So often it was the fridge that held the very heart of the mystery, the key to explaining houses and their owners.
‘The worst days of my life, Miguel. The worst I’ve ever been through.’
Questions and translation from the Japanese by Hart Larrabee, participant in the Japanese-English workshop at the BCLT Summer School
Jean Boase-Beier writes on translating the poetry of the Holocaust with reference to Paul Celan's Totenhemd.
'Translations aren’t mirrors of an original text; they are windows into other worlds.' An author's view of the BCLT Summer School.
“There were two suicide notes,” Edward explained. “One for you, and one for you.”
Whenever the men discussed what they liked in a girl, “she” knew she didn’t want to become that sort of girl. She would rather die.
As the ship was being made fast, Pola put on her most seductive look. She pulled her shoulders back and planted her hands elegantly on her hips, ready to strut down the glossy white gangway.
Limbs outstretched, amidst dense silvery grasses that descended from the shoreline into the sea, lay a man. He had his eyes closed. He was smiling.
“Have you got any idea when you’ve gone too far or is there nothing in that head of yours but biodynamic chicken shit?”