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July 15, 2011

Comments

Sir Osis of Thuliver

It's amazing how much cleaner, clearer, and defter Mallory is than either Steinbeck or Ackroyd.

Jennifer

I was just going to say something to that effect. And I think having to briefly puzzle out the words makes it better too. Doing the work yourself, I guess. Translating this seems like kind of a thankless task. How could anyone improve on "I wyll wel"?

Michael

This inspired me to dig out the version I read when I was young. I'm not sure how a book published in 1940 came into my possession in the mid '70s, but I know I read it at least once (and then read The Once and Future King countless times more).

Anyway, it's an abridgment of Malory by Charles Richard Sanders and Charles E. Ward. They write in their foreward: "The modern reader demands a readable text. That requirement, we believe, we have met, not only by mechanical innovations but by retaining the important materials, strongly braced and sharply outlined."

Here's their take, which seems to mostly just update the spelling and cut a bit:

"'I will well,' said Arthur, and rode fast after the sword, and when he came home, the lady and all were out to see the jousting. Then was Arthur wroth, and said to himself, 'I will ride to the churchyard, and take the sword with me that sticketh in the stone, for my brother Sir Kay shall not be without a sword this day.' So when he came to the churchyard, Arthur alit and so he handled the sword by the handles, and lightly and fiercely pulled it out of the stone, and took his horse and rode his way until he came to his brother Sir Kay, and delivered him the sword."

TEV

Very interesting, Michael, especially to consider the modern reader of the 1940s versus the modern reader of today, who would almost surely stumble on wroth. (Though I do love the word!)

Robyn

It's interesting that everyone's version except the one in the comment above includes the detail that Arthur tied his horse to the stile. Just in case you wondered why his horse didn't wander off with all that tugging?

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TEV DEFINED


  • The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

SECOND LOOK

  • The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald

    Bs

    Penelope Fitzgerald's second novel is the tale of Florence Green, a widow who seeks, in the late 1950s, to bring a bookstore to an isolated British town, encountering all manner of obstacles, including incompetent builders, vindictive gentry, small minded bankers, an irritable poltergeist, but, above all, a town that might not, in fact, want a bookshop. Fitzgerald's prose is spare but evocative – there's no wasted effort and her work reminds one of Hemingway's dictum that every word should fight for its right to be on the page. Florence is an engaging creation, stubbornly committed to her plan even as uncertainty regarding the wisdom of the enterprise gnaws at her. But The Bookshop concerns itself, finally, with the astonishing vindictiveness of which provincials are capable, and, as so much English fiction must, it grapples with the inevitabilities of class. It's a dense marvel at 123 pages, a book you won't want to – or be able to – rush through.
  • The Rider by Tim Krabbe

    Rider_4

    Tim Krabbé's superb 1978 memoir-cum-novel is the single best book we've read about cycling, a book that will come closer to bringing you inside a grueling road race than anything else out there. A kilometer-by-kilometer look at just what is required to endure some of the most grueling terrain in the world, Krabbé explains the tactics, the choices and – above all – the grinding, endless, excruciating pain that every cyclist faces and makes it heart-pounding rather than expository or tedious. No writer has better captured both the agony and the determination to ride through the agony. He's an elegant stylist (ably served by Sam Garrett's fine translation) and The Rider manages to be that rarest hybrid – an authentic, accurate book about cycling that's a pleasure to read. "Non-racers," he writes. "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."