I Want to Do Something Stupid...

A friend of mine wrote a poem that stuck in my brain.

I want to do something stupid
While I can still blame it on being young -

I want to go to New York to study literary translation.  I'm not good with strange places and strange people, I grew up in the suburban Midwest and went to school in a medium-sized town - I don't think I can handle New York.  I have been assured by my professors - as well as the program director at NY - that I will not be able to make a living with literary translation.  Not to mention that it is a dual program in Translation AND Creative Writing - and while last semester I proved to myself that I can handle a Creative Writing class, it's still not my favorite thing to contend with.

Really, I should just forget about that program as impractical in every way, and just go to Kent State, like my professor advised.  (I told her I wanted to get out of Wisconsin - believe it or not, there is a translation school in Milwaukee - and she gave me Ohio.  Well, perhaps I should have been more general.)  The program there is technical translation, legal and medical and computer, all sorts of things that people actually pay translators for, and while it's certainly not the best field, I will likely do as well as can be expected.

But that's the safe option.  I've always taken the safe option, and frankly, I'm sick of it.  Not many people know this, but I almost applied for UAA - the University of Alaska, Anchorage.  If I'd done that, I'd probably be looking at Applied Linguistics and native language preservation by now.  And I'd probably know how to dogsled.  It was a pleasant dream my junior year, but when I actually started applying, I thought of so many logistical and practical barriers, that in the end I never even applied.  I went to safe, 90-minutes away, whitewashed, Midwestern Eau Claire.  And I met so many wonderful people here, and have enjoyed myself immensely and grown so much, and I have pushed my boudaries, really.  But Eau Claire is not Alaska.

I almost went to Graz, Austria, for my semester abroad, instead of Marburg, Germany.  But no one else was going to Graz; besides, the Austrian dialect is so thick it's hardly even German.  There, it is a complete immersion experience, and you take classes with native speakers in the native language.  Marburg, on the other hand, gives you German-for-foreigners with other foreigners.  Safe.

That was a mistake.

Long story short I was bored out of my mind and depressed for about six months straight.  That's what comes of taking the safe option.

Granted, I haven't even applied, much less gotten in.  The New York program is very competitive, and I'm going up against people who are already professional translators and want to expand their horizons a bit.  There is, however, another translation school with a good reputation in Monterey, California.  Monterey, from what I can gather, is the Eau Claire of California - there's nothing to do, and you're only there if you're a student or retired.  Monterey is the compromise option.  Monterey is the Eau Claire between the U of M and Alaska (though it is a bit closer to Alaska than the U).  So I can safely go there without feeling like a coward.  And I think in typing this I just convinced myself to go there after all.

But I'm going to at least try for New York.  I have to.  If I don't get in and end up at Monterey, that's fine, but if I never even try...well, that's just pathetic.  And if I do get in, and end up going there, and it ends up being a horrible mistake, at least I made an interesting mistake instead of a boring one.

"Frostfire" - by Kai Meyer, Chapter 3 (Part 6/7)

(Not that this has anything to do with Valentine's Day.  There's snow, but that's about it.)

            Step by step.  Agonizingly slow.

            The cold would do her in, if she did not walk faster.  She knew that every night people froze on the streets of St. Petersburg.  People without money, without a place to stay.  She, on the other hand, had an entire hotel for herself.  If not for this wall that separated her from it.  And the endless distance to the front entrance.

            She would not make it.  Never.  With every step that she overcame, another one seemed to be added underneath her.  An endless descent into the pitch-black Nowhere.

            She did not even feel hatred for Maxim and the others.  In her was only panic.  All-consuming panic and cold.

            And then she arrived at the bottom.  The tips of her feet tested for the edge of another step, but the next one was sunk deep in the snow.  She had reached level ground, the surface of the mass of snow that covered all of St. Petersburg.

            She sank in, but not especially deep:  She was too light.  She stumbled over the hem of the coat, let out a sob as she fell against the wall of the hotel, and yet somehow kept herself on her feet.  If she fell now, she would not get up.  The emptiness above would press her down into the snow, like the boot of a giant.

            Onward!  Go onward!

