“O Niki de Saint Phalle! / We knew that Boston could be beautiful, / But it was not until you came along. / Where were you, fairest of them all?”
— Chorus (Sam & Henry).
“Often, the idea that there can be a wide range of translations of one text doesn’t occur to people—or that a translation could be bad, very bad, and unfaithful to the original. Instead, a translation is a translation—you write the book again in English, on the basis of the French, a fairly standard procedure, and there it is, it’s been done and doesn’t have to be done again. [However, ...]“
— Lydia Davis.
Take note, Hollywood; this is how you do trailers. I don’t need to see the plot compacted in two minutes, I want to be teased, drawn in. (And it looks like a great stop-motion film, as well.)
My search for literary representation mostly involves a lot of waiting, and waiting, and rejections on geographical or organisational basis, and more of the waiting kind, etc. etc. But last week, I—or, I guess, my new play The Sentiments got the best compliment yet from a literary agent:
“[I] found [the play] a heartfelt, carefully wrought, tender story of three friends’ trials and tribulations through time. I especially found the overlapping glances from the past to the present affecting. [...]“
On my way there!