Roman Abramovich is developing a trigger-happy reputation on a par with some of his Spanish and Italian counterparts, having shown a willingness to dispose of a manager as soon as they don't quite meet his exacting standards. Just look at his form: Claudio Ranieri was the boss Abramovich inherited, and despite steering Chelsea to second place he was sacked as though he were an afterthought; like him or loathe him, Jose Mourinho is a great manager, and would have brought continued success to the club; Avram Grant had cause to feel hard done by after leading Chelsea to their only Champions League final to date (a match they would have won but for John Terry's slip); and Carlo Ancelotti won the club its first league title in four years. In relative terms, these men were successful in their roles. In Abramovich's mind, they weren't quite up to the job.
Which is why Andres Villas-Boas's position looks dangerous. Mourinho, Grant, and Ancelotti were fired for flaws and failings much lesser than those that have afflicted Villas-Boas's first year in charge. The club currently reside in fifth, behind Arsenal on goal difference; given Tottenham's 10 point advantage in third, it looks likely that Chelsea will record their lowest ever finish under Abramovich. However, that only tells part of the story.
To trot out the old cliché about Villas-Boas having lost the dressing room would be a tad hyperbolic, but his man management skills have rightly been called into question on a number of occasions, with this week's report of a training ground row between him and his playing staff just the latest in a string of incidents that have marred his tenure. Although he has shown absolute loyalty to John Terry following Anton Ferdinand’s accusation, he has managed to upset a number of senior players whose importance to the club’s success and history far exceed his own. His attempts to phase out some of the older hands have at times been exceptionally clumsy, and his handling of the transfer requests handed in by Alex and Nicolas Anelka was the most damning of his failures, highlighting a vindictiveness and petulance that won him few admirers both within and outside of the club.
What’s worse is that these issues appear to have been reflected on the pitch, with Chelsea turning in a number of abject performances, the spineless defeat at the hands of Everton just the latest. A return of four wins in the last 10 league games suggests that the manager is struggling to impose his ideology. Teams no longer show quite the same fear when faced with Chelsea mainstays such as Frank Lampard and Didier Drogba, and one wonders if Villas-Boas's attempts to downplay their importance has handed a psychological advantage to opponents. Meanwhile, David Luiz and Fernando Torres have continued to struggle, and Gary Cahill has made a grand total of one appearance since joining in the middle of January. There haven't been too many positives to take from the current campaign.
No-one would reasonably suggest that Villas-Boas deserves to lose his job. However, past form suggests that Abramovich is not always a reasonable man when it comes to such matters, and it seems unlikely that he'll keep the faith if his manager fails to deliver Champions League football for 2012-13.
Wednesday, 15 February 2012
Tuesday, 14 February 2012
For those of you who may be wondering what, football posts aside, I've been working on in recent weeks:
- My first unsigned bands piece was in the December/January edition of Manchester Chimp magazine. You might still be able to find copies in the shops; if not, it's available online from their website. The next issue is due out soon, with the featured bands including biederbeck, The Gentrymen, and G R E A T W A V E S.
- The first post charting my year in reading is up over at Onward, Manchester, featuring Moneyball by Michael Lewis, Misery by Stephen King, and Everything's Fine by Socrates Adams.
- On the same blog, my coverage of X-Men Regenesis is in progress (part 1) (part 2). It's moving at something of a glacial pace, but that's okay; whilst I'm happy to recommend comicbooks to people, I couldn't in good faith recommend that they buy single issues. Hell, the only reason I don't wait for the trades is that I'm a holdover from before the collected edition took hold, programmed to turn up at a shop each Thursday and peruse what's on offer.
- I'm preparing something that could loosely be described as "proper journalism" about Manchester's Metrolink service and its place in the city, primarily as a reaction to MP Graham Stringer's assertion that the network is "damaging the city's reputation and economy."
- I also started work on a novel in January, with the vague aim of getting much of it written within the year. A resolution of sorts, if you will, or at least an attempt to spur myself to write more fiction, which so far has proven somewhat successful.
- My first unsigned bands piece was in the December/January edition of Manchester Chimp magazine. You might still be able to find copies in the shops; if not, it's available online from their website. The next issue is due out soon, with the featured bands including biederbeck, The Gentrymen, and G R E A T W A V E S.
- The first post charting my year in reading is up over at Onward, Manchester, featuring Moneyball by Michael Lewis, Misery by Stephen King, and Everything's Fine by Socrates Adams.
- On the same blog, my coverage of X-Men Regenesis is in progress (part 1) (part 2). It's moving at something of a glacial pace, but that's okay; whilst I'm happy to recommend comicbooks to people, I couldn't in good faith recommend that they buy single issues. Hell, the only reason I don't wait for the trades is that I'm a holdover from before the collected edition took hold, programmed to turn up at a shop each Thursday and peruse what's on offer.
- I'm preparing something that could loosely be described as "proper journalism" about Manchester's Metrolink service and its place in the city, primarily as a reaction to MP Graham Stringer's assertion that the network is "damaging the city's reputation and economy."
