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I must not be communicating myself very clearly.
I'm not arguing against the existence of works in translation. I'm not contesting that translations can be enjoyable in their exclusive identity.
What I AM asserting is that, regardless of the capability of the translator, the original work, in its basest, even physical form, is mutated, and therefore cannot be deconstructed. This in turn robs the text of its inherent 'personality,' of what it retains of the author's identity.
You can assert all that abstract b.s. about text being inherently interpretive (which I agree with to an extent), but such does not negate the fact that ANY alteration of a written communication will, precisely BECAUSE of its microscopic and multifaceted intricacies, quite drastically mar its original conveyance, for better or for worse.
If I engage in a discussion on a piece of literature, it is not to appreciate its entertainment value, or to spout facetious, light-hearted commentary on its zany characters; I am literate and have average comprehensive capabilities, and can do that sufficiently on my own.
The purpose of engaging in such a discussion is, for want of a better description, essentially academic. For me personally, this is best achieved through a more technical yet all-inclusive approach, in hopes of encountering a perspective I hadn't yet been privy to myself.
In short, I can read dem words jest fine, y'all, and I do likes me a good story. But (and this is down to my personal taste), I like to pick a novel apart, examine it from all possible angles, observe how the mere conjoinment of two words can speak volumes within a sentence. I like to geek it up hardcore. And a novel in translation just isn't conducive to that.
So Guerney can kiss my provincial ass.
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