned to you, once read all of my Mexican stories and recommended them highly. He stays at Krynsky's every few weeks when he's down from Boston to visit some ladies. Maxim once urged me to send the "Fallen Angel" story included in my collection to the New Yorker, to chief editor, David Remnick, whom he knew when Remnick was a correspondent in Moscow. I delivered it by hand but Remnick never even answered me! Sukin syn! [The son of a bitch]
       Let’s hope to see some of the stories published also at one of the magazines you mention. Of course, if the agent likes the one story you sent and agrees to represent me, well, the sky is the limit. I always think of an old Russian lady in Rome who said on every possible occasion, "Popytka nie pytka." [nota: “An attempt is not a torture”—it rhymes in Russian!]
       Walks of Dreams: the words come from the poem, "To You", contained in "Birds of Passage," also in the collection, Leaves of Grass.
       "Whoever you are, I fear you are walking the walks of dreams…."
       The novel concerns four characters, all well to do, all intelligent, all looking to change: an American woman, Sarah [27], born and grown up in Rome; Robert Jay, an older man—in a way the comic aspect—an American expatriate-playboy-drinker, who has lived all over the world; Michele, an Italian painter and Sarah's man; and Diego, a Mexican priest, homosexual, who leaves the Church—in order to become a Christian. The first half of the 300-page book takes place in Italy, the second chiefly in Mexico, with interludes in New York. Sarah, who is trying desperately to believe in something, slowly goes nuts! Robert Jay becomes very wealthy from the sale of a unique collection of icons smuggled out of Brezhnevian Russia; he reforms, and helps everyone. Michele is the most solid one, who is seeking a way in his art and sticks by Sarah in her madness; Diego—who wants to disbelieve—comes out of the closet, leaves the Church, finds love, and returns to Mexico to work among the poor in a Mexico City shantytown. Each has his own dream, each looks for its fulfillment in different ways. The book is about uprootedness, solitude, exile. I'm not sure how representative it is, but I will attach here the prologue, which only concerns Diego.
       It has suddenly turned cold in Rome. It's paradoxical but one suffers more from cold here than in the north. I'm certain it's warmer in Volgograd than here.

       P.S. Here's a photo of my good friend, the painter, Anatoly Krynsky.

Dear Gaither,
       The Prologue you sent me promises a fascinating book, and Anatoly's photo is so pregnant with symbolism that I doubt if I understand it correctly. Firstly, he seems like a borderline between life and death, facing a patch of lively green and turning his back on the grey space of dry maize and rotting gourds. Or, secondly, is it a transition from ripe and fruitful maturity to a new green brave world, while keeping the wisdom of past years, as is proper for a solid man with grey hair? Or, perhaps, it's the aftermath of a Thanksgiving celebration? And the tiny human figures look so distant and immaterial...
       I have located a major Russian literary agent for foreign authors. I sent a letter of introduction to him. Deystvitelno, popytka—nie pytka, [An attempt is really not a torture] as Lavrenty Beriya used to say.
       I'll find a published translation of the Whitman poem and your book will have an absolutely adequate Russian title.
       Well, it's warmer indeed in Volgograd than normal. +3 Centigrade. Drizzle, liquid mud and dirty puddles on the asphalt. This time last year it was like -10. I can imagine how unwanted the cold is in Rome. It snowed on Christmas 1991 in Athens when I was there and it was a real tragedy for them. Several people died of hypothermia. Hope it is not that bad in Rome.

On Kassianik’s website I learned that he also majored in German philology which surprised me because of his dedication to English. Anyway, I wrote him a few words in German which I happen to know after spending years in Germany:

Lieber Michael,
       Ich habe gerade Ihren Site zum erstern Mal angeschaut, und was fuer eine Ueberraschung! Auch, die deutsche Sprache! Vielleicht haben Sie gemerkt dass einige meine Geschichten auch ins deutsche uebersetz worden sind. Wir haben also noch was gemeinsames.
       Excellent news about the agent. Meanwhile, the electronic version of Icy Current is finally available.
       By the way, thanks for settling who spoke most authoritatively about the world of difference between pytka and popytka. I’ll remember that quote.

       P.S. I’m attaching my story, “Persian Gardens”, to come out in January in Southern Cross Review that has published many of my stories and articles..