- I also started work on a novel in January, with the vague aim of getting much of it written within the year. A resolution of sorts, if you will, or at least an attempt to spur myself to write more fiction, which so far has proven somewhat successful.
Thursday, 9 February 2012
An Ignominious End for Fabio Capello?
When I previously wrote about the John Terry situation, I suggested that the FA had four options:
1) Terry is stripped of the captaincy but allowed to play for England.
2) Terry is stripped of the captaincy and banned from selection until the conclusion of the trial.
3) Terry is allowed to play, given that he is innocent until proven guilty.
4) Terry is dropped altogether for "footballing reasons."
Whilst realistically 4) is a bit of a stretch, I'm sure we can all agree that 1) is the least sensible option on the above list, and unsurprisingly that's exactly what the FA opted for. Or so we thought until Wednesday, when it became apparent that the FA had instead selected 5): Terry is stripped of the captaincy against England manager Fabio Capello's wishes but remains available for selection, and "oh, look, we don't have a manager anymore. How about that?"
Having mooted (but not, admittedly, wholeheartedly embraced) the idea that keeping Terry as captain was the right thing to do (in that removing him implies that he has done something wrong, when nothing of the sort has yet been established), I'm going to follow another unpopular path and suggest that the way the affair was handled (and mishandled) left Capello with no choice but to quit. He was clearly right to claim, in the aftermath of his resignation, that the FA damaged his authority, and that taking the Terry decision out of his hands (or not properly discussing the issue with him, at the very least) critically undermined his leadership, which in turn made his position untenable.
He did what any good manager did and fought for his player, defending Terry against those who seem intent to cast him as a guilty party before a verdict has been rendered. In a sense, his loyalty was admirable, and it would be harsh to condemn him for it, as some seem ready to. Would it have been so hard for the FA to stage a proper meeting to discuss the issue, listening fully to Capello's arguments as to why Terry should remain as captain before amicably overruling him and asking him to support the decision? Perhaps such an approach would have prevented his departure.
It's also worth remembering that Capello's win percentage as England manager is better than any of his predecessors. Better than Ramsey, Greenwood, Robson, Venables, and Eriksson, yet in terms of available talent I'd argue that he's had less to work with than most of the managers before him, and that he inherited England's recognised world class players (Ferdinand, Terry, Ashley Cole, Lampard, Gerrard, Beckham) at a point when most of them were in the midst of their inevitable decline.
At the same time, however, it goes without saying that Capello was his own worst enemy, and that choosing to express his displeasure to the media once the decision had been made was arrogant (and unnecessary) folly. The disastrous 2010 World Cup campaign rests largely on his shoulders, and since taking over he's struggled to win over the press and the public. If his principles can be admired, his decision-making skills when under pressure have been exposed as questionable at best; if we applaud his loyalty, we must also ask how much of his stance was born out of stubbornness; and if we acknowledge that progress has been made since the South Africa debacle, we must also admit that none of it has occurred on a stage that truly matters. At this point, a parting of the ways was probably the best for both parties.
1) Terry is stripped of the captaincy but allowed to play for England.
2) Terry is stripped of the captaincy and banned from selection until the conclusion of the trial.
3) Terry is allowed to play, given that he is innocent until proven guilty.
4) Terry is dropped altogether for "footballing reasons."
Whilst realistically 4) is a bit of a stretch, I'm sure we can all agree that 1) is the least sensible option on the above list, and unsurprisingly that's exactly what the FA opted for. Or so we thought until Wednesday, when it became apparent that the FA had instead selected 5): Terry is stripped of the captaincy against England manager Fabio Capello's wishes but remains available for selection, and "oh, look, we don't have a manager anymore. How about that?"
Having mooted (but not, admittedly, wholeheartedly embraced) the idea that keeping Terry as captain was the right thing to do (in that removing him implies that he has done something wrong, when nothing of the sort has yet been established), I'm going to follow another unpopular path and suggest that the way the affair was handled (and mishandled) left Capello with no choice but to quit. He was clearly right to claim, in the aftermath of his resignation, that the FA damaged his authority, and that taking the Terry decision out of his hands (or not properly discussing the issue with him, at the very least) critically undermined his leadership, which in turn made his position untenable.
He did what any good manager did and fought for his player, defending Terry against those who seem intent to cast him as a guilty party before a verdict has been rendered. In a sense, his loyalty was admirable, and it would be harsh to condemn him for it, as some seem ready to. Would it have been so hard for the FA to stage a proper meeting to discuss the issue, listening fully to Capello's arguments as to why Terry should remain as captain before amicably overruling him and asking him to support the decision? Perhaps such an approach would have prevented his departure.
It's also worth remembering that Capello's win percentage as England manager is better than any of his predecessors. Better than Ramsey, Greenwood, Robson, Venables, and Eriksson, yet in terms of available talent I'd argue that he's had less to work with than most of the managers before him, and that he inherited England's recognised world class players (Ferdinand, Terry, Ashley Cole, Lampard, Gerrard, Beckham) at a point when most of them were in the midst of their inevitable decline.
