Beyond Serial: The Year in Podcasts

Tags

Feminism, Media, Self Help

It has been some time since I did a round-up of my favorite podcasts, but given that the first season of Serial wrapped up today, I thought people might be interested in what more is out there in the podcast world. What follows are some of my favorite discoveries of the year (all available for free on iTunes).

If you don’t know what Serial is, just stop reading now, go download and listen to all twelve episodes and then come back, because you are really missing out.

I got turned on to this one by @thebestjasmine on Twitter, although I suppose I would have eventually caught on anyway since everyone seems to be talking about it now. The show is completely addictive, no doubt about it. If you want even more once you finish listening, you should check out the speculation on The Serial Serial, a podcast about the podcast by The A.V. Club.

Speaking of doubling down name-wise, another favorite podcast is Kumail Nanjiani’s The X-Files Files. I recently decided I wanted to do a rewatch of the series and discovered this at just the right time. I can’t say enough about how brilliant, interesting, and funny this podcast is. Nanjiani generally covers two episodes a week and has reached the middle of Season 3, so there is plenty of time to catch up with him.

For something on the lighter side, the final new podcast I recommend is Call Your Girlfriend, hosted by Ann Friedman and Aminatou Sow. These “long-distance besties” talk about anything and everything, from pop culture to the tech world to office politics to, yes, this week in menstruation.

Call Your Girlfriend also happened to lead me to The Broad Experience, which is a podcast about issues relating to women in the workplace. I’m still catching up on back episodes, but this is chock full of useful information and practical tips on a variety of feminist issues.

One of the reasons I was too busy to blog this year was my own workplace issue: a large portion of my time was taken up as the lead editor of a new college textbook in U.S. History, a role that included wrangling professors, writers, and editors, and generally being responsible for the overall content of the book. For this reason, I particularly sought out history podcasts, old and new. The best ones I found are:

BackStory takes on a different theme each episode (wilderness, higher education, the police) and looks at it over time with three historians, specialists in the history of the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries respectively.

My History Can Beat Up Your Politics also takes on a particular theme, usually something current on the political scene, and looks at it from a historical perspective. However, this podcast is more of a lecture than the short reports and discussion format of BackStory.

15 Minute History is almost the exact opposite of the two above podcasts. Each episode is a brief look at a very specific historical moment or movement through an interview with an expert on that issue or event.

Other podcasts I recommend are the “News in Slow…” series for language learners, which I use to keep up my Italian (first I listen to the News in Slow French and get an idea of the topics they are covering for the week, then I turn to the Italian). For books, I particularly like A Good Read by BBC 4, where the host invites guests to recommend a book and each guest reads all the books and then comes in to discuss them—a great resource for old and new book recommendations. Literary Disco is also fun, but I haven’t had time to listen to it in a while. For general pop and nerd culture interviews, try Girl on Guy with Aisha Tyler or The Nerdist.

Of course, I still recommend many of those podcasts I spoke of four years ago, including Books on the Nightstand, The Classic Tales by B. J. Harrison, the Quick and Dirty Tips series, and my beloved Readers, who I discovered soon after that post and who turned me on to a whole new world of books and blogs across the pond.

Do you listen to podcasts? If so, what are your favorites and why? I’ll never get through them all, but I’m always looking for new listening material.

War and Peace, Part 3—Pride Goeth Before a Fall

Tags

Challenges, Translation, War and Peace

Part Three starts off back in Moscow focusing on Pierre and his new role as Count Bezukhov, with all the money that goes with it. Silly Pierre doesn’t realize that everyone now fawning all over him is no coincidence, which makes it all the funnier when he classifies Hélène as stupid and finds himself engaged to her almost unwittingly. I’m sure that won’t come back to haunt him.

Not satisfied with puppeteering one marriage, Prince Vassily doubles down with a visit to the Bolkonskys. “Ugly” Marya wisely chooses not to play that game, only to end up being manipulated by her father who doesn’t want her to get married and leave him. A lot of pieces of work in this section—shockingly, none of them are the rich heiress.

