You've just described me reading Foucault's Pendulum, which I picked up intending to read every word in and translating the ones that were in languages I did not understand. But, of course, I was studying, and performing, and living, and I put it down convinced I was a complete thickie.
And then I remembered an essay I had read that Umberto Eco had written, in which he talked about the fact that every text, every story, is always personal because we all bring different things to it. So even though I was missing a significant amount of his symbology, I was bringing my own and reading it in ways he couldn't.
I think the same thing applies to this story. The author and I have big crossovers and big differences in our personal experiences and outlooks, but a very shared language. And you're absolutely right that some of that is as non-accessible to non-English people (and, indeed, to English people who never leave the city) as asides about middle-German golems were to me.
But I think the same trick works. There is enough humour and story there -- that does not require shared reference points -- to carry the reader through if you are prepared to take the leap of faith into not needing everything to be clear. By the end of the story, you may well still be baffled on a few points, but they won't matter. (I never did really understand the whole significance of the golems, you know. I should probably re-read that now, I have more reference points 20 years later;-)
And as to the person who criticised you in that way, they are a banana. There are Americanisms in your work, but they are never crass and they are not off-putting. They are simply the result of the author writing like the (very talented) author.
I have just realised that my writing has become increasingly Australian every year I spend here. Sentences keep shortening, sarcasm increasing and contraction abuse is rampant. If you see me saying crikey, please stage an intervention.
no subject
And then I remembered an essay I had read that Umberto Eco had written, in which he talked about the fact that every text, every story, is always personal because we all bring different things to it. So even though I was missing a significant amount of his symbology, I was bringing my own and reading it in ways he couldn't.
I think the same thing applies to this story. The author and I have big crossovers and big differences in our personal experiences and outlooks, but a very shared language. And you're absolutely right that some of that is as non-accessible to non-English people (and, indeed, to English people who never leave the city) as asides about middle-German golems were to me.
But I think the same trick works. There is enough humour and story there -- that does not require shared reference points -- to carry the reader through if you are prepared to take the leap of faith into not needing everything to be clear. By the end of the story, you may well still be baffled on a few points, but they won't matter. (I never did really understand the whole significance of the golems, you know. I should probably re-read that now, I have more reference points 20 years later;-)
And as to the person who criticised you in that way, they are a banana. There are Americanisms in your work, but they are never crass and they are not off-putting. They are simply the result of the author writing like the (very talented) author.
I have just realised that my writing has become increasingly Australian every year I spend here. Sentences keep shortening, sarcasm increasing and contraction abuse is rampant. If you see me saying crikey, please stage an intervention.