At the same time, however, it goes without saying that Capello was his own worst enemy, and that choosing to express his displeasure to the media once the decision had been made was arrogant (and unnecessary) folly. The disastrous 2010 World Cup campaign rests largely on his shoulders, and since taking over he's struggled to win over the press and the public. If his principles can be admired, his decision-making skills when under pressure have been exposed as questionable at best; if we applaud his loyalty, we must also ask how much of his stance was born out of stubbornness; and if we acknowledge that progress has been made since the South Africa debacle, we must also admit that none of it has occurred on a stage that truly matters. At this point, a parting of the ways was probably the best for both parties.
Friday, 3 February 2012
The Plight of John Terry
Being a figure of hate is nothing new for John Terry. The entire nation seemingly ground to a halt following the January 2010 revelations concerning his supposed affair with the ex-girlfriend of ex-teammate Wayne Bridge. The newspapers and the public in general were obsessed with the story, calling for his resignation as England captain and all but calling for his head, all while greedily devouring every bit of information or mis-information that was printed about him for months on end. Few people were interested when later that same year both the Mail on Sunday and the News of the World offered apologies to Vanessa Peroncell, for breaching her privacy and for printing a story that was untrue.
That furore temporarily cost him the England captaincy, but Rio Ferdinand's injury problems and general decline meant that within little over 12 months Terry was reinstated. The clash with Anton Ferdinand followed a few months later, however, and with it a whole new controversy.
Unlike his previous form the current situation is no minor frivolity. The accusation is serious; serious enough that the Crown Prosecution Service saw fit to charge him with using racist language. The Suarez incident was contained within the confines of football; Terry will be dealt with by the courts.
Wednesday's decision to delay the trial until July 9 was a curious one, seemingly made so as not to disrupt Chelsea's season, and indeed England's European Championship campaign. Not that the affair hasn't already caused ample disruption. Terry has been on the receiving end of plenty of unpleasant chanting, and here we are in February and the debate about his suitability to represent his country is already raging, with the tabloid newspapers once again leading a crusade. To delay the trial seems at best incredibly shortsighted, at worst a deplorable concession to the demands of a game that is apparently more important than justice being delivered in a timely fashion.
Mentioned in passing in a previous paragraph, the shadow of Rio Ferdinand looms large over the whole affair, and not just because he and Anton are brothers. Jason Roberts and many others have cited the 2003 incident that saw Rio left out of an England squad pending the investigation into his failure to attend a drug test, claiming that it should be held up as some kind of precedent. How exactly the two cases are related remains a mystery, given that said investigation was to determine whether or not his reason for missing the test (which was, quite simply, that he forgot about it) was an acceptable justification; in other words, Rio was guilty of the offense he was accused of, and the only question that remained was whether his explanation mitigated his guilt (the answer, unsurprisingly, was a resounding "no").
Roberts also mentions the situation involving Jonathan Woodgate and Lee Bowyer, both of whom the FA banned from international selection until the court case relating to the pair's alleged assault of an Asian student was concluded. As far as precedents go, that would appear to be a rather important one, although one suspects that if the FA were going to impose a similar restriction this time around, it would have done so already.
In the meantime, where does that leave the humble football fan, the men and women who just want to cheer on England in the European Championships? No-one is going to feel comfortable cheering on a team captained by a man who may or may not have used racist language in a hurtful manner; then again, is anyone going to feel better about cheering on a team only starring said man, rather than led by him? To wit: if Terry can't captain England, surely he can't play for England in any capacity? To strip him of the captaincy and still name him in the squad would be a frankly ludicrous decision, a declaration that we're against the sort of behaviour John Terry is accused of, but only up to a point.
Another question worth considering is to what extent should Fabio Capello and the FA be expected to pander to public sentiment? In this country, our entire justice system is predicated upon the fact that an individual is innocent until proven guilty beyond reasonable doubt. Any sanction against Terry would be a punishment, and to punish a man who has not yet been found guilty of anything would be an injustice, a bizarre acceptance of "there's no smoke without fire" as a binding legal argument. In many respects, keeping him as captain is the right decision, even though it certainly wouldn't be a popular one
Finally, we must ask whether or not Terry's recent form has been so great, so magnificent, so reminiscent of past glories that simply leaving him out of the squad is a possibility not worth considering. Great player though he remains, he's clearly lost a step or two in recent years; Fabio Capello could choose to be bold, selecting four younger defenders (Cahill, Richards, Jones, and Smalling, for example) and passing it off as an attempt to give valuable tournament experience to players who may prove to be the future of the national team. Such a line would fool no-one, of course, but it would put a contentious issue to bed swiftly and effectively. Whatever happens, any solution to the current situation will more than likely carry an air of uncomfortable compromise about it.
That furore temporarily cost him the England captaincy, but Rio Ferdinand's injury problems and general decline meant that within little over 12 months Terry was reinstated. The clash with Anton Ferdinand followed a few months later, however, and with it a whole new controversy.
Unlike his previous form the current situation is no minor frivolity. The accusation is serious; serious enough that the Crown Prosecution Service saw fit to charge him with using racist language. The Suarez incident was contained within the confines of football; Terry will be dealt with by the courts.
