Customer Reviews

The Translator

5 star:		(7)
4 star:		(0)
3 star:		(3)
2 star:		(0)
1 star:		(0)

 

 

John Crowley's prose, always a delight, just keeps getting better. Here it's polished like fine crystal: no flashy lyricism, no polysyllabic raids on Roget, just limpid phrases that speak freshly and place you, antennae quivering, in the center of the scene. "The Translator" presents itself as a quiet, small, well-lighted novel, a chamber piece with only four or five speaking parts. On those terms, it succeeds just about perfectly.

In a sense, all of Crowley's novels, even those set in some far future, have been historical novels. Lately, he's become confident enough to choose periods his readers can remember. His ongoing tetralogy (begun in "Aegypt") has been bringing the mid seventies back to life with perfect political and cultural pitch; "The Translator" does the same for the repressed, restless, hopeful, doom-haunted Zeitgeist of the few years between Eisenhower's fifties and LBJ's sixties. Within that grey-lit zone unfolds the story of a campus romance. Its special tincture of the erotic with the Platonic - when a Russian interlocutor, many years later, asks our heroine Kit whether she and Professor Falin were "lovers", she is honestly unable to remember - would have rung false in any other epoch.

But while Kit narrates her simple story, Crowley has many other fish surreptitiously sizzling in the fire. He is studying the nature of translation, the nature of personal identity, the nature of national identity; the ways in which poetry fails to be genuine poetry both when it is, and when it is not, politically "relevant." And finally the themes and the personal histories of this uncharacteristically realistic novel do not appear to be resolvable, apart from the angelic mythology explored in Falin's final poem.

I rate this book at four and a half stars, but I round it up because of my strong feeling that there's much more here than has yet met my eye. Perpetually fluttering his wings at this volume's edges and crannies is the figure of Vladimir Nabokov - also a "translator", also a Russian poet in exile, like Kit a fan of Lewis Carroll's Alice, and who famously adopted a position with regard to political relevance in art seemingly diametrically opposed to the one taken by Crowley's Falin. So, I suspect that this book is even more carefully crafted than its exquisite surface would suggest. In particular, its' worth considering whether by the time the story ends it is only poems that have been "translated."

This is one of the most powerful and moving books
I've ever read. Couldn't put it down and then couldn't
stop thinking about it afterwards. I'm still re-reading
passages in order to relive the sensations.
The act of translation and the ideas and issues surrounding
it are artfully used as a trampoline for delving into
many other interesting and emotional topics...
A wonderful, layered experience.

This is the kind of reading experience in which you may find that you are breathing quietly and slowly, forgetting to eat or sleep, and letting the kids watch way too much television. The dog will mourn at your feet until you, as slowly as possible, turn the last page.

Told during the 1960s with the Cuban Missile Crisis as a backdrop, John Crowley has created a smart love story in The Translator. The story follows Christa, a college student who develops a relationship with one of her instructors, Falin, a Russian poet who has been exiled from his country under mysterious circumstances. Much like the translations that Christa is making for Falin of his poems, their relationship is complicated and intricate. John Crowley's prose is beautifully written and the story is well paced. An overall enjoyable book.

I went to college in the Midwest in the early 60s so excuse me if I wax (is that a word?) a little rapturous. This is a scarily, scantily perfect little novel, the best thing on those odd dislocated years (1960-63) since Joan Baez's "Diamonds and Rust," and it has the same elegiac flatlands tone. It's about poetry and politics, of course. Oh, and storms.

This is a beautiful and heartbreaking novel, set in a time that is fading for many of us: the Cuban missile crisis. The heroine, Christa Malone, is awakened from the coldness and desolation of her family life by her love for the poet Innocenti Falin, who himself survived a devastating childhood as one of the lost children of the post-war Soviet Union. The writing, especially the poetry of the two main characters, is very fine. There is a touch of magic realism to the ending, which will make you want to reread and reread. A lovely lovely book.

I thought this novel would be interesting, and it was, at the outset. I found myself engrossed in the lead character and in the misplaced Russian literary figure teaching somewhere in the midwest. There were good pieces of poetry that were being analyzed, and an interesting relationship was being developed between student and teacher.
But somewhere in the middle, I lost interest because there was just too much preciousness about it all, too much meandering in the writing, and I didn't seem to care anymore.
I did read the work all the way through, but never regained interest in it.
I really wouldn't recommend it.

Wow! This book is now my favorite of all time. I struggle to find words to describe it and how much I liked it.

This is the first book I've read by John Crowley; I'd been attracted to buy it from a review, and was particularly looking forward to many of its elements--an exiled poet from Russia, how language can change the world, a look at the time when I grew up (I'm the same age as Kit, and I also grew up and went to college in the Midwest), with a backdrop of the Cuban Missile Crisis, which I didn't know much about.

However, I never got drawn into this novel--the writing seemed to keep me at arm's length, and I just didn't care about Kit, the young student/poet who is looking back at her days at college with the newly exiled Russian poet Falin, while also visiting Russia--and Falin's poet friend(s)--for the first time, years later. The writing of this book really disappointed me; I was expecting it to be better, though I can imagine it would appeal to some (the flat tone, perhaps).

The novel has a lot of elements to it but, for me, many just weren't detailed or developed enough (except Kit's story--and I found myself not caring about her past because I didn't care about her, period). I have young friends from Russia and know of the importance that poetry has in the lives of Russians that it simply doesn't in America; I found the book interesting in that regard, though so wished for more detail, both in the present-day Russian segments and in Falin's history (though the 'besprizornye'--lost children--of Russia is eye-opening, but I wanted more of Falin's past and less of Kit's brother's). I especially was fascinated by what details there are about the Cuban Missile Crisis, but again, thought there could have been so much more done with this, longed for more specifics in this backdrop.

The book seemed somewhat of a mishmash for me--is it a love story between Kit and Falin? Well, yes and no. Is it a Cold War whodunit? Well, no, not really, you never really understand fully what happened that last night, though Crowley threads the Cold War and the CIA/FBI through the last part of the novel particularly. Is it really about the power of language or poetry? Again, yes and no.

I felt, at the end, that I had read little bits about various interesting topics that just never quite hung together as a whole. I thought about the ending for awhile, but the book just never made an emotional impact on me, wasn't a book I thought about or pondered a great deal while I was reading it and didn't leave me thinking about it for days afterwards, as I do when I finish a book that's both multi-layered and pulls me into the story.

I would like to agree with the other five-star reviewers here, but just can't, in all honesty, though I started the book hoping I had a wonderful find in my hands. I kept on hoping it would pick up, draw me in, but it never did, alas. This may appeal, though, to readers who like more 'intellectual' or abstract books than I do--I like to get intimately involved in a story.

I thought this novel would be interesting, and it was, at the outset. I found myself engrossed in the lead character and in the misplaced Russian literary figure teaching somewhere in the midwest. There were good pieces of poetry that were being analyzed, and an interesting relationship was being developed between student and teacher.
But somewhere in the middle, I lost interest because there was just too much preciousness about it all, too much meandering in the writing, and I didn't seem to care anymore.
I did read the work all the way through, but never regained interest in it.
I wouldn't recommend it.