Volgograd, November 27

Lieber Gaither,
       Es sollte nur eine Halb Ueberraschung sein, weil Mein Deutsch nicht besonders gut ist. Obwohl ich Englisch- und Deutschlehrer von Beruf bin, und ein paar Jahre Deutsch an der Mittelschule lehrte, ist meine Kentnisse der Sprache etwas einseitig. Es ist jetzt viel schwerer fuer mich zu sprechen und zu schreiben als zu lesen und ins Russische zu uebersetzen. Keine Anwendung seit 23 Jahren.
       Ja, ich hatte die deutschen Fassungen Ihrer Geschichten bemerkt, und auch mit den englischen Originalen vergleicht. Dr. Adalbert Kowal hat es sehr gut gemacht, nicht wahr? War auch “Ein mexikanisches Paradies” von ihm uebersetzt? Es gibt dort keine Unterschrift.
       Well, back to English now. Thank you for your note on Anatoly’s photo. It’s really beautiful. It’s evident that Anatoly is fond of Central Park. It shows well in his “Mystery of Central Park” series, especially the “Old Bole”. I had once a chance to spend a summer day there back in 1991, and was absolutely charmed.
       I always suspected that when critics analyze works of art (literature, painting, etc.) they tend to invent features in them, which the authors are often unaware of. Stimmt das?
       About the quote, popytka nie pytka, Beria was a profound expert in this area. Ee znal v pytkah tolk… [He knew what torture was about.]
       I am honored to have your “Persian Gardens” before they have been published..

Michael’s translation of my essay, “The Power of Solitude” is brilliant; he hopes to place it in some literary publication in Russia. The translator’s choice of words and word order are so excellent that he seems to improve the original. It underlines the richness of Russian so evident in its powerful written language. It is truly a great language as its great writers have shown. I regret that I never lived in Russia for a long period in order to reinforce my modest knowledge.
       However, it turned out that the Russian version of the essay was not quite finished. The painter Krynsky in New York wanted his say too—after all he is also Russian! A polemical and always loquacious people who like to have the last word. Michael wrote about Krynsky’s last minute correction:
       “I received a long letter from Anatoly. Among other things, he declares your right to artistic interpretation of his studio, but insists on correcting the weight of his etching press. I guess I've resolved the issue in the latest version where I write "yedva li ne poltonny", [hardly a half-ton] which is accurate enough, and retains the original air of admiration.
       “I have read your story, ‘The Acrobat,’ and admired it. You have that talent for enchanting and hypnotizing the reader with the narration. A sad story of loneliness, which overcomes itself through a loneliness of a higher level... I felt 'murashki po kozhe' [goose-bumps] when reading it. It feels more like a sunburst, than an ordinary story. A release of dense and compact emotion. I hope I am able to convey that impact through my translation. I understand the function of Sophia's thoughts in Russian, but what would be the best way to parallel it in the Russian-all-over text? A challenge. Perhaps it'd be possible to make her think in Italian?
       “By the way, will you kindly update my understanding of the sentence, "Un uomo lassu, restare non puo". My knowledge of Italian is less than subzero. I interpreted the words as "a man cannot stay at the height forever", but I'm not sure it's right.
       I'll give more thought to the "Dogman" title for the collection edition. It can be something like "Kuda propali vse sobaki?" Or "Spasitel", or "Pokrovitel sobak", or even "Oni vernulis". What do you think?

Rome, December 6

Michael,
       No problem on the weight of the press. I only wanted it to be heavy. I hope your excellent work also reaches a good publication in Russia. Krynsky or his son Philip could send it to a Russian publication in the States. That article by the way appeared in several electronic literary magazines, including Paumanok and Southern Cross Review, and also in Italian.
       About “Dogman,” I have to say that the title is not exactly beautiful in English either, but it expressed what I had in mind. But alternate titles in Russian are fine. I like best "Oni vernulis" [They Returned] or maybe even "Sobaki vernulis" [The Dogs Returned] Spasitel? [Saviour, or Rescuer] Well, it doesn't say much—though I’m not one who thinks a title must say everything. "Pokravitel sobak" [Protector of Dogs] sounds to me rather like a description.
       Your reaction to “The Acrobat” reveals to me how sensitive you are. And you're very right that it's not exactly a story. I thought of it first as a poem in prose—with lots of abstention. The Italian song of the same name is not widely known in Italy, but I love it. It speaks of a man up there on the trapeze—alone—where love doesn't exist and that he has to invent it. Therefore that line "pridumyvat lyubov. [invent love] And therefore too, the fact that he never learns other languages—it emphasizes his solitude.
       "Un uomo lassu, restare non puo," is not only poetic but it resembles the suppleness of the Italian like the Russian language. Literally—"a man up there, remain cannot", which I should think will translate well into Russian. It's sometimes difficult in English to reflect that same freedom of expression.
       I once read a quote—I think attributed to Stolypin or some political leader—who, criticized for his usage of Russian, replied, "the language is mine and I can do with it what I want."