Wednesday's decision to delay the trial until July 9 was a curious one, seemingly made so as not to disrupt Chelsea's season, and indeed England's European Championship campaign. Not that the affair hasn't already caused ample disruption. Terry has been on the receiving end of plenty of unpleasant chanting, and here we are in February and the debate about his suitability to represent his country is already raging, with the tabloid newspapers once again leading a crusade. To delay the trial seems at best incredibly shortsighted, at worst a deplorable concession to the demands of a game that is apparently more important than justice being delivered in a timely fashion.
Mentioned in passing in a previous paragraph, the shadow of Rio Ferdinand looms large over the whole affair, and not just because he and Anton are brothers. Jason Roberts and many others have cited the 2003 incident that saw Rio left out of an England squad pending the investigation into his failure to attend a drug test, claiming that it should be held up as some kind of precedent. How exactly the two cases are related remains a mystery, given that said investigation was to determine whether or not his reason for missing the test (which was, quite simply, that he forgot about it) was an acceptable justification; in other words, Rio was guilty of the offense he was accused of, and the only question that remained was whether his explanation mitigated his guilt (the answer, unsurprisingly, was a resounding "no").
Roberts also mentions the situation involving Jonathan Woodgate and Lee Bowyer, both of whom the FA banned from international selection until the court case relating to the pair's alleged assault of an Asian student was concluded. As far as precedents go, that would appear to be a rather important one, although one suspects that if the FA were going to impose a similar restriction this time around, it would have done so already.
In the meantime, where does that leave the humble football fan, the men and women who just want to cheer on England in the European Championships? No-one is going to feel comfortable cheering on a team captained by a man who may or may not have used racist language in a hurtful manner; then again, is anyone going to feel better about cheering on a team only starring said man, rather than led by him? To wit: if Terry can't captain England, surely he can't play for England in any capacity? To strip him of the captaincy and still name him in the squad would be a frankly ludicrous decision, a declaration that we're against the sort of behaviour John Terry is accused of, but only up to a point.
Another question worth considering is to what extent should Fabio Capello and the FA be expected to pander to public sentiment? In this country, our entire justice system is predicated upon the fact that an individual is innocent until proven guilty beyond reasonable doubt. Any sanction against Terry would be a punishment, and to punish a man who has not yet been found guilty of anything would be an injustice, a bizarre acceptance of "there's no smoke without fire" as a binding legal argument. In many respects, keeping him as captain is the right decision, even though it certainly wouldn't be a popular one
Finally, we must ask whether or not Terry's recent form has been so great, so magnificent, so reminiscent of past glories that simply leaving him out of the squad is a possibility not worth considering. Great player though he remains, he's clearly lost a step or two in recent years; Fabio Capello could choose to be bold, selecting four younger defenders (Cahill, Richards, Jones, and Smalling, for example) and passing it off as an attempt to give valuable tournament experience to players who may prove to be the future of the national team. Such a line would fool no-one, of course, but it would put a contentious issue to bed swiftly and effectively. Whatever happens, any solution to the current situation will more than likely carry an air of uncomfortable compromise about it.
Tuesday, 6 December 2011
The National Anthem
On Sunday evening, Channel 4 screened Charlie Brooker's The National Anthem. I'm glad they did; the quality of the network's programming has eroded to such an extent that it should be applauded for taking risks. However, I didn't enjoy the show, and the outpourings of critical praise that have been lavished upon it baffle me. To my mind, it was both a bold endeavour and an absolute failure.
Naturally (and in keeping with the show's premise) I took to Twitter to air my opinion. In response to one of my more biting critiques, an individual responded by claiming that "it was a great commentary about the power of social media and how much more powerful it becomes when it concerns one person," a statement I entirely disagree with. Certainly, that's what the show set out to be, but in practise it was nothing of the sort, simply because the social media angle was never fully developed. Which is a pretty big oversight considering the denouement was premised upon the fictional public influencing events from their computers.
Unfortunately, rather than exploring how Twitter et al affect the way individuals interact with the world and impact upon current events, The National Anthem expected us to take it as read. That's fine, to an extent, as I'm sure we can all agree that social media has a massive impact on modern communication. But if your finale is a facsimile David Cameron fucking a pig, then the buildup to that moment needs to convince the viewer that such an outcome is believable. Having political advisors mumble something about public opinion shifting is not enough.
What it boils down to, for me, is suspension of disbelief. I'll go along with any narrative you put in front of me, no matter how ridiculous it may seem, as long as the execution is strong. It's up to the writer to convince the audience that the world they have created is plausible, that the situations presented could conceivably happen within that world, and that cause and effect is consistent within the parameters the writer has established.
The National Anthem portrayed the Great British public as slack-jawed morons staring at their telly boxes, eagerly anticipating a spot of bestiality featuring the prime minister. That's entirely believable - damn near everyone would watch such a spectacle, or at the very least try to before turning away in disgust. But then, by the internal logic the programme has embraced, wouldn't those same people be just as enthralled by the death of a princess? If the answer is "no," then the narrative needs to explain why that is the case. Once again, vague mutterings about "public sympathy" do not suffice.