Meanwhile, back in the war, the boys play at soldier, hoping to impress the tsar and each other. Nikolai in particular seems to have a serious man crush on Alexander I. There is much posturing and strategizing on the eve of battle. I get through this whole section by imagining a homoerotic montage shot by the late Tony Scott (RIP).

Unfortunately for the Russians, the upcoming battle is actually the Battle of Austerlitz, where fog reigns and Napoléon kicks some serious ass. However, both emperors (Napoléon and Alexander) get taken down a peg by Tolstoy and are shown to be quite ordinary men in the end.

There is some great imagery in play here. I particularly liked the whole section in Chapter 11 comparing the movement of military action to the movement of a clock, which seems as good a place as any to compare translations:

Just as in the mechanism of a clock, so in the mechanism of the military machine, an impulse once given leads to the final result; and just as indifferently quiescent till the moment when motion is transmitted to them are the parts of the mechanism which the impulse has not yet reached. Wheels creak on their axles as the cogs engage one another and the revolving pulleys whirr with the rapidity of their movement, but a neighboring wheel is as quiet and motionless as though it were prepared to remain so for a hundred years; but the moment comes when the lever catches it and obeying the impulse that wheel begins to creak and joins in the common motion the result and aim of which are beyond its ken.

—War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy, as translated by Louise and Aylmer Maude

As in the mechanism of a clock, so also in the mechanism of military action, the movement once given is just as irrepressible until the final results, and just as indifferently motionless are the parts of the mechanism not yet involved in the action even a moment before movement is transmitted to them. Wheels whizz on their axles, cogs catch, fast-spinning pulleys whirr, yet the neighboring wheel is as calm and immobile as though it was ready to stand for a hundred years in immobility; but a moment comes—the lever catches, and, obedient to its movement, the wheel creaks, turning, and merges into one movement with the whole, the result and purpose of which are incomprehensible to it.

—War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy, as translated by Pevear and Volokhonksky

For my money, it’s hard to resist “Wheels whizz on their axles, cogs catch, fast-spinning pulleys whirr, yet the neighboring wheel is as calm and immobile as though it was ready to stand for a hundred years…” although bonus points to the Maudes for “beyond its ken,” an expression last seen by these eyes when rehearsing “Sixteen Going On Seventeen” for the eighth-grade musical (let us never speak of it again).

Which translation do you prefer?

War and Peace, Part 1—Peace, Love, and Understanding(s)

Tags

Challenges, Translation, War and Peace

Well, Prince, so Genoa and Lucca are now just family estates of the Buonapartes. But I warn you, if you don’t tell me that this means war, if you still try to defend the infamies and horrors perpetrated by that Antichrist—I really believe he’s the Antichrist—I will have nothing more to do with you and you are no longer my friend, no longer my ‘faithful slave,’ as you call yourself.

—War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy, as translated by Louise and Aylmer Maude

And, thus, from the opening paragraph, we are flung headlong into the subject matter of War and Peace. How many classic novels throw you right into a conversation like this? I’d love to know of other examples because it seems shocking to me, especially given the aggressive nature of the speech. In any case, it’s certainly a great way to grab the reader’s attention. More on that opening in a moment.

While ostensibly about the peace part of the equation (these twenty-five chapters are basically a series of house parties and visits in St. Petersburg and Moscow), in fact, the entire First Book of Volume I is all about position, strategy, and conquest. The characters seem to be constantly negotiating for something—love, money, rank—and tensions run high throughout. While all the different names and relationships can be difficult to follow, the characters are so vividly drawn that I was immediately interested in what they were doing and planning to do.

But it’s not all metaphor in these drawing rooms. It’s 1805 and war permeates almost all discussions. Which makes these social maneuverings all the more intriguing. You know the war is coming and you can’t help but wonder about everyone’s fate.

It’s no wonder that talk of Napoleon opens the novel.