            She pushed herself along with her back to the wall.  The wall gave her a bit of support and kept the outside world far away at least in one direction.  That way she did not feel so entirely unprotected.

            It was cruel torture to battle her way to the next corner.  The narrow swath led into a wider alley.  If the fire escape was found on the back side of the Aurora, then this had to be the side wall. From here, the way along it to the Nevsky Prospect and the main entrance seemed to Mouse to be as endless as if someone had demanded for her to walk to Siberia on foot.

            Hopeless, whispered a voice inside her.  You won’t make it.  You’ll die.  Better to just lie here in the snow. Freezing doesn’t hurt, Kukushka had said; you simply go to sleep.

            She did not give up.  Not yet.

            Behind driving curtains of snow she saw a distant shimmer of light:  the end of the alley, the shine of the gas lanterns on the Nevsky Prospect.

            The soft snow under her feet and the much too long coat hindered her.  With her back against the wall, both hands with fingers spread out on the stone, she pushed herself sideways.  She kept her eyes closed now, to block out the Outside World.  The cold ate at her like fire.

            In the blackness behind her eyelids emerged a picture, like a painting, that drifted up to the surface of the dark ocean depths.  A sharp-edged outline.  Towers and battlements that thrust like knives into the raging sky of snow, high up on a harsh rocky cliff.

            Mouse tore her eyes open.  The vision faded away.  Dream snow became real.  The light had come closer, but she felt that her steps kept growing heavier.  Would someone punish Maxim and the others, if she froze out here?  Unlikely.  No one would blame them.  She was, after all, only the Girl-Boy, easier to replace than a broken window pane.

(Translation note of the day:  There is a word in German, "weiter," that can be translated as wide, far, another, or high/stoned.  I definitely got it mixed up in my first draft before I caught myself.  Still, it's hard to decide whether a path is leading to a "distant alley" or a "wider alley" or "one more alley."  Headache.)

The Calm After The Storm

FFF.

Fuckin' Folk Fair.

What is Folk Fair?  For those of you who don't know, it is a large culture fair that takes over one of the academic buildings on campus.  Every cultural organization (and then some) gets a room or a table to put up an informational display about their country.  And sell food.  Seriously, people only really come for the food.

This year was particularly exciting because FFF fell on Halloween weekend, which is really weird timing, and also because none of us had ever planned a FFF before.  Nor did any of us live off campus and have a nice private kitchen and a grown-up refrigerator.  Fridge stuffed full of butter.  The worst part is that we grossly overestimated how much we needed.  We would have been more than okay with half the amount.  Fuckin' butter.

It's for cheesecake.  German cheesecake, that I should be allowed near because I ended up destroying two when taking them out of the pans and making one that did not get cooked all the way through (which really wasn't my fault, but I still had a hand in making it).  It is an absolute bitch to make, but after the first bite, you suddenly remember why we go through all this trouble every year for that damn cheesecake, because it is so freakin' good.

And it's over.  One more year done.  I swear I will never do it again, at the same time knowing that I will in fact get suckered into it.  But at least I have another ten months to relax and not think about it.  I can focus on distributing the gear to the fencing team, which shouldn't be too hard except that one girl is MIA and I'm starting to get a little worried.  Then I have to get the team to a tournament, which would be a lot easier if I knew how many were going, but they have not responded to at least a dozen emails.  Like herding canaries.

I have an exam on Monday, and an exam on Tuesday, and a research paper I should probably get started on, I still have no idea what I'm going to do for NaNoWriMo, and I'm likely going to catch my roommate's cold tomorrow.  Yeah.  Now that FFF is done, I can totally relax.  At least I don't have to bake anything.

Die Welt ist Schwul

"Die Welt ist Schwul" ("The World is Gay"), from German rap artist Blumio and featuring Jessica Jean:

I don't have the best ability to comprehend lyrics, especially rap lyrics, even in English, but as near as I can tell, the German text goes something like this:

Ich bin ein durchschnittlicher männlicher Bürger

Ich bin ein gesunder Geist in dem menschlichen Körper

Hab’ ein ganz normaler Junge, der auf Hip-Hop steht

Ich bin tolerant, doch Schwulen find’ ich nicht ok

Immerhin hat der liebe Gott Adam und Eve erschaffen

Und es liegt nicht in Seine Natur, Fehler zu machen, naja

Ist dann meine Meinung, aber nun, genuger Quatsch

Ich gehe jetzt in Bett schon, Leute.  Also Gute Nacht!