Compounding this problem is the lip service paid to why the PM absolutely must go through with the act. Following a shift in public opinion, one of his advisors suggests that were the princess to die, his own safety and that of his family could not be guaranteed. On what grounds? What exactly are the social media-obsessed masses likely to do, other than tweet their condolences and create Facebook groups? Wouldn't these people just vent their anger impotently for a week or so, and then move onto the next big news story? Couldn't the likes of Facebook and Twitter be manipulated so as to get the public back on the prime minister's side? Surely The National Anthem should have answered these questions; instead, it was far too enamoured with its half-baked political satire to explore them.
It would be easier to forgive these flaws had it been a riotously entertaining hour of television, but following a strong start it tailed off badly, and completely fell apart in the final act. Once it became obvious that the tale was only going to end one way, it made for uncomfortable viewing. Which is fine in theory, as long as the discomfort is aligned to something else. But it wasn't. In the end, The National Anthem wasn't a though-provoking discourse on social media, it wasn't a blow struck to the political establishment, and it wasn't even particularly funny. It was nothing more than a one-note joke dressed up as social commentary, and the only insight gleaned was that Brooker might be losing his touch.
Naturally (and in keeping with the show's premise) I took to Twitter to air my opinion. In response to one of my more biting critiques, an individual responded by claiming that "it was a great commentary about the power of social media and how much more powerful it becomes when it concerns one person," a statement I entirely disagree with. Certainly, that's what the show set out to be, but in practise it was nothing of the sort, simply because the social media angle was never fully developed. Which is a pretty big oversight considering the denouement was premised upon the fictional public influencing events from their computers.
Unfortunately, rather than exploring how Twitter et al affect the way individuals interact with the world and impact upon current events, The National Anthem expected us to take it as read. That's fine, to an extent, as I'm sure we can all agree that social media has a massive impact on modern communication. But if your finale is a facsimile David Cameron fucking a pig, then the buildup to that moment needs to convince the viewer that such an outcome is believable. Having political advisors mumble something about public opinion shifting is not enough.
What it boils down to, for me, is suspension of disbelief. I'll go along with any narrative you put in front of me, no matter how ridiculous it may seem, as long as the execution is strong. It's up to the writer to convince the audience that the world they have created is plausible, that the situations presented could conceivably happen within that world, and that cause and effect is consistent within the parameters the writer has established.
The National Anthem portrayed the Great British public as slack-jawed morons staring at their telly boxes, eagerly anticipating a spot of bestiality featuring the prime minister. That's entirely believable - damn near everyone would watch such a spectacle, or at the very least try to before turning away in disgust. But then, by the internal logic the programme has embraced, wouldn't those same people be just as enthralled by the death of a princess? If the answer is "no," then the narrative needs to explain why that is the case. Once again, vague mutterings about "public sympathy" do not suffice.
Compounding this problem is the lip service paid to why the PM absolutely must go through with the act. Following a shift in public opinion, one of his advisors suggests that were the princess to die, his own safety and that of his family could not be guaranteed. On what grounds? What exactly are the social media-obsessed masses likely to do, other than tweet their condolences and create Facebook groups? Wouldn't these people just vent their anger impotently for a week or so, and then move onto the next big news story? Couldn't the likes of Facebook and Twitter be manipulated so as to get the public back on the prime minister's side? Surely The National Anthem should have answered these questions; instead, it was far too enamoured with its half-baked political satire to explore them.
It would be easier to forgive these flaws had it been a riotously entertaining hour of television, but following a strong start it tailed off badly, and completely fell apart in the final act. Once it became obvious that the tale was only going to end one way, it made for uncomfortable viewing. Which is fine in theory, as long as the discomfort is aligned to something else. But it wasn't. In the end, The National Anthem wasn't a though-provoking discourse on social media, it wasn't a blow struck to the political establishment, and it wasn't even particularly funny. It was nothing more than a one-note joke dressed up as social commentary, and the only insight gleaned was that Brooker might be losing his touch.
Tuesday, 29 November 2011
What's in a Title?
(Warning: the following post discusses the first of Henning Mankell's Kurt Wallander novels, and as such contains spoilers).
The translation of literature from one language to another is a fascinating subject, one that has been extensively discussed throughout the ages. Without getting into the ins and outs right now, the question over whether or not a translator can ever truly capture the original author's intent - or whether or not they can avoid injecting their own authorial voice - is one that may never be satisfactorily answered.
Translation can be tricky and divisive, having an effect on everything from the title on up. Alain-Fournier's superb Le Grand Meaulnes has been translated many times in English, with many different titles, amongst them The Lost Estate, The Lost Domain, The Wanderer, and The Magnificent Meaulnes; due to the difficulties involved in accurately capturing the intent of the original French, some translators have opted to simply retain the original French when publishing English-language versions. More famously, there is Marcel Proust's A la recherche du temps perdu, which has been presented as Remembrance of Things Past and In Search of Lost Time, with neither considered satisfactory by some scholars. And in this country only one of Stieg Larsson's Millenium novels has been published with a title that accurately reflects the original Swedish (which is a shame: the final part of the trilogy would have been called something very close to "The Castle Made Of Air That Was Blown Up," whereas the first part would have been aptly named "Men Who Hate Women").