Which leads me back to that opening paragraph, because, what Tolstoy actually writes is this:

Eh bien, mon prince, Gênes and Lucques ne sont plus que des apanages, des поместья, de la famille Buonaparte. Non, je vous préviens, que si vous ne me dites pas que nous avons la guerre, si vous vous permettez encore de pallier toutes les infamies, toutes les atrocités de cet Antichrist (ma parole, j’y crois)—je ne vous connais plus, vous n’êtes plus mon ami, vous n’êtes plus мой верный раб, comme vous dites.

—War and Peace, by Leo Tolstoy

That’s right, almost the entire first paragraph of this Russian classic is in French. In fact, fully two percent of the novel is French. I think this linguistic distinction is an important one, as it represents an important cultural distinction at the time. It also lends a certain irony to the whole novel, as Russia is about to be invaded by France, and the fact that many aristocrats barely speak Russian is certainly an interesting commentary on Russian nationalism. However, reading either of the two classic translations, the Maudes cited above or Constance Garnett, one is not even aware where and when Tolstoy makes this distinction. Yes, they both use a smattering of French phrases, but one reason I chose the Pevear/Volokhonsky translation (despite controversy over their methods) is that they are the only ones to my knowledge who leave the French fully intact.

Obviously, the excessive footnoting that results might prove annoying if you don’t read French, so keep that in mind if you are considering translations. French aside, I am enjoying this translation so far in comparison with Garnett. I’d love to hear from people if they have a favorite translation of this classic to recommend.

I haven’t yet caught up to where I left off two years ago, so I know I have a bit of war ahead of me, which I remember being a bit bored by last time around. I only hope I can power through to the other side and finally arrive at Volume II.

Opera 101—Gypsies, Tramps, and Thieves

Tags

Bizet, Opera

Carmen, by Georges Bizet, is one of the most-performed operas out there, and its tunes pop up in myriad cultural forums, from The Bad News Bears to Sesame Street to The Muppet Show. Many people can probably hum either “L’amour est un oiseau rebelle” (aka the Habanera) or “Votre toast, je peux vous le rendre” (aka the Toreador Song) without even realizing the source. My personal favorite of these iterations is Gilligan’s Island, where Gilligan performs “To Be or Not To Be” to the Habanera and Skipper as Polonius sings “Neither a Borrower Nor a Lender Be” to the “Toreador Song.” My childhood, let me show it to you.

As for the opera itself, my live viewing had been limited to what I not-so-lovingly refer to as “The Disco Carmen” at the Opéra Comique in Paris. Not that the performance itself was so bad, but the set was god-awful—basically a huge tilted ramp taking up half the stage with a disco ball above it. That’s it. I had taken my elderly aunt out for a night on the town so I had been hoping for something really spectacular. How do you do that to Carmen, which provides such great opportunities for sets and costumes?

In any case, I was really hoping that this performance would drive that one out of my mind. Which it mostly did. Visually, at least. I thought the sets were very well done, perhaps my favorites of the season. Keeping the main outer building shell, the transitions to the smaller set pieces of the cigarette factory, tavern, smugglers’ cave, and the bullfighting arena were smooth and believable. The costumes were also impressive, as they were varied, but relatively restrained. I imagine it is easy to go overboard with something like Carmen and this production didn’t (Turandot, I’m looking at you).

Lillas Pastia’s tavern. Photo by Cory Weaver.

Outside the bullfighting arena. Photo by Cory Weaver.

Unfortunately, aurally, this production left much to be desired. While Anita Rachvelishvili as Carmen had a lovely, rich tone to her voice, I really couldn’t get over her atrocious French pronunciation and appreciate her singing. I was sort of surprised at this since, although she was filling in relatively last-minute for Kate Aldrich, she seems to have played this role plenty of times. Not that the rest of the main cast was much better, both Sara Gartland, who played Micaëla, and Wayne Tiggis, who played Lieutenant Zuniga, could have used more coaching in this area.

Perhaps I’m being overly critical, but, while I accept that I’m not going to catch all the words in Italian productions, somehow I feel I should be able to follow an opera in French without resorting to subtitles or the libretto. It wasn’t until the smugglers came in that I realized “it’s not me, it’s you,” and so I want to make particular mention of Timothy Mix and Daniel Montenegro for taking such care in their roles as Le Dancaïre and Le Remendado. Also, the children’s chorus was spot on in their French pronunciation and did a great job overall. Finally, thank you to San Francisco Opera for engaging Gabriel Laude as the young guide. It was a relief to have such a long speech spoken with native accuracy.