Schlaf, Schlaf, Schlaf, Schlaf Schlaf

Was, schon so früh?  (… …) aufgestanden

Um zehn Uhr treffe ich mit meine Liebe (vor … …en)

Ich gehe vor die Tur – ah, da steht sie ja schon

Hi Schatz – ja, dann gehen wir mal los

(…) scheint auch die Sonne, die letzen Tagen waren sehr dürftig

Aber Baby, warte mal, irgendwas ist merkwürdig

Viele Schwule Paare heute im Park unterwegs

Muss auf achten,nicht zu ihm mit dem Arschen zu weg!

Verstehst du doch mal im ernst, aber ist ‘ne komische Frage

Aber ist dann heute irgendso eine Romaparade?

Hm, naja, egal, Ich küss meine Frau auf die Wacke

Ein Opa schreit Du Schweine konnte zu Hause machen!

Was?  Ist doch voll normal!

Was soll denn dieser Scheisse?

Ist doch schön wenn ich meine Lieb’ zu meiner Liebe zeigen

Ich frage mich hin, was für eine Gegen ich bin

Alter, wo zum Teufel (… …) all die Heteros sind?

Die Welt ist schwul.  Nananananaaaa

Die Leute zeigen auf mich und die sagen, ist eigentlich   normal

Verdammt, die Welt ist schwul.  Nananananananaaaa

Ich werde diskriminiert doch die meisten … ist das egal

Was ist hier los, man?  Ich (…)  (den mächtigen Körper?)

Wo ich auch hinschaue sehe ich schwule und lesbische Paare

Viele schauen schräg an – was wollen diese (verflixten)?

Auf in drüben stehen Jugendliche die über uns Witze machen

He, heute schon Pimmel in die Scheide gesteckt?

Oder als Mann bei der Frau zwischen den Beinen gelegt?

Warum fragen sie so sinnlosen, schmutzigen (…)

Wie (be…) Hetero als Schimpfwort benutzen

Oh, mein Chef ist voller Asi-Mann (der ist voll) hetero

Guck mal die (weiden kommen auf, auf ein) ‘etero

Ich bin verwirrt.  Wie ist das voll zum (achsen an)

Ich muss weg.  Ich geh zum Haus

Und mach erstmal die Gloze an

(… … …)

Die meinen dass man in andere Länder sogar Heteros (…)

(…) soll ich mein Leben verbringen?

Der Papst sagt, dass ich in die Hölle kommen wenn ich Hetero bin

Die Welt is schwul.  Nananananananaaaa…

Die Leute zeigen auf mich und die sagen, ist eigentlich   normal

Verdammt, die Welt ist schwul.  Nananananananaaaa

Ich werde diskriminiert doch die meisten … ist das egal

Ich wollte mich nächste Woche mit meine Frau Irena verloben

Aber in Deutschland ist die Hetero-Ehe verboten

Jeder hat ne gleich berechtliche Stimme  - so eine Lüge!

Was kann ich dafür, dass ich mich zu Frauen hingezogen fühle?

Dabei ist es doch Liebe – es sind die gleichen Gefühle

Wenn ich gleich auch meine Partnerin auf andere Weise verfügen!

Es ist trotz allerdem dieselbe Kribbe in die Lagen gehen

A(…) diese Liebe, die schimmernde Hoffnung in der Leben(…)

Doch Komplett auf anderen Leute sind echt ‘ne Realiität

Man (… …) reduziert auf die sexualität

Ich bin ein Kerl, esse gern Pizza und die Strand (…)

Doch weil ich Frauen mag, weigern manche an mich zu (reichen)

So unter Hitler waren die Heteros gejagdt

Ich gehe raus und ich hefte die Regenbogen Flagge

Warum hasst die uns?  Nichts wird daraus besser!