The latter example is of particular interest, given that it involves the original title being tweaked to suit a different audience/to make more sense in a different language. The English title of Henning Mankell's first Kurt Wallander novel is Faceless Killers or (translated from the original Swedish) "murderers without faces." And in the end, the killers do indeed turn out to be "faceless," in that they were unknown to the victims. Which comes as a major surprise, because a) I didn't imagine for one minute that the title of the book would so comprehensively give away the ending (in crime fiction terms, it's roughly the equivalent of calling your novel The Butler Did It); and b) Wallander spends almost the entirety of the investigation focusing on Swedish nationals, despite the fact that before death, one of the victims repeats the word "foreign" several times.
If we take it as read that narrative convention dictates that you don't give away the ending at the start of the tale, and acknowledge that in no way is Faceless Killers intended to subvert this convention, then it seems a strange move. Throughout the novel, the reader is expecting the clue contained within the title and the last word to become clear, to be explained in a clever or even oblique fashion that ultimately makes perfect sense. But there's no deception, no sleight of hand; the title is accurate, and "foreign" is spoken unambiguously. The upshot of this is that Wallander wastes months of his time chasing red herrings because he was convinced that the level of brutality inflicted on the victims suggested that the murderers knew them, and were exacting some kind of revenge. One could argue that his failure to accept any other hypothesis was irresponsible, and possibly even negligible, seeing as how the killers could have struck again (and indeed, put in the groundwork in an attempt to do so). One could even argue that the author cheats, giving the game away early doors and then spending the bulk of the novel insisting that all is not as it seems, when the opposite turns out to be true.
In many ways, Mankell should be applauded for telling an unconventional tale, one where the guilty party isn't an individual the reader is introduced to who turns out to have something to hide; the effect is that the story seems more grounded in real life. But as a crime fiction fan, I don't want the solution to be staring me in the face from the cover of the book. Faceless Killers would have been much more successful with an evocative title rather than a descriptive one. Sometimes, even faithful translation can be problematic.
The translation of literature from one language to another is a fascinating subject, one that has been extensively discussed throughout the ages. Without getting into the ins and outs right now, the question over whether or not a translator can ever truly capture the original author's intent - or whether or not they can avoid injecting their own authorial voice - is one that may never be satisfactorily answered.
Translation can be tricky and divisive, having an effect on everything from the title on up. Alain-Fournier's superb Le Grand Meaulnes has been translated many times in English, with many different titles, amongst them The Lost Estate, The Lost Domain, The Wanderer, and The Magnificent Meaulnes; due to the difficulties involved in accurately capturing the intent of the original French, some translators have opted to simply retain the original French when publishing English-language versions. More famously, there is Marcel Proust's A la recherche du temps perdu, which has been presented as Remembrance of Things Past and In Search of Lost Time, with neither considered satisfactory by some scholars. And in this country only one of Stieg Larsson's Millenium novels has been published with a title that accurately reflects the original Swedish (which is a shame: the final part of the trilogy would have been called something very close to "The Castle Made Of Air That Was Blown Up," whereas the first part would have been aptly named "Men Who Hate Women").
The latter example is of particular interest, given that it involves the original title being tweaked to suit a different audience/to make more sense in a different language. The English title of Henning Mankell's first Kurt Wallander novel is Faceless Killers or (translated from the original Swedish) "murderers without faces." And in the end, the killers do indeed turn out to be "faceless," in that they were unknown to the victims. Which comes as a major surprise, because a) I didn't imagine for one minute that the title of the book would so comprehensively give away the ending (in crime fiction terms, it's roughly the equivalent of calling your novel The Butler Did It); and b) Wallander spends almost the entirety of the investigation focusing on Swedish nationals, despite the fact that before death, one of the victims repeats the word "foreign" several times.
If we take it as read that narrative convention dictates that you don't give away the ending at the start of the tale, and acknowledge that in no way is Faceless Killers intended to subvert this convention, then it seems a strange move. Throughout the novel, the reader is expecting the clue contained within the title and the last word to become clear, to be explained in a clever or even oblique fashion that ultimately makes perfect sense. But there's no deception, no sleight of hand; the title is accurate, and "foreign" is spoken unambiguously. The upshot of this is that Wallander wastes months of his time chasing red herrings because he was convinced that the level of brutality inflicted on the victims suggested that the murderers knew them, and were exacting some kind of revenge. One could argue that his failure to accept any other hypothesis was irresponsible, and possibly even negligible, seeing as how the killers could have struck again (and indeed, put in the groundwork in an attempt to do so). One could even argue that the author cheats, giving the game away early doors and then spending the bulk of the novel insisting that all is not as it seems, when the opposite turns out to be true.
