Translations always stiffen a story — local settings blur into blank spots on a foreign map, characters are stripped of their cultural context, and a narrator’s conversation with a reader is distilled of comfortable connotations.
While I felt compelled to finish Haruki Murakami’s hyped novel, I skipped pages without missing much, and wondered why, if 1Q84 gets Nobel Prize buzz, Stephen King hasn’t won plenty of Pulitzers. (Murakami’s device of name-dropping obscure symphonies and Russian lit would mean more if one was trying to get laid in a Brooklyn cafe, and the last Pirates of the Caribbean was harshly criticized, not high-fived, for having characters without clear motivation.)
Maybe I would have enjoyed 1Q84 more in its original Japanese.
Mostly because I can’t read Japanese…
I hate that I only found this vintage kimono site now — this choice 1920s kimono has already been sold, and for less than lunch.
I’ve been hankering for a vintage kimono to wear around my hood.
You thought I’d say around my pad?
Isn’t it enough I put panties and Giuseppes on…
I’m a Cracker Jap, and it’s starting to tell — my constant hunt for obscure Hermes goods, my snorting lines of matcha green tea, and now my jonesing for Japanese geta sandals.
I love the geisha girl vibe of these traditional Japanese wooden sandals, and the cloying, kitten steps the sandals would make you take.
The beauty of artificiality is underrated…
Buying a traditional Japanese shiki futon and getting rid of my bed felt genius in the early AM. Hours later, I woke up glad that I’ve got two weeks to return my shiki futon. I’ll let you know how I dig folding and storing my futon every day, espesh considering most days I don’t even get out of my pajamas –
Which consist of Marlies Dekkers panties and L’Artisan Parfumeur Tubereuse…