Dann lieg ich in meinem Bett, und ich hör mal die Wecker

Es war alles nur ein Traum, doch es hat sich in mein Kopf verbrannt

Ich geh ins Wohnzimmer und mache die Glotze an

Ich sehe ein Komedien, wie er Witze über Schwule weiss

Ich denke mir, dass kann doch eigentlich nicht gutes sein

Nie wieder schwulfrei!

Die Welt ist schwul...

The English approximation:

I’m your average male citizen

I’m a healthy spirit in a human body

Have a completely normal son that likes hip-hop

I’m tolerant, but I don’t think the gays are okay

Anyway, the Lord God, made Adam and Eve

And it’s not in His nature to make mistakes

That’s my opinion, but enough nonsense

I’m going to bed, folks, so goodnight!

Sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep, sleep

What, already that early?  I get up (…)

At ten I meet with my lover  for (…)

I go to the door – ah, she’s already there

Hi, darling  - now let’s go!

It’s good to see the sun, the last few days were pretty poor

But baby, wait a moment – something is strange here.

A lot of gay couples walking around in the park

Got to be careful not to let let them look at my ass

No, but seriously, it’s an odd question

But is there some kind of a gypsy parade today?

Hm, oh well.  I kiss my girl on the cheek

A grandpa yells “You pigs can do that at home!”

What?  But it’s completely normal?

What is this shit?

It’s nice when I show my love to my love!

I ask myself, what kind of a weirdo am I?

Old man, where the hell are all the have all the straight people gone?

The world is gay.  Nanananananaaaa.

People point at me and say that’s completely normal.

Dammit, the world is gay.   Nanananananaaaaa.

I’m discrimated against, and most people don’t really care.

What’s going on, man?  I (… … ….)

Wherever I look are gay and lesbian pairs.

People look at me weird – what, are they trying to (…)?

Over there some kids are making jokes about us.

“Hey, have you put dick in a vagina today?

Or laid between her legs like a man with a woman?”

Why are they asking such dirty, pointless (…)?

And everywhere I hear hetero used as an insult!

“Oh, my boss is a jerk, he’s so hetero.”

“Look at (… … …) hetero!”

I’m confused. What is this (…)?

I have to get away, I go home, and turn the TV on

“(…)”

They say that in other countries, heteros even get killed!

And how am I supposed to spend my life?

The Pope says that I’m going to Hell if I’m straight!

The world is gay.  Nanananananaaaa…

I wanted to marry my girlfriend Irena next week

But in Germany, gay marriage is illegal!

Everyone has an equally counted voice – what a lie!

How can I help it if I’m attracted to women?

It’s still love – it’s the same feelings

When I, like my partner, am attracted to opposite gender

Despite all that, it’s the same tingling in the same place

This love that is a shimmering hope in the life (…)

But to other people, it’s a harsh reality,

(… … …) the sexuality?

I’m just a guy, I like pizza and the beach,

But because I like women, people refuse to serve me.

Like how straight people were hunted down by Hitler!

I go outside and wave a rainbow flag

Why do they hate us?  It won’t make anything better!

And then I lie in my bed and hear my alarm clock again

It was all just a dream, but it burned in my head

I go to the living room and turn the TV on

I see a comedian, and how he knows jokes about gay people

I think to myself, that can’t be anything good…

Never again gay-free!

The world is gay.  Nanananananaaaa…

Was ist Literatur?

What is Literature?

What kind of stupid question is that? 

This is why I do not like literature classes.  I do like reading, and analyzing, and asking questions about texts.  The problem is that sometimes people get a bit carried away with regards to asking questions.  You are only supposed to ask them when you actually want an answer - and when you have something to gain from the answer.

Literature is just a word; and like every word, it has several meanings and shades of meaning.  For instance, it is often thought of as 1) what pretentious old academics call their favorite books (or the books they want you to think are their favorites), but anyone who works with it in depth usually takes the broader definition of 2) any and all written art.  A colloquial meaning, and the technical meaning.  No need for a philosopher; this is a job for a linguist.

I do not care if "a book is the ax for the frozen sea inside us" (Kafka).  I do not care if the goal of art is "to capture this world in such a way as to show how it is, but as though it had its source in human freedom" (Sartre).  All I know is that I need books the way I need food, and that if I don't write, I will die.  And that is enough of an answer for me.