In many ways, Mankell should be applauded for telling an unconventional tale, one where the guilty party isn't an individual the reader is introduced to who turns out to have something to hide; the effect is that the story seems more grounded in real life. But as a crime fiction fan, I don't want the solution to be staring me in the face from the cover of the book. Faceless Killers would have been much more successful with an evocative title rather than a descriptive one. Sometimes, even faithful translation can be problematic.
Wednesday, 23 November 2011
Fluorescent
Shackled to one radiator,
we had nothing else to do
other than argue over the spelling
of the word fluorescent
as the harsh overhead lighting beat down upon us.
He refused to acknowledge
the presence of a 'u,'
whereas I
(for my sins)
insisted that there were two of them.
That we were both wrong
was a source of some small comfort
as we tried to salvage
the tattered remains of our friendship
after our eventual release.
we had nothing else to do
other than argue over the spelling
of the word fluorescent
as the harsh overhead lighting beat down upon us.
He refused to acknowledge
the presence of a 'u,'
whereas I
(for my sins)
insisted that there were two of them.
That we were both wrong
was a source of some small comfort
as we tried to salvage
the tattered remains of our friendship
after our eventual release.
Sunday, 20 November 2011
- Saw Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks at the refurbished Ritz last week. Whilst I enjoyed them, the set was perhaps a little too focused on new material. I'm a big fan of Mirror Traffic, and I fully understand why artists don't want to play songs from albums they've already toured to death, but performing nothing from Pig Lib was a little disappointing to me (it's probably my favourite of his solo records). Still, "Church On White" was a lovely way to end the evening. Helping make the evening great: Girls, who have blossomed into a fantastic band. Whether or not a support band should play for over an hour is open to debate, though, no matter how good they may be. The venue, which was characterful back when I was underage drinking there at the start of the 21st century (characterful being shorthand for "a scuzzy little dump"), looks good, although having to pay £4 for even the worst of alcoholic beverages may well deter me from attending in the future.
- Also saw The Future, a couple of days afterwards. So far, I have failed to write anything about it, but it definitely had a big effect on me, and I'll be trying to get some words down at some point. It's run at the Cornerhouse was ludicrously brief, given that they showed Submarine for what seemed like years, and will probably do the same with We Need To Talk About Kevin. Yawn.
- Posted the first part of my coverage of the X-Men relaunch over at Onward, Manchester, with more to come next week (quite a bit more, actually, as I'm well behind at the moment). The two flagship titles, Wolverine and the X-Men and Uncanny X-Men, are far and away the pick of the bunch. Which is as it should be, although some of the other titles haven't impressed me, and I'm already considering dropping a couple.
- Very disappointed to learn that Peter Hook and the Light have been performing Closer. What a massive hypocrite he is. Actual quote from Hook, following the souring of relations between him and Bernard Sumner: "New Order without Peter Hook is like Queen without Freddie Mercury." And Joy Division without Ian Curtis is a massive waste of time, so why bother?
- Also saw The Future, a couple of days afterwards. So far, I have failed to write anything about it, but it definitely had a big effect on me, and I'll be trying to get some words down at some point. It's run at the Cornerhouse was ludicrously brief, given that they showed Submarine for what seemed like years, and will probably do the same with We Need To Talk About Kevin. Yawn.
- Posted the first part of my coverage of the X-Men relaunch over at Onward, Manchester, with more to come next week (quite a bit more, actually, as I'm well behind at the moment). The two flagship titles, Wolverine and the X-Men and Uncanny X-Men, are far and away the pick of the bunch. Which is as it should be, although some of the other titles haven't impressed me, and I'm already considering dropping a couple.
- Very disappointed to learn that Peter Hook and the Light have been performing Closer. What a massive hypocrite he is. Actual quote from Hook, following the souring of relations between him and Bernard Sumner: "New Order without Peter Hook is like Queen without Freddie Mercury." And Joy Division without Ian Curtis is a massive waste of time, so why bother?
Friday, 11 November 2011
On Comments Off
On Thursday, the other half of Onward, Manchester posted Comments Off, wading into the debate about online abuse on comments boards. In part, this piece was prompted by our own experiences; more specifically, mine. You see, I've recently been writing a series entitled Tales of a Go-Nowhere Indie Band, a true account of my time spent playing music. In part three, I wrote the following:
"Months later, after I had finally quit the band, I had a habit of bumping into the guy who had helped engineer the session, and every time he would tell me how much he hated our lead guitarist's vocals."
My ex-bandmates discovered these pieces, and presumably the aforementioned line upset them (nothing else stands out as particularly inflammatory), prompting a mini-backlash of sorts. I included the line because it added colour; whether or not that was a mistake is, I suppose, debatable; however, given that it was an accurate retelling of events I had every right to use it. What followed was a couple of attacks: the first was a negative comment left using a pseudonym that was easy to see through because the email address it was sent from contained the real name of the person in question (not to mention their IP address); the second was an attempt at intimidation by pretending to be someone from our shared past.