       Ciao, Gaither

Volgograd, December 7, 2001

Gaither,
       I just read "That Certain Sense of Complicity", and I find it extremely deep and true. I'd dare suppose that you've written a strong thing irrespective of the underlying idea. I perceived the story as a very revealing, although tightly compressed, forecast for those who get entangled in that classic mess. Long intervals or short, breaking up with the existing families or not, the sensual ardor fades away and only gray dull ashes are left instead of the passionate flame. No matter what Hildy says, or Jason thinks about guilt, they both are pretending that there is more to their union than a mere sexual attraction (which is a powerful force, no doubt about it). And that force surrenders to the stronger, more tangible responsibilities and privileges, because, I believe, any intelligent person keeps checking him/herself for his alleged superiority over the animal world, which is manifested exactly in the ability to prefer a logical and socially justified course of action to the spontaneous, the natural, the emotional one. And of course men are both the more responsible and the more vulnerable party of the two. Their salvation lies in the ability to transform that vulnerability into aggressive dissatisfaction. Whatever their choice is, they both keep in store that sad, painfully sweet feeling of missed opportunities, guilt or pity, which provides an effective excuse when they finally decide to break the current ties.
       Convenient. And natural.
       The love scenes were so vividly written, I thought that by mistake only Tower of Babel had failed to post it in the Erotica section.
       Now, let's get Icy Current ready in Russian!

Dear Michael,
What an analysis of "Complicity"! You always see the underlying aspects of things. Somehow—and this is a dangerous and probably untrue generalization—Russians have a way of seeing inside.
If you decide to write a review of my book, you can make it long, short, or medium. I had the idea that you might identify yourself also as the Russian translator of the book, which in itself implies an intimate knowledge of the material. And it would publicize an upcoming Russian language version..

Gaither,
       You are overestimating my insight, I'm afraid. It was just experience speaking. And the love for good literature.
       I'm going to translate the stories randomly, picking them by impulse, but beginning with the Tower of Babel stories included in the book. The remaining stories there will have to wait, although I enjoyed your “The Scoop" greatly, which reminded me of Dostoyevski's Raskolnikov: "Kto ya, chelovek ili tvar drozhashchaya?" Prekrasno! [Who am I, a man or a trembling creature? Beautiful!]
       O.K. I'll write a review in English, which will burden you with the task of proofreading and editing it.

       Michael

Rome, December 9

Michael:
I don't believe I ever explained the source of the title, Icy Current, Compulsive Course—which, I stumbled on and was attracted simply to its sound and effect. Katherine Arline will remember that I also suggested at one point lopping off the Compulsive Course, and calling it Icy Current. She however wanted it all. Now I’m glad we kept the full title.
In my Penguin edition of Shakespeare's Othello, Act Three, Scene Three, Othello and Iago are speaking of Othello's jealousy:

Well, you see what I mean—an unstoppable force it is, jealousy, and by analogy many other passions.

The next day I received from Kassianik, the Russian version of Othello’s words, translated by Nobel winner, Boris Pasternak:

“Thanks for deciphering, Gaither. To my thinking, you were right keeping it all. I have found the lines you referred to. [Cold Current Steadfast] could match the original title?”

Dear Michael,
       I like the words in Russian and they certainly reflect the original. Of course, you could use the shorter version you hint at—"Xolodnoye Techeniye", [Cold Current] and basta.
       Or, what if you simply add the proper word for ‘Course’ or use a synonym like stream in one place or the other? By the way, is that "nieuklonno" [steadfast, unswerving] intended as an adverb, implying an omitted verb. I do like the sound.
       And does your alternative "Nieuklonny potok" ring well? Or is it too little, or does it resemble too much other titles?
       You're right to aim at both the Shakespearean strength and the Russian sound.
       I'm not helping; I'm confusing things. But as I wrote in my message, I would go for the title that sounds good, mysterious and intriguing—even if it's not exactly Shakespeare.
       What were you going to say about Pasternak's poetry, by the way? You left me hanging! At Berkeley I once took some courses in Russian literature from Gleb Struve, who loved Pasternak's poetry—but refused to even discuss Dr. Zhivago. I think if someone else besides Hollywood had made that film, Zhivago would have been much better off today.

