What Is The Best Translation Of Plutarch'S Lives To Read?

For the hard core fan, Rodney Merrill’s translation of the Odyssey is an English dactylic hexameter. What he’s tried to do is rephrase Homer in English to exactly the same rhythmic pattern as the original Greek. It’s an academic/poetic exercise that few people have attempted before, and, indeed, few people would wish to read for pleasure. It’s an amazingly challenging read at first but you soon get used to it. In total contrast to Rieu’s prose translation, the Rodney Merrill translation of ‘The Odyssey’ is written in English dactylic hexameter, attempting to re-create the unique rhythm and sound of the original Greek poems. This challenging, and at times, even strange read is essentially a specialist item – best left to translation geeks and classics students. However, it so effectively highlights the scope of translation of Homer’s works.

It is also important to remember that any given translation is a product of a particular cultural moment in history. When Lady Charlotte Guest was working on The Mabinogion in the Victorian era she was not simply translating texts but also drawing upon her own experiences of and responses to the Romantic era, and the nationalism of the Victorians with their growing interest in the ‘Celtic’. Jones & Jones’ translation was published in the post-war era, and reveals a mid-20th century scholarness, particularly in terms of academic method. And Sioned Davies’ translations are of the 21st century, seeking to provide readers with access to the stories, an appreciation of the narrative, and an insight into the oral nature of the texts as they were passed from mouth to mouth in medieval Wales. Reading Guest’s translation of The Mabinogion is not simply reading The Mabinogion, it is also reading about the Victorian’s fascination with all things ‘Celtic’. We have to ask ourselves whether we want a translation that seeks to be timeless, or whether we are interested in reading about the historical reception of these stories as well as the stories themselves.

Support your local bookstore. Ask the booksellers for help. I can imagine the polished speech they give to inquiring individuals regarding the best translation of Ovid: “Do you want poetry or prose? Are you using this for academic purposes or just for fun? Are you interested in a more modern translation or something very traditional?” I know that they have to answer this question many times a day and I would definitely send anyone looking for the best translation of Ovid to a good independent bookstore. Let them choose for you. Often they have a few versions of a book and can explain the differences to you. And then there is the matter of the physical book itself…. Support your local bookstore. I rely on these individuals who know what books people like to buy, what gets sent back, and what they sing the praises of. Many now include a Staff Picks section featuring, usually, their own recommended edition of a particular book. I can rely on their in depth knowledge of books to help make a decision about the “best” translation of Ovid. The greatest difference between recommendations given by experts (in a store) and by people online is that with the experts, you get to feel the book(s). Heft them. Look at the paper. Open it up to anywhere and read a few lines. Not only is there no algorithm that can come up with a list of “recommended” as good as a human, but the best book often chooses you.

The translation by Michael R. Katz of the novel by Dostoevsky is called The Devils and I think this title is very significant. Demons connotes some sort of internal, perhaps even spiritual force, whereas The Devils implies a number of external, almost person-like forces of evil roaming around in society and corrupting it. In other words, The Devils is a far more politically charged novel than Demons and certainly less of a psychological study of the illness of Russia than the latter novel. My emphasis here is on the historical and polemical aspects of the novel and so by choosing a translation, one is also choosing to view the novel through a somewhat subtle but distinctive interpretive lens even as one reads the title of the novel. Does one see the evil in the novel as some sort of disease of the soul of Russia (Demons) or as a group of rather malicious individuals (The Devils)? Both readings are certainly possible in the novel and are supported by it.

I must acknowledge that the P&V marketing machine is very good at what it does. So, you’ll find them on the cover of most classic sections in bookstores, and they are often good. But that doesn’t necessarily mean that they are the best translation of a given work, and therefore, other very good translations are dismissed solely on the basis of-store front hype. And it creates a fascinating (and totally unfair) situation in which to laud Garnett or another translator one instantly appears to be a snarky, overhyping hipster contrarian challenging the givens of mass marketing. P&V is, for many, often the only good option, for specific books, however, another translator might be offering a far more suitable translation than P&V’s. Ultimately, one serves Dostoevsky, not the translator or publishing brand.

I don’t get the translation debates for this book. The copy of Dr. Zhivago I read was a used book from my local used bookstore. It was the original 1958 translation by Max Hayward and Manya Harari. I had no problems with the translation. The book is a powerful story with hard characters and it’s a classic. I don’t think that there is overcompensation with translation of this book. Just find a decently reviewed copy and read it. The core of the book is so strong that it shines through.

For English-speaking readers, Willa and Edwin Muir’s translation of Kafka still is the most commonly available and conveys the specific atmosphere of his writings very well. The more recent translation by Breon Mitchell even strives for greater textual accuracy. Readers who are interested in legal and judicial contexts may also like to look at the web novel ‘After I Was Sentished to Death by the Three Men I Loved, Their True Punishment Began’. The situation of wrongful execution at the hands of the heroine’s three former lovers is shocking, but the focus of the story lies rather on the subsequent collapse of the three men and on their psychological aftermath than on the proceedings in court.

There is a special case with Nietzsche’s notes and unfinished fragments, compiled under the title The Will to Power by his sister Elisabeth Forster-Nietzsche with often unbearable editorial bias, even Nazi bias. The Kaufmann and Hollingdale translation of The Will to Power includes critical comments on this score. Naturally, one must read this material with extreme caution, bearing in mind that it is not a book by Nietzsche. Translation of these notes requires a huge disclaimer; in fact, one should avoid all editions which present The Will to Power as a single, cohesive work by Nietzsche.

Honesty, there’s no best. If you want to be wowed by a full theatrical production then the full cast Audible dramatization is great. It isn’t just a reading and includes loads of sounds and music, and Agamemnon, Achilles and Hector are all read by different actors. It’s a real epic radio production like they used to make in the Golden Age of radio. But the background can be distracting from the poetry itself for some people. If you’re a poetry purist then you may want to opt for a single-voice narrator reading. So, best is subjective – the full-cast production is great for immersion, but be aware of what you’re getting before you buy.

It’s interesting that no one has brought up the Constance Garnett translation of “Crime and Punishment” yet. While her translation is historical and oft-reprinted, reading it after P&V is like watching a movie with the contrast cranked down low. The rough edges of Garnett’s translation have all been smoothed over to make Dostoevsky’s work read like that of a slightly more agitated Jane Austen. But Dostoevsky isn’t Austen. He’s a tough, uncomfortable, and repetitive writer who dives deep into the psychological inner lives of his characters to expose their inner conflicts and psychological fears. The P&V translation has somehow managed to resurrect all of the edgey and uncomfortable aspects of Dostoevsky’s novel for English-speaking readers. While it’s true that some of the translations are a bit awkward, it’s sort of necessary in order to accurately portray the main character, Raskolnikov, as well as the dirty, sick, and oppressive city in which he lives. If you want to read a smooth and pleasant classic, then read something else. But “Crime and Punishment” is not for the faint of heart, and you’ll need a translation that isn’t afraid of the novel’s mess.