Thiago Arancam as Don José. Photo by Cory Weaver.

Again, this is not to say that the singing itself was bad. I thought that Thiago Arancam, who held his own last year against the terrific Ainhoa Arteta and Plácido Domingo in Cyrano de Bergerac, made an excellent Don José (who let’s face it, actually carries this opera, which is really all about Don José’s journey, not Carmen’s). Sara Gartland also made the significantly less vibrant Micaëla come alive, especially in her final aria. Susannah Biller as Frasquita and Cybele Gouverneur as Mercédès made the most of their small parts and I thoroughly enjoyed their “Mêlons! Coupons” fortune-telling number with Carmen. Vocally, Paulo Szot didn’t quite live up to the power of the Toreador Song, but he had great stage presence as the matador who steals Carmen’s heart.

Paulo Szot as Escamillo. Photo by Cory Weaver.

All in all, I enjoyed this production for what it was, but I partly wish I had had the foresight of Opera Tattler to switch out my Carmen subscription tickets for Xerxes.

Carmen has two more performances with Anita Rachvelishvili on November 20th and 23rd, and with Kendall Gladen on November 26th and 29th and December 2nd and 4th.

Lost in Translation

Tags

Book Salon, Translation

Since our Russian Roulette book salon, I’ve been thinking a lot about the art of translation. More than one person said they loved to read Russian authors because of the language. But whose language? Having taken on a few freelance translating jobs in my time, I know that it is an extremely difficult task even in its most basic form. And, when it comes to literature, there can be vast differences in language between different translators.

I had done some investigating into translation when I read Don Quixote earlier this year, settling on Edith Grossman’s version primarily because of library availability. It had an introduction by Harold Bloom, so it had to be decent right?

Translating from one language to another, unless it is from Greek and Latin, the queens of all languages, is like looking at Flemish tapestries from the wrong side, for although the figures are visible, they are covered by threads that obscure them, and cannot be seen with the smoothness and color of the right side.

—Don Quixote (Cervantes, trans. Grossman)

When I decided to tackle War and Peace, I had a few more options. Although I had to wait for it, and despite the controversy surrounded their methods (apparently they break the cardinal rule of translation, which is to translate into your native language), I selected the Pevear/Volokhonsky version. Normally, based on what I had read about it, I wouldn’t have, but their edition is the only one I found that left the French portions intact—most English editions leave only a few French phrases strewn about, like an English mystery novel, when in fact there are large chunks of discourse in French as well as entire letters. Since I had to wait a bit for the actual book, I decided to experiment with another translation, the classic version that most people have read, by the Victorian-era translator Constance Garnett, which the library had on audio. Admittedly, I also thought listening to it first would make the reading go more quickly, which it did. It also highlighted how different two versions can be. If you don’t care about the French issue, I’d recommend Garnett.

If you are wondering just how different translations can be, consider what I read earlier this week while attending a performance of Carmina Burana. The San Francisco symphony thoughtfully provided the Latin text and English translation in their program. Not knowing if they would do this, and wanting to follow along, I had brought the booklet from my CD, which used both English and French.

Here is an example from the “Swaz hie gat umbe” chorus at the end of the “Spring” section.

San Francisco Symphony translation:

They who here go dancing round
Are young maidens all
Who will go without a man
This whole summer long.

Mehta English translation:

Those who go round and round,
are all maidens
they want to do without a man
all summer long.

Mehta French translation (translation mine):

Those who go round and round there
are young maidens
They think they can go the whole summer
without a lover.

Call me crazy, but there’s a whole world of difference between going without a man, wanting to do without a man, and thinking you can go without a man for an extended period of time. But maybe that’s just me.

By the way, I love Carmina Burana in all its cheesy, overused glory and this was a very fun performance, particularly the “roasted swan” song, which was sung with more passion and personality than I have ever heard before.