Editorial Review Product Description "In an era of inept and ignorant imitations, whose piped-in background music has hypnotized innocent readers into fearing literality's salutary jolt, some reviewers were upset by the humble fidelity of my version. . . ." Such was Vladimir Nabokov's response to the storm of controversy aroused by the first edition of his literal translation of Eugene Onegin. This bold rendering of the Russian masterpiece, together with Nabokov's detailed and witty commentary, is itself a work of enduring literary interest, and reflects a lifelong admiration for Pushkin on the part of one of this century's most brilliant stylists. ... Read more Customer Reviews (11)
Analyse That.
Nabokov's translation seems to arouse some heat.
If you're trying, as I did, to pick a translation to read, try sampling.
Here, for example is a stanza from Nabokov, not untypical in mood.It describes our hero's attitude to affairs of the heart at a certain stage in his life.
With belles no longer did he fall in love,
but dangled after them just anyhow;
when they refused, he solaced in a twinkle;
when they betrayed, was glad to rest.
He would seek them without intoxication,
while he left them without regret,
hardly remembering their love and spite.
Exactly thus does an indifferent guest
drive up for evening whist;
sits down;then, once the game is over,
he drives off from the place,
at home falls peacefully asleep,
and in the morning does not know himself
where he will drive to in the evening.
An intriguing blend of poetry and fiction
I adore Pushkin's poetry and have admired it since my college days long ago. He has a tenderness, elegance of metaphor, eye for beauty and connection to the Russian landscape, which truly set him apart. I consider him the Wordsworth of Russia, although Pushkin admired Byron, whom he quotes in Chapter 8. Eugene Onegin had much in common with Childe Harold. That is, Onegin is a man who is overwhelmed by the simple beauty of the Russian countryside in which Pushkin loved to dwell. Yet somehow he is a misfit and outcast within a rather anti-heroic context or, as Lermontov called it, as an unwilling driver of "the axe of fate." Onegin definitely has a deeply romantic aspect to his soul, as did Pushkin. In the dual with Lenski we see Pushkin foreshadowing his own demise in much the same way that Pechorin's experience in a Hero of Our Time was prescient of the demise of Lermontov. I am intrigued by Pushkin's attempt to structure his novel with the framework of poetry. The net effect is a mini-epic or short lyrical poem, which brings to mind the style of verse of, say, Virgil or Homer but with a more contemporary structure. I bought this translation by Nabokov who is as full of himself as ever in this rendition in which he seeks to translate with a vernacular style of which I would find it hard to believe that Pushkin would approve. It's hard to imagine that Pushkin would have described the friendship of Onegin and Lenski as "pals." Nabokov becomes an intrusive figure in this rendition instead of a silent, creative partner quietly and humbly adding value to the work. In the translation we depend upon the creative gifts of the translator and my experience with Pushkin in the past leads me to wonder if Nabokov does justice to Pushkin in this version of Eugene Onegin. If so, then clearly Pushkin is a far better poet than he is a novelist. However, Pushkin does bring to the novel elegant descriptive beauty and romantic sensibility, which inform Eugene Onegin. For my money, Lermontov's Hero of Our Time is a vastly superior novel to Eugene Onegin. If you want to read a truly great Russian novel, try Lermontov, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Gogol, Turgenev or Bulghakov. If you want the finest poetry ever written by a Russian, then read Pushkin's poetry. If you seek to gain insight into the fusion of poetry and fiction into a single genre, then you may be intrigued, as I was, by Eugene Onegin.
Of recipes and desserts
I completely agree with D.S. Heersink's assessment of Nabokov's Onegin translation. While undoubtedly accurate to the nth degree, it is tedious to read, to say the least. If you are studying Russian, perhaps the Nabokov translation might be appropriate; however, if you expect to derive pleasure from reading Eugene Onegin, by all means go with Falen.
Someone else commented on the fact that poetry cannot be translated. That is pure nonsense, though reading Nabokov's English version of Eugene Onegin, one would indeed come to the conclusion that a translation of the work from the Russian is impossible. To quickly correct that erroneous impression, pick up the James Falen translation.
Those interested in translation issues of all kinds should not miss Douglas Hofstadter's "Le ton beau de Marot" (which, incidentally, has much to say about Nabokov in general and his Eugene Onegin in particular). Come to think of it, you might want to read Hofstadter's own translation of Eugene Onegin. It's a little more playful and jazzy than Falen's. Which of the two is better is a matter of personal preference.
Eugene Onegin is a novel in verse. It makes absolutely no sense whatsoever to read it without rhyme or meter. A student of Russian might glean some insight from Nabokov's literal translation, but lovers of poetry and beauty in language will not get much from it.
It really depends on what you are after. Nabokov gives you a detailed recipe, Falen a delicious dessert. If you want to know what it FEELS like to read Pushkin yourself, pick up a copy of Falen's (or Hofstadter's) translation. If you want to ANALYZE in painstaking detail what exactly every word means, go with Nabokov, but in that case be aware that you won't be reading verse. You'll know exactly what's in it, but it won't "taste" good.
