I am shocked, deeply shocked, by comments that this is a poor translation. The original text is phenomenally complex, with interwoven puns and jokes and references to make an ordinary translator weep. Most such translations are stilted, painful to read except as "cribs" for students.
But this one, well. Heh.
Okay, consider this:
"I've just been visiting a businessman and, according to him, the only way to succeed is to practice the 'triangled technique': try to escape your obligations, annihilate your kindly feelings, and geld yourself of the sense of shame. Try-an-geld. You get it? Jolly clever, don't you think?"
This is a remark from one of the various intellectual snobs who are dominant characters here. Now if you can't guess, and I suppose several of the reviewers here can't, there is a complicated pun in the original (my wife teaches Japanese literature and deals with the originals, you see). But the point is that it's sort of funny, but really it's just a play on words that's a little too labored to be funny. It's a joke for the sort of intellectual snobs that find this kind of thing amusing. And that's exactly what comes across with this "try-an-geld" thing. Brilliant!
I know a professor who teaches Japanese literature who started working through the original and this translation with his students. At every turn, they found another deft and elegant in-joke turned into a deft and elegant English variant. It's not perfect, but this is as close to a perfect translation as you're ever likely to find.
For those of you who know a lot about literature, consider translating Nabokov -- let's say Lolita or Pale Fire -- into Chinese, a totally uninflected language. Can you say, "pain"? Insanely difficult. Okay, same problem here. But Ito and Wilson pull it off.
For normal people, let's bear in mind that this book is hysterical, if you're a little worldly-wise and a little over-educated. If you know people like the intellectual snobs and elites who populate this book, you're going to love this. You can quickly get over the fact that it's early 20th C. Japan -- academics are academics, and you will recognize them immediately.
In case you were wondering, Mr. Sneaze's name, in Japanese, is Mr. Sneeze. Yes, it's a weird name. No, it's not just a name, it's bizarre.
I'll conclude with one further remark about translation of this beloved, very funny book, which incidentally is also good for cat lovers (the discussion of appropriate sleeping places based on moral and aesthetic principles, culminating in the assessment that on top of the rice cooker is the correct place for morning naps is very funny if you have a cat), taking up the problem of the title.
Wagahai wa neko de aru.
(Literally) I Am A Cat.
But the problem is that "wagahai" is kind of like the royal "we" taken to extremes; it's a lordly, infinitely superior way of talking, of saying "I". And the "de aru" form is again ultra-formal, just not the way people ever, ever talk. "Neko" is just cat. So the point is that the whole title is insanely incongruous: how could a cat, of all beings, ever say "wagahai", much less use the "de aru" form? Well, this cat can. Believe me, he can. He may have no name, but "wagahai" he is forever, a lord in his domain, a superior being among cats.
If you think academic humor is EVER funny, you will find this book hysterical. Absolutely the funniest thing you've ever read. If you hate all such things, you may not like this. But it's a pity: this cat is a charmer.
If you own a cat, of course, and he does things like indicate (ever so subtly) that somehow he is a superior being who deigns to live with you but is actually studying you for some kind of philosophical text, then you know this cat. And if you're an academic with a cat, you'll get it in two chapters, and be hooked for the rest.
A brilliant translation of a wonderful book. Read it and laugh!