The German Cult

Those who have ever taken a German class will know exactly what I am talking about.  For those who haven't, I will do my best to explain. 

People who study German are a minority.  Therefore, every time you get a large group of them together, there is an instant bond.  It doesn't matter if you have anything in common outside of German, or if you have entirely conflicting personalities.  There's still a sense of recognition, and a basic respect.

A German class will invariably come up with its own inside jokes.  "Gebiesten," happened in my high school (I have the T-shirt to prove it), "Deutsches L" is a big one at my college, and "...oder?" seems to be the Steven's Point catchphrase. 

Now here's what sucks about the study abroad program:

The students in my class come from all over the world:  Taiwan, Cameroon, Saudi Arabia, China, Sri Lanka, just to name a few.  They are here in this language course in order to take this monster of a test (The DSH - Imagine the ACT/SAT in German without bubbles.  I miss bubbles.) that they need in order to study at a German university - presumably to get a better education than they could in there homeland.  The Americans, on the other hand, are in the language course because that is where our program puts us.  We are here in Germany for fun, to experience German culture, and because we have sold our souls to ther German language.  The other foreigners are merely selling their bodies and minds, and don't understand why we would learn this ridiculous language just for fun.  Therefore, we are not meshing into a true German cult, and that saddens me.

It is true that learning German is difficult, but so is learning any other language.  In fact, for native English-speakers, German is one of the easier languages to learn, being part of the same family.  The myth that Spanish is easy is quickly dispelled by the multitude of irregular verb stems, some of which barely resemble the original verb. 

It is also a commonly held opinion that German sounds ugly.  Personally, I think it's sexy.  No, really. It has a deeper tone and a soothing rhythm, compared to English.  Spanish, Italian, French, just sound shrill and agitated.  Although in my class, the woman from Hungary would get my vote for the coolest accent.  It just sounds so sweet and musical.

For me, German is also a way to get in touch with my roots - I'm half German, as I may have mentioned.  Many Midwesterners have German heritage, and it is not uncommon to meet ones who try to show off and say "I took two years of German in high school - but I don't remember any of it except Guten Tag and Scheisse."  These are the ones who managed to escape the German cult before they signed their souls away - or rather, the souls who were not strong enough to make it all the way to the end.  Or, you know, decided on a more practical path of study.

It is true that German is not a highly marketable skill.  Yes, Germany is important in the business world, but most Germans speak English and have been learning it since grade school, which makes an American trying to learn German in college almost redundant.  Almost all of the German cultists have a second "career" major, German fulfilling the university's ridiculous requirement of needing more than one field of study, or simply for pure enjoyment.  That is another thing that sets us apart from the students of Spanish or Chinese or Computer Programming.  We are not suffering through this in order to make a lot of money further down the road. We are here by choice, because to some degree, all of us have fallen in love with the German language.

And that is what sets us apart from the rest of the class.

Please note that I am using the word "cult" in a humorous and/or metaphorical sense.  We do not sacrifice kittens at midnight.  Though we are secretly plotting world domination.

That was also a joke.  It wouldn't be a secret if I told.

"Frostfire" by Kai Meyer - Chapter 2, Part 1/4

The Chapter In Which We Meet the Girl-Boy Mouse.  And The Dangerous Roundsman.

            It is true that Mouse was a girl.  But only a few knew that.  Most took her for a boy.  And when Mouse looked in a mirror, sometimes she even believed it herself.

            It is also true that she was a thief.

            As though harried by a thousand devils, she ran through the corridors of the venerable Grand Hotel Aurora.  The man that followed her was hard on her heels.  Not a good day for a hotel-room thief.  Not even when she committed her theft with such great dexterity as Mouse.

            The upper floor of the Hotel Aurora was reserved for special guests.  At the front facing the boulevard, the famous Nevski Prospect, lay the splendid Czar’s Suite; a single night there cost more than Petersburg’s simple citizens earned in a year.

            Mouse rushed swiftly under the silver candle holders that emitted electric light.  The spittoons in the corners were of the finest porcelain.  Heavy commodes of mahogany stood against the walls of the corridor.  Lacy doilies fluttered in the backdraft as Mouse was chased past them.

