The Second Sex by Simone de Beauvoir

A review by Carlin Romano

A book is not born, but rather becomes, a translation. The latter may be a creative reimagining of the original, a faithful mirror image, an imperfect rendering, even a scandalous distortion. Depending on one's concrete connection to the act of literary alchemy -- professional translator, delighted or bemused author, satisfied or enraged publisher, savvy or naive reader -- serenity or mayhem may ensue.

All sorts of practical factors affect a translation. Doing one may make no financial sense, or so little sense that a publisher who goes ahead may make every effort to keep costs down. A work may be peculiarly intractable thanks to rampant colloquialism, great length, or recondite local detail. An author may be cooperative, useless, or permanently useless (that is, dead).

Living authors can add to the problems or aid in solving them. Umberto Eco empowered translators of The Name of the Rose to adjust his text in each new language, permitting, for instance, the American edition to ...

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