Gaither:
       Boris Pasternak is famous in Russia not so much for his "Doctor Zhivago", as for his poetry.
       I hoped you'd find that the words I chose reflect Shakespeare’s. Other title versions, which could be closer to the semantics of the original, like, for example, [Icy River—Compulsive Current] in Russian lack the Shakespearean drive.
       I'd stay with [Icy Current Steadfast] I find it sufficiently deep and well ringing for the title.
      Yeah, "Neuklonny potok" [Steadfast Stream] sounds pretty much like "Zhelezny potok" [Iron Stream] by Alexander Seraphimovich. You seem to have a broad view of the Soviet period literature... Not that it's a bad book (Civil War in Southern Russia, current Volgograd Area), just a little boring, but it used to be so forcefully pumped into students' heads in the secondary school course of Soviet literature that it produced an imperishable sentiment of disgust towards it.
       I was going to say that Pasternak's poetry is very masterful. He had an extremely fine sense of rhythm and sound, and when I compare his translations of world classics with those by other poets, I find his versions to be the most adequate both phonetically and semantically.
       I can't judge what Hollywood did to the book (I've read it, but I haven't seen the film), but I believe that "Dr. Zhivago," apart from the notoriety it gained for absolutely political reasons, is quite a good book, a clever and truthful psychological analysis of the state of a capable man forced to lie low.
       Interesting that you mentioned Gleb Struve in your letter, for just today I saw him in a short documentary on Joseph Brodsky on TV, and Professor Struve said quite a few kind words about him.
       I've finished “Elves and Emeralds”, just tapped the "Chelovek dozhdia", [Rainmaker], and keep thinking over the review. The introductory paragraph has already crystallized.

       Michael

Rome, December 11

Michael:
       Unfortunately I have read more about Soviet literature than the literature itself. I did read major writers like Pasternak and the early Soviet writers—Gorky, Akhmatova, Gumiliev, Blok, Bulgakov, et al, but very few later ones—except Yevtushenko, whom I saw a few times and once interviewed here in Rome when he exhibited his paintings. I read also some of those who emigrated like Brodsky. My story “Fallen Angel” is a look at the disappointments some of them faced abroad. [I dread the day you get to that story! And I hope it is well done and not too obvious for Russian readers. If it is, there is no reason why we cannot substitute it with another story.]
       I too enjoyed reading Doctor Zhivago. I even enjoyed parts of the film although it was Hollywoodization of a much deeper subject.
       The publisher of Wind River Press chose to open my book with "Rainmaker," because it is, she says, deep and reflective. It does say things, as does "Elves," about some universal subjects that I didn't realize while I was writing it—the gap between rich and poor, America's place in the world, and why many people hate America. And of course it's no longer just America—it's the entire rich world versus the 4/5ths of the world that is poor.
       You asked about the length of your review of my book. I suppose you could do a good review in 2-4 pages. If however you want to generalize on the themes of loneliness of man and man caught up in the nieuklonny potok and compare it to some other books—in this case Russian writers, I think—then longer.
       By the way, you might want to contribute to Critique on Russian literature. I have written for it several writer profiles, most based on interviews—Paul Bowles, Umberto Eco, Alberto Moravia, Dacia Maraini, Thomas Wolfe and now Federico Fellini. The stories are in the "archives."

Dear Gaither,
       I don't quite get what there is to fear about your "Fallen Angel". It's a powerful story, logical, deeply truthful and realistic. Perhaps even too realistic. I could so easily imagine not only the thoughts and feelings of Nikolai, but also his subconscious longing for that glorious past when he was resisting the rotten Soviet state, which nevertheless seemed to guarantee that the fight would be endless. Such are the honors to the fighter. And that deeply ingrained love to sitting around the kitchen table with a vodka in the middle...
       Your analysis of his loneliness and decay are absolutely convincing. Unaccustomed to decent money, dizzy with freedom, inclined to drinking and flirting, he certainly didn't cherish his solitude as a source of creativity. His loneliness came about from being alone, not as a search of concentration.
       In the way of illustration:
       "Skachet po preriyam kovboy Neulovimiy Joe. Ne potomu Neulovimiy, poymat yego nikto ne mozhet, a potomu, chto nikto yego ne lovit." [He races across the prairies, Uncatchable Cowboy Joe. He’s uncatchable, not because no one is able to catch him, but simply because no one wants to catch him.]
       Nikolai had unintentionally but inevitably cornered himself, and you have brilliantly managed to show that as vividly as if it were a painting.
       In this vein, I was lucky enough to meet with the writer Andrey Sinyavsky here in Volgograd back in 1996. He was among the supporters of Mikhail Gorbachov in his run for Presidency in 1996. An old-time friend of mine was acting in Volgograd as Gorbachov's agent. So, when Gorbachov visited the city for his election campaign, Boris arranged a shashlyk dinner in his patio, and thus I happened to eat and drink together with such prominent figures. The election was lost, but memories remain.
       I have to admit I've never heard such names as Vladimir "Vlady" Melnik, or Volpin, or Maxim Zhelezniak, but I never doubt they could easily be as you portrayed them in the story.
       And, as you must surely be expecting, I have discovered a flaw in the story, but it seems to be the only one. The person called "Almarik" in the list of dissidents arriving to Gare de l'Est, was in fact Andrey AMALRIK (1936-1980).
       I find all the rest to be perfect, and I don't think I've seen such good literature on the Russian exiles' life in Europe since Bulgakov's "Beg” (Run).
       "Rainmaker" is pretty strong, and deserves the opening position in your book as much as any other of your stories. "Elves and Emeralds” is on the way.

