Do we all have travel rituals? One of my private pleasures is buying a stack of magazines - I am particularly likely to succumb to Elle, Harper's, and the Atlantic Monthly.
Anyway, in this month's Harper's, there's a wonderful poem about the complexities of translating. This is on my mind because I just did something very rare - decided not to finish a book. I think it may be reasonably well done for what it is, but it's just not to my taste - very flowery and illogical. Plus, it's translated from French, and at one point 'Christianity' appears where 'Christendom' is the only word that makes sense. So the text can't be trusted, which makes me a little insane. Which is a pity, because the subject matter (art! politics! an individual's quest for intellectual/aesthetic fulfillment!) makes me want to jump up and down with excitement.
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