            Sometimes she looked over her shoulder to see whether her pursuer had caught up to her yet.  But she still held on to her head start.  It was not the first time that she had escaped him.

            Mouse wore a page’s uniform that was patched in many places, if not so many that one of the highly esteemed guests would notice at the first glance.  Pants and jacket were of violet velvet, set with gleaming buckles and even shoulder loops sewn of golden carpet fringe.  Her patent shoes were immaculately cleaned – because that was Mouse’s task here in the Hotel Aurora:  to collect the shoes from the doors of all the guests at night, bring them into the celler, there to polish them bright and distribute them in front of the rooms before dawn.  Without switching a single pair, you understand.

            That took talent, claimed Kukushka, the dancing partner in the ballroom.  That took absolutely nothing, Mouse said.  Only the willingness to spend the night on your feet and to sleep during the day.  And not even that was an achievement, when one had no other choice.

            The footsteps behind Mouse grew louder.

            Was there a particular reason why, after all these years, she was about to be caught?  That evening she had cleaned her plate of the guests’ leftovers, and silently let the teasing of the pages and chambermaids pass over her. “Girl-boy,” they sneered.  “There goes the girl-boy, and it stinks like old shoes.”

            All this she bore every day.  She had done nothing to call blame upon herself, really nothing.

            Except perhaps this tiny theft.  Not her first by any means, but until now she had always gotten away with it.

            She looked back again.  The heavily carpeted floor almost entirely swallowed up her pursuer’s footsteps.  Mouse took the golden brooch out of the pocket of her uniform and tightly closed her fist around it.  The door to the room had been unlocked – that wasn’t her fault, was it? – and the brooch had lain out in the open on a heap of clothing.   And thieves were warned of everywhere at that, especially in such bad times.  Couldn’t the owner have paid better attention?

            No, Mouse was really not at fault here.  She had only accepted the invitation to put the thing in her pocket.  And what had happened, had happened.  Apologies, madam.

            It was a question/matter of honor to bring her loot to all the rest in the cellar.  Later, anyway.  For now she had to get rid of the thing.  Namely, a place where no one at all would stick their nose.  First of all, away with it, so that none but her could find it.  Certainly not the Roundsman, who had been waiting to catch her in the act for ages.  No evidence, no theft.  No punishment for Mouse.

Märchenmond - Fablemoon - Magic Moon

I am now reading a book entitled Märchenmond, by Wolfgang and Heike Hohlbein.  There is an English translation available entitled Magic Moon, though "Märchen" is actually the German word for a fairy tale.

I suppose something needed to knock German children's fantasy off the pedestal I had put it on.  Kai Meyer = Amazing.  Cornelia Funke, same.  Michael Ende (of The Neverending Story) as well.  The Hohlbeins...

It isn't bad.  Just so-so.  The story tells of a boy who is ten(?), whose four(?) year old sister is in a coma.  A mysterious old man appears and tells him that his sister's spirit is trapped in the magical world Märchenmond by an evil sorcerer, and so the boy, Kim, has to travel there to get her back.

My critique as follows:
1)  Kim, the hero, is established immediately as a sci-fi reader.  However, as soon as he enters Märchenmond, this fact is forgotten (though he did have to get there by flying a spaceship).  Regardless, unless the authors are trying to pull a Neverending story where the magical world is causing him to lose his memory, they are wasting a great opportunity for some wrong genre savvy conflicts.

2)  Even though Kim knows nothing about fantasy worlds, he should know better not to let the army of Black Knights take him anywhere without asking them a few questions.  Or drinking an unidentified substance given to him by them, though it seems not to have done any lasting harm.  In fact, he adapts almost too well to be believed. 

3)  Yes, it is a fantasy story, which requires a bit of suspension of disbelief.  Perhaps it is reasonable that he managed to knock out a Knight and steal his armor and horse and travel undetected with the Black Army for, what, over a week?  I mean, evil minions aren't expected to be bright.  And okay, maybe he wouldn't quite die of starvation from not eating because he was too afraid to take off his visor even for an instant.  But that begs the question - if he does not take off his armor for a week, how does he take care of certain functions?  There is a line between no one really wants to read about it, and you kind of have to wonder...