Michael,
       I liked the line about nieulovimy cowboy Joe! Poor guy, nobody wanted him, so he was uncatchable. Bin Laden must envy him now.
       Thanks for your assessment of “Fallen Angel.” My worry was less about content than construction—too much exposition and little dialogue. American critics worry a lot about that and I'm often out of balance.
       My Nikolai is vaguely modeled on a writer I know; Zhelezniak is modeled on the well known Vladimir Maximov, whom I knew; Vlady Melnik is modeled on the religious painter, Yury Titov—what I said about him is pretty much true; the poet and scientist, Volpin, is the son of the poet Yesenin Volpin. Zhelezniak in the story is in a way Nikolai’s conscience. The story, besides its historical or social content, is again about solitude, as you justly noted.
       Interesting that you met Sinyavsky; I didn’t realize he returned to Russian, but then he was quite a Slavophile! I interviewed him twice for the Dutch press about his books. And God, Amalrik! I reversed the letters. Well, I guess few readers will notice and you can correct it in the Russian.
       You raised a question about the title, “Rainmaker.” You remember, the Indians of the Americas had their rainmakers. They were in a way holy men, who created or made the rain come. Like "tvoryetz ili sosdatel dozhdya," creators or makers of rain.
       We have here what is being called a Siberian cold front—very cold, even in Rome.

Gaither,
       I’m not sophisticated enough to judge the architecture of the story. I didn't experience any difficulties with “Fallen Angel”—swallowed it in just one gulp. Certainly tastes differ and the cross-cultural differences exist, but the prevalence of narration over conversation seems to me quite appropriate. There's not much to talk/argue about in Nikolai's life, only the think and decide game...
       Thanks for clarifying the background of story’s characters. I should have guessed that Zhelezniak was the editor of Continent. It is clear that he serves as Nikolai’s conscience.
       Well, when I met Sinyavsky, he didn’t talk much. All the talking was done for him by his wife, Maria. Perhaps he was already unwell. He died not long after.
       I agree on the title for “Rainmaker. Chelovek dozhdia reminds me too much of Dustin Hoffman in "Rainman". How about Chelovek, prizvavshiy dozhd? [Literally: the man who brings about rain] I liked the story. It is exactly what you wrote about it in your previous letter—the rich and the poor, Gringos versus the rest of the world, envy and hatred towards the rich nations. That is all true, and there can be no doubt about it. You have revealed it all. But what I really thought about upon completing the translation was how masterfully you manage to make the reader with equal ease see the world with the eyes of a five-year-old, or an elderly homosexual, or an angry aggressive Mexican, or a degrading Russian writer who can't write anymore, or an artist bewildered by the stray dogs disappearance... The ideological supercharge of your stories is evident to an attentive reader. But their artistic value surpasses it by far. That's what I think.
       I sympathize with you in cold Rome. Isn't it sad to suffer from cold in a warm country?
       It is -5C/23F here, snowing for a couple of weeks already. It's all white, clean and beautiful. All dirt safely tucked in with the white blanket. Snow removers are active along major streets and avenues only. Drivers and pedestrians labor happily through the rest. Wet as mice. Otvratitelno!
       I'm going to finish “The Rainmaker” and then take up the “Fallen Angel,” then “The Light at the End of the Corridor, and “That Certain Sense of Complicity.”

Rome, December 14

Michael:
       Your version of “Elves and Emeralds” is amazingly close to mine. I seem to understand from reading it that you sort of float through these things gracefully, without straining or force.
       By the way, the word carro is a common word for automobile in Mexico. You're probably right that it comes from the proximity to north American usage of "car," but he doesn’t use it because he's a little boy.
       I'm not convinced of that Rainmaker title. Chelovek prizvavshiy dozhd sounds like a description. Is there any set term in Russian, like among the Siberian shamans who must have had their rainmakers? Anyway, it's your baby. I'll go with your choice.
       You mentioned that Maria did all the talking for Sinyavsky. I remember it was the same when I was trying to interview him in his house in a Parisian suburb. The second time, I took my wife, Milena, along to try to keep Maria busy, but she kept wandering into our conversation anyway and answering for him. She had that reputation! So when you finished you didn't know whether you had his thoughts, or her interpretations of his thoughts, or simply her thoughts.
       Yes, I think many American critics and editors demand a certain kind of conformity. I've even read a recommended formula for so many pages of dialogue and so many of exposition. Crazy! They're always making new rules for writing and have little patience with mavericks. Not that I am that, but I do tend to a more introspective style. Maybe it's more European.