From Russia with tough love
There is an old, politically-incorrect adage regarding the translation of a literary work from one language to another. A translation is like a woman: if it's beautiful, it's not faithul; if it's faithful, it's not beautiful. This saw kept buzzing through my brain while I was reading Vladimir Nabokov's 1964 English translation of Alexander Pushkin's novel-in-verse "Eugene Onegin". The poem has a unique place in Russian literature, required reading in schools -- required memorization, from what I understand. It seems an odd choice for school rooms, being an ironic love story with a sardonic edge; but then American students are required to read "Silas Marner", George Eliot's tale of greed and redemption. Nabokov, the author of the dazzling "Pale Fire", was born in Old Russia in 1899 and became a master of his native language as well as English. His version of Pushkin's masterpiece doesn't attempt to maintain the meter or rhyming scheme of the original, thereby leading to the danger of "piped-in background music", but presents a literal translation of "humble fidelity". There have been several English translations, and Nabokov sternly appraises them all. (Tchaikovsky's opera is dismissed as "slapdash".) He even goes so far as to compare his work with that of other translators. Thus, Onegin's flirtation with a serf in Book Four is translated by Nabokov as: "sometimes a white-skinned, dark-eyed girl's young and fresh kiss". In his notes Nabokov is amused by an earlier translator's "And, if a black-eyed girl permitted, sometimes a kiss as fresh as she" and is positively aghast at this rendering: "A kiss at times from some fair maiden, dark-eyed, with bright and youthful looks". Now, to an English-only reader, these don't really sound that ridiculous; but Nabokov, in his bilingual security, can be a caustic critic. (As evidently are some of his admirers: I've noticed in Amazon.com that "Eugene Onegin" causes some emotional responses.) By the way, the notes alone are worth the price of admission. Ferociously erudite, Nabokov can also be extremely witty, as when he is discussing Byronic heroes: "Judged by a number of early-nineteenth-century English and French novels that I have perused, the four main outlets or cures for ennui found by the characters suffering from it were: (1) making a nuisance of oneself; (2) committing suicide; (3) joining some well-organized religious group; and (4) quietly submitting to the situation." So, you've been alerted. Get out your dictionary (you'll need it), dust off your French (there's lots of it), and settle down to what might be called Nabokov's labor of tough love.
A weird translation that works
At the end of his writing career, Vladimir Nabokov predicted he'd be remembered for two things: Lolita and his translation of Alexander Pushkin's Russian classic Eugene Onegin. Both got off to bumpy starts with critics. Edmund Wilson--or "Bunny" as he was referred preciously by friends, including Nabokov--was ferocious with the translation. He judged it not merely bad but unreadable.
Nabokov ignored all criticism of his novels--which he considered "my circles, my special islands, infinitely safe from exasperated readers"--but he did explain his idiosyncratic translating methods.
Nabokov accurately--though rather needlessly--pointed out that translation is imperfect. He took exception, without exception, to the existing translations of Eugene Onegin, and, further, he formulated it was "mathematically impossible" for a translator to tackle the often conflicting responsibilities of reproducing a poem's meaning and verse form (which, up to his day at least, typically included a rhyme scheme and a metrical arrangement). To make his own equation simpler, he scrapped the sound effects for the sake of literal meaning: he sacrificed Pushkin's music for certainty. His English equivalents to Russian words, the connectivity of which he pondered and sought rather manically, totally ruined the poetics, and sometimes even the grammar, of the lines. "In an era of inept and ignorant imitations, whose piped-in background music has hypnotized innocent readers into fearing literality's salutary jolt," Nabokov wrote, the background music referring to a translator's inventions that fill-out a line or make a rhyme, "some reviewers were upset by the humble fidelity of my version."
Robert Frost quipped that poetry is exactly the stuff that doesn't come across in translation. Nevertheless, you ought to first decide what you value in poetry before selecting a translation of Eugene Onegin. If you believe a poem's meaning is the most important thing, go with Nabokov. If you cherish musicality, I recommend James E. Fallen. Being a contemporary, conscientious writer, Falen's work benefits from the range of previous translations--especially Nabokov's. He strives to retain Pushkin's poetic stuff--the rhyme scheme, the metrics--and, indeed, his translation is a pleasure, especially to recite. Nabokov would argue you'd be reciting Fallen, though, and not Pushkin. But Nabokov's rendering, for all its fidelity, still makes an illegitimate sound.
Readers of translations are always stuck in the position of having to trust in the methods and reputations of translators. If you're familiar with Nabokov's "Lectures on Literature" you know how intelligent a reader he was. Most comforting of all, Nabokov spent more time formally researching and translating Eugene Onegin than writing any three of his fictions combined. His commentary to the poem--sold in a separate edition--is massive, witty and laughably too informative for the common reader. Where his translation is methodically short on poetry, his commentary picks up the slack; if his translation's a sin against poetics, the commentary's penance. If you venture to read it, you'll know what Pushkin was up to, at all times.
Personally, I'm uncertain what approach to translation is most proper. I do find Nabokov's efforts noble: to think of the Eugene Onegin he alone, it seemed, was qualified and capable of making had he allowed himself free reign with his translating methods! Misguided or not, the twentieth century's most elegant prose stylist put his ego aside and, out of a loving admiration for a poet, pieced together a hard-won but really ugly translation of a poem. I'm pleased to notice, though, that ugliness in art isn't a deal-breaker. So enjoy Nabokov's "humble pony" for its own artistic merit. It's curious, haggard, bare-bones.
Or you can simply deny it's ugly. When your friends are over and gasp at the lines they sample, say "it's only fastidious" and be done with it.
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