4)  I'm really not sure what kind of person Kim is.  Probably he is supposed to be an Everyman with a Hero Complex.  It's entirely possible that I am merely missing subtlety by reading a book in a foreign language, but Kim seems to be a very generic protagonist.  Sister in danger?  Go rescue her, without a care for the danger.  Magical world in danger?  Go rescue it.  Plus, the only characters that seemed to give him any development were one-shots (or possibly Chekhov's Gunmen). 

Example:  As Kim flees the evil citadel, he is conveniently rescued by a swamp-prince, Ado.  Ado asks to join Kim on his quest, but Kim tells him to stay in the swamp where he is needed.  First off, where did that bit of insight come from?  Personally, I find that Ado would have given Kim a lot more character development than the WTF companions he ended up with - a gentle giant and a grouchy bear, neither of which are very bright or have much personality.  So we don't get to see Kim's (presumeably) rational and caring demeanor contrasted with a rash and heedless best friend, but rather a hero surrounded by bumbling mistfit companions.

In short, this is the sort of story that blindly binds itself to genre constraints and does not even have any interesting side characters, cool scenery, or beautiful prose to make up for it.  Granted it was written in the eighties and seems to be a nostalgia piece for many, but I am nearly halfway through and as yet have not seen anything remarkable about it.  Besides the above remarks.

Nuts and Bolts

Translation is harder than you might think.

Presumeably you know that it requires more than a dictionary, and more than a basic grasp of the grammar of a language - there is a reason foreign language teachers always advise against using online translators. 

I can read German very well.  In fact, I would likely have been able to read Frostfeuer without a dictionary and still been able to follow the story.  Translation is another matter.  That is when you find out that although many of the words you can guess at something close to the meaning, you don't quite know exactly what the particular mood of a word is, what sort of connotations it is meant to bring to mind. That is when you discover the relationship between two languages.

For instance:  I almost feel like I have to credit co-translatorship with my online dictionary (dict.cc is the best).  The lovely thing about online dictionaries is that you can type in a word, and it will give you a whole list of translations with all the different shades of meaning that the word you are looking for uses.  That is excellent for comprehension.  But when you are translating, you have to choose just one.  And it has to be exactly right, or as close as you can make it. 

Some words that gave me difficulty:

Der Zapfen
That "Zapfen" was a bitch.  It can mean either pine cone, or icicle, or various cone-shaped pieces of machinery.  All I gleaned from the text was that it contained the heart of the Snow-Queen.  And it is fairly important to the story.  Though after finishing the book, I am fairly certain that it is an icicle.  "Eiszapfen" is supposed to be the word that means icicle - and of course there is no entry for "Herzzapfen" - the icicle of her heart (Or perhaps the pine cone).

Der Schneeadler
Okay, a snow-eagle.  Pretty straightforward, right?  Except in German, the word for "eagle" is masculine, so in the text it was referred to as "he," even though we find out that the eagle is female.  Which makes you wonder if that sounds normal to Germans.  Another peculiarity of the German language is that the word for "girl" is actually neuter.  So girls are sometimes referred to as "it." Those crazy Germans...

"Gen"
I may never run across this word again.  It is an archaic word for "towards." I could have just used "towards," but that does not have the same archaic feel.  "Thither" was the closest English equivalent I could come up with.

If there is a point to knowing any of this, it is that while many translations are wonderful, and that it is great to experience other cultures without having to spend years learning a language, no translation is exact.  I will save my Bible rant for another time, but the short version is - the original Bible was written in Greek and Hebrew, then translated into Latin, and it was the Latin text that was translated into English and considered the definitive edition for a long time.  It was used to create laws and put people to death and all kinds of insanity.  Some people today still base their entire lives on the translation, without checking to see if they are missing something that did not transfer from the original text (not that I think one's life should be entirely modelled on a single book anyway, but that's yet another rant).

It is probably worth throwing in there that I am in fact slightly bitter that the gays have been screwed over for centuries because of a shoddy translation job - turns out there is no Hebrew word for "gay." 

So as a follow up to why I want to be a translator - I want to be a good translator.  And while I will probably never have the opportunity to translate a text as important as the Bible, that story still demonstrates why it is important to translate well.

I promise I'll post something interesting next time.