Volgograd, December 15

Gaither,
       I believe a literary translation should be as close to the original as possible. I first read the piece, then I synchronize with it, then I dive in and try not to surface until the primary translation is finished. Then the text is left for a day for what I call "maturation". The second phase consists of checking the text for its tone. It must sound as close to the original and at the same time it must sound 'native' or natural, avoiding unneeded phonetic coincidences and awkward combinations.
       With technical translation it's utterly different—one just has to break through the idiocy of the administrative and professional language.
       I'd never think of arguing with you about the usage of the word carro. My point was (and perhaps, yours, too, but you don't wish to admit it], that the choice between the two synonyms (the boy knew both) in favor of carro could well be grounded in the boy's liking of the "Gringoish" sound of the word. For the exactly opposite reasons the Senor preferred coche. He wanted to sound more "Mexican", more "indigenous", didn't he? There's no linguistic antagonism here. The English "car" and the Spanish carro are twins, originating from the Latin carrum, which successfully bifurcated in the Middle Ages.
       No problem about the “Rainmaker” title in Russian being descriptive. It fully complies with Russian literary standards. Pretty high ones. Chekhov's "Chelovek v futliare", Hugo's "Chelovek, kotoriy smeyotsia." Trust me. And try to appreciate the menacing rhythm of the word combination.
       I doubt if Siberians ever needed to invite rain or snow. Perhaps there were shamans making the Sun appear. I'm not sufficiently informed but in the southern parts of Russia, Povolzhie inclusive, people used to stage sacred processions among the wheat, barley and rye fields during droughts. The Russian Orthodox priests could be called "rainmakers". The gist of the lengthy reference is that they were supposed to prizyvat—call, invite, attract—dozhd, [rain]. The word prizyvat is rich in connotations. Russians prizvali variaga—the Varangian—Riurika" to rule them in Novgorod in 862 A.D.

Gaither:
       Exactly! The good writer Sinyavski never attempted to disagree or clarify what she was saying. A happy guy he must have been.
       Critics are sometimes unbelievable. The only excuse can be the fact that they carry out an ongoing linguistic analysis of the readers' preferences. On the other hand, they are intentionally forming a habit of liking EASY reading. I was amazed when I first let MS Word voice its 'grammar' check evaluation, and it marked all my passive voice phrases green, and demanded that I change them for active. Stupid. But it works. Recently a professor at the Pedagogical University Volgograd who lectured at an American university for 3 months this year said the students there raged when she wrote anything in her handwriting script on the blackboard. They couldn’t understand anything unless it was in print, preferably in block letters. I think it's one and the same thing as regulating the conversation/exposition ratio.
       Maybe your introspective style is more Russian, too.

       Michael

Michael,
       You can't imagine what a startling experience it is for me to read my own fiction in Russian. A wonderful sensation. Congratulations on another brilliant piece. I wonder how long “Rainmaker” took.
        I read the story carefully in places, in other places less, like the description of the collapse of the mansion where there are so many technical words I don't know. Your effort to make your translations "native" is clear—and appreciated. I consider literary translations a creative art and I'm not one to interfere. Therefore, I hesitate to comment too much. Just a couple of things that you asked about and a remark or two:
       1. The new title is picturesque, Da Prolyotsia…. The title "chelovek prizvavshy dozhd" relates more to the man Miguel himself, the rainmaker, as was my intention—not to the rain. I mean Miguel here is the cause; the rain is the effect.
       2. I think you rendered perfectly his incantations. Only this: the Spanish word ayudame [help me]—would the Russian letter "yu" not render the sound better? "a-yu-da-me"—help me—is the pronunciation.
      3. La Senora—perhaps it's a linguistic matter, but I don't understand why you use "Lya" for the Spanish article "la"—throughout the story, and also in his prayer, la tierra. It's simply "la."
       4. The word chingada [from the verb chingar] is used in one way or another all over Latin America and some in Spain. One of it's original meanings is something like "fuck." It is very popular in Mexico and means in this specific case, "she's screwed," in the non-erotic sense of, she got hers.
       5. When I read the part about "under the conniving Mexican sky" in Russian, it didn't ring right. My point in the story is that the Mexican sky connives [plots, collaborates] with Miguel's sexual instincts. It is not condescension as you imply.
       Michael, I will be in Paris for the week Dec 20 -28, leaving Thursday evening. Please send any messages to me as usual—but for this week with a copy to me at my Paris address that I attach.

       Merry Christmas,

       Gaither

Gaither:
       For me it's also a new and challenging experience to have my translations reviewed by the author of the originals, who also understands the translation—and can compare! I value highly the rare opportunity of getting an immediate feedback from you because no one else understands the real tone and meaning of the stories as well. I don't see your comments as an assault upon myself. The strictest exam of all! My sincere objective is to achieve the closest proximity to reasonable perfection, not to prove to anybody that I can translate.
       Somehow “The Rainmaker” was the hardest of all so far. It took me almost 2 days to bring it to the condition you read. There's something in it that makes (for me) the whole story somewhat uneven, emotionally ragged, brittle and unrhythmical. It is in full accordance with the subject, I'm sure, but it requires a stronger effort from me to make the translation adequate.
       "Henceforth" [the landlady’s word!] your help is and will always be gratefully accepted.
       The title I used, “Da prolyotsia ...” is an incantation in itself, a magic formula expressing a very strong desire for something to happen. Often applied as a curse. Which is close to what Miguel did. Thus it relates more to Miguel than to the rain.
       I have la puta exactly as you want it. It’s a linguistic matter. The basis for the differentiation lies in the effect of progressive assimilation between [l] and the following palatalized [t'ierra] and [s'eniora] according to the Russian phonetic tradition. In fact, both spellings are used in official publications referring to Spain or Latin America. Since you like it better I've substituted "lya" with "la".
       Idid guess the meaning of chingar, with the help of the dictionary and from the consequent English phrase. It's not the meaning that is difficult, but the offset of the peripheral meanings of fuck's closest match.
       The latter has a wide range of meanings, but none equivalent to "to be screwed" in the non-erotic sense. Besides, the contemporary Russian literary tradition rejects the use of 4-letter words in their indirect meaning.
       I wasn't happy with my choice of words either, but zavalit seemed close enough. It means both "flunk"—[she flunked her literature exam]—and "fuck/rape"—[He fucked her right in the discoteque.] The problem is it sounds far less rough and emotional than what Miguel REALLY said. So I'll work some more on it.
       Wish you lots of fun in Paris. I am leaving too on Friday, but for Samara, and plan to be back on the 27th. I'm taking my notebook with me, so I'll carry on the work, and we'll stay in touch.
       “Fallen Angel” is next. Very fitting for your Paris trip, isn't it?

Michael, I like that last title too!
       There would be a lot of irony and playful fate involved if I get to read “Fallen Angel” in Russian, in Paris, where Angel fluttered and fell. But of course, Angel himself is long gone! He must be somewhere in Russia, trying to find himself again. Maybe again learning to write.
       As far as chingada is concerned, it's a very popular word, Ah, he's chingado! He's screwed. [non erotic] In Cuba, I think it has something to do with coffee. "ll" is pronounced more like “y” in Mexico. In Argentina and Chile it's pronounced nearly like "zh" in Russian. Llamar—to call, is nearly "zhamar." The "la" is better—but I suspected you had a linguistic reason for using "lya."
       Meanwhile, we're still freezing here in the Siberian cold. It's strange but one suffers much more from the cold in Italy than in the north.

Volgograd, Dec. 25, 2001

Gaither,
       I wish you a Merry Christmas!
       Hope you feel warmer in Paris than in Rome. I apologize for the delay in delivery of the story. You will understand—"the beauty of a bottle of vodka among friends around a kitchen table, right?" Still, the promised work is done and the timing seems meaningful. Russian “Fallen Angel” is my Christmas present to you!
       I hope you enjoy the piece as much as I did! It was simply delicious. I like that typical manner of yours, which I'd describe as the "en bloc" narration, when it's hard to stop reading it at whatever page or paragraph.

Paris, December, 27

Michael:
       Tolko shto prochital rasskaz i ya v vostorgye! [ I just read the story and I’m enraptured.] Again how strange a sensation this story is in Russian. A gut feeling and close reading tell me your translation is brilliant.
       By the way, I exaggerated those "millions" of immigrants from the USSR; please use a more moderate word. But there were hundreds of thousands. And not to interfere with your artistic freedom in Nam, russkim, prixoditsya..." [We Russians have to …], but in this case I prefer my original "We Russians always have our destiny to rely on, or fall back on. In the sense of when other things fail, we always have this. Mine is slightly ironic, while your version implies Russians have little choice and must relay on sydba. [destiny]
       I don't like footnotes in fiction, but sometimes it's necessary in translations to indicate that certain words were originally in the same language into which the story is translated. I don't think the "Nikolai is thinking solution" works here either because he's always thinking in Russian anyway.
       Since "That Certain Sense of Complicity" is your next, here are a couple hints: Hildegard is realistic, Jason a dreamer with many hang-ups and Hemmungen. His guilt complex is important, as is her differentiation between her motherhood and her womanhood. A language tip: when he thinks “fucking time,” he does NOT mean it's time to fuck, but means like Goddam time! The Bois, by the way, is Paris' huge park, the Bois de Boulogne, where a huge storm two years ago destroyed many of its trees.
        One says that in a collection of stories the first, the middle and the last stories should be the strongest. I chose "The Italian and the Unicorn" as the opener because many people liked it, it reaches over from New York to Europe, and it has the dream-like quality [the presence of the Unicorn-God] that I wanted. The “Village Sagra” is central and its protagonist is representative of many of my lost characters. “Jupiter Hill” is the wanderer's return, but a rather disorienting return for him and the reader too, I think.
       One last matter—what do you think of the present preface for a Russian edition?
       When will you cut off that Siberian weather? It's too fucking cold in Paris too!

P.S. The conductor of the story of the same name I will send you is not uprooted because he is a conductor, but he became a conductor because he is uprooted and can't decide where he wants to be.

Volgograd, January 4, 2002

Gaither:
       I read your new masterpiece, “The Conductor,” in one gulp. Hadn't you brought diamonds into it, I’d describe the story as an ideally shaped pearl exuding a mysterious glint. If there's such thing as a "lace of pearls", it could be a close comparison to that rhythmically evolving, a dynamic, and never stalling narration. This unidentifiable object changing hands, yet finally a diamond. Great!
       I could even feel the soft rattle of the train behind the words. Thank you for letting me witness the whole genesis of the piece. Is it a beginning of another theme/cycle—people on the road? Action, and fate, and mystery?
       You asked me about the Preface to Icy Current, Compulsive Course. I believe it's fine and doesn't need any rewriting. What I'd suggest is, after a Russian publisher has accepted the book, then a Foreword for the Russian reader might be a natural addition. Kak eto Vam? [What do you think?]

Michael:
       The presence of emeralds and diamonds in recent stories is ironic, for in life I have never been interested at all in precious stones. It just happened. I usually try a new story out on a few people, in this case on you and on my brother in Paris. Since you both seem to like it, I will send it out somewhere.
       Unsure of what holidays you mark, and when, I will simply wish you good holidays, happiness, love, and much success.
       I liked my recent stay in New York for its real multiethnicity. From the month of November someone in New York is always celebrating—American Thanksgiving, then Ramadan, then Hanukkah, then Christmas, then New Years, then Orthodox Christmas, etc. Plus, the huge ethnic parades—Italians' Columbus Day parade, the Latin Americans et al. All that impressed me because I have always loved racial mixing. It seems to me racial hang ups are among mankind's greatest problems.

Gaither;
       A famous Russian humorist writer, Mikhail Zhvanetsky, once said that "holidays should be celebrated not by the calendar, but by the pulse beat". I share that attitude, and celebrate all of them just as days off, but the New Year also as another milestone. And also whenever I feel like celebrating—completing a job, meeting with a friend, reading a good book, news from a partner, etc. My reference to gems was not ironic at all. I really perceived the story as something neatly shaped and shining. It could be a worthy part of the Icy Current collection. Is it too late to make any amendments?
       I visited the 15th issue of Southern Cross Review with your “Persian Gardens” and read the reviews there. Now I have a better idea of what my Icy Current review should look like.
       Happy holidays to you, irrespective of their race, nation or religion affiliation.

Telecasts are speaking of the coldest winter in Europe in many a year. I saw today that it was -11 in Moscow; in one place in Calabria in south Italy the thermometer read -20! The other day on TV I saw the old film, Spartacus—all the Romans in their sandals and togas—and I still wonder how they survived the winters. But Romans today are still tough people; many believe the myth that Rome is tropical and don't have central heating. Yet every winter droves of people die of carbon monoxide from gas stoves. But it's a fact, foreigners who come to live here suffer from the cold in Italy more than in Russia or the USA because houses here are so poorly insulated. I sit around with a blanket around my shoulders.

Volgograd, January 6

I'm glad you have a flexible approach to a Russian edition of your book. Perhaps not substituting anything, but expanding the collection to say 25 stories. I'll use the holidays to finish "A Certain Sense of Complicity" and "The Italian and the Unicorn” quite soon.
I'm sorry about that shameless cold in Italy. The weather has sort of stabilized here before the Russian Xmas—crispy snow and -10 for several days already. The blanket over your shoulders is good, but a combination of that with Samarskaya vodka is much more effective. The "RODNIK" distillery claims that 95% of its production is exported. Have you ever seen any "Rodnik" vodka (Samarskaya, Gubernatorskaya, Triumfalnaya) in the stores? I recommend it as the best ever Russian vodka. Ona nastolko miagkaya, chto, vypiv, mozhno, po-gusarski, ne srazu, tianutsia za zakuskoy. A utrom nikakih posledstviy. [It’s so smooth that after drinking it you can wait a bit, like a Hussar, for the zakuzki. And in the morning, no aftereffec