The incidents, as you might expect, left a sour taste. And yet I still would not choose to join the ranks of those advocating the elimination of comments boards altogether. Such forums do serve a purpose, and can be used to foster positive and constructive conversation and debate. It's difficult to even make a convincing argument for greater accountability and regulation; how on earth would one go about regulating free speech? It can't be done without entering into dangerous territory concerning what can and cannot be said. Fortunately, most people know how to self-regulate, and understand the difference between acceptable and unacceptable online behaviour.
Of course, adopting this stance leaves anyone who wants to publish their work in the not-too-pleasant position of having to endure whatever misguided, asinine, or threatening things people bearing grudges or different opinions may send their way. Recently, Helen Lewis Hasteley and a number of other female bloggers have been writing thoughtfully and intelligently about how truly abhorrent and repulsive commenters can be; indeed, the abuse they have had levelled at them serves to highlight how minor the slights I suffered were. Even more so considering that my tale has a happy ending. A couple of weeks ago, I was sat three rows behind the aforementioned individuals at an Adam Buxton show, during which the comic relentlessly took the piss out of people who spend their time posting negative comments on the Internet whilst hiding behind anonymous usernames.
I can't imagine they enjoyed his performance half as much as I did.
"Months later, after I had finally quit the band, I had a habit of bumping into the guy who had helped engineer the session, and every time he would tell me how much he hated our lead guitarist's vocals."
My ex-bandmates discovered these pieces, and presumably the aforementioned line upset them (nothing else stands out as particularly inflammatory), prompting a mini-backlash of sorts. I included the line because it added colour; whether or not that was a mistake is, I suppose, debatable; however, given that it was an accurate retelling of events I had every right to use it. What followed was a couple of attacks: the first was a negative comment left using a pseudonym that was easy to see through because the email address it was sent from contained the real name of the person in question (not to mention their IP address); the second was an attempt at intimidation by pretending to be someone from our shared past.
The incidents, as you might expect, left a sour taste. And yet I still would not choose to join the ranks of those advocating the elimination of comments boards altogether. Such forums do serve a purpose, and can be used to foster positive and constructive conversation and debate. It's difficult to even make a convincing argument for greater accountability and regulation; how on earth would one go about regulating free speech? It can't be done without entering into dangerous territory concerning what can and cannot be said. Fortunately, most people know how to self-regulate, and understand the difference between acceptable and unacceptable online behaviour.
Of course, adopting this stance leaves anyone who wants to publish their work in the not-too-pleasant position of having to endure whatever misguided, asinine, or threatening things people bearing grudges or different opinions may send their way. Recently, Helen Lewis Hasteley and a number of other female bloggers have been writing thoughtfully and intelligently about how truly abhorrent and repulsive commenters can be; indeed, the abuse they have had levelled at them serves to highlight how minor the slights I suffered were. Even more so considering that my tale has a happy ending. A couple of weeks ago, I was sat three rows behind the aforementioned individuals at an Adam Buxton show, during which the comic relentlessly took the piss out of people who spend their time posting negative comments on the Internet whilst hiding behind anonymous usernames.
I can't imagine they enjoyed his performance half as much as I did.
Monday, 7 November 2011
- Park Chan-wook's Thirst is a fascinating film for a variety of reasons, chief among which is its unabashed willingness to laugh at itself. Or possibly because of the fact that it isn't aware it is being laughed at; the tone is confused to say the least. What starts as a religious melodrama descends into farce no more or less ridiculous than Twilight. If the intention is to parody and/or satirise the conventions of vampire stories, then the film is an unqualified success. If, however, the director was playing things straight, then Thirst is a spectacular failure. Either way, it is certainly worth watching.
- Another thing I did yesterday: plough through Avengers Disassembled, having had the sudden urge to reread it. Hyperbolic statement warning: these comics probably did as much damage to the industry as the shift of power from writer to artist in the early 1990s. They convinced both Marvel and DC that the way forward was blockbuster event after blockbuster event, with the need to a grandiose line-wide storyline every summer trumping any artistic considerations. Avengers Disassembled is successful on some counts, but much of it is dreadful. After a decent part one, the remainder is defined by any number of interminable conversation scenes. It's like Brian Michael Bendis thought to himself "wow, that first chapter was action-packed! Better slow the pace down from hereon in." And so things grind to a halt. Part three is particularly poor, from Hawkeye's oft-mocked death to the damp squib of a cliffhanger, although the biggest failure is the way Brian Michael Bendis simply tells the reader the Scarlet Witch is the villain, rather than revealing it. Masterful storytelling it is not.
- On a related note, over at Onward, Manchester I've posted My Life in Comicbooks, charting my appreciation of the artform from its origins to the modern day. It includes cartoons, pilgrimage, and murder!
- Another thing I did yesterday: plough through Avengers Disassembled, having had the sudden urge to reread it. Hyperbolic statement warning: these comics probably did as much damage to the industry as the shift of power from writer to artist in the early 1990s. They convinced both Marvel and DC that the way forward was blockbuster event after blockbuster event, with the need to a grandiose line-wide storyline every summer trumping any artistic considerations. Avengers Disassembled is successful on some counts, but much of it is dreadful. After a decent part one, the remainder is defined by any number of interminable conversation scenes. It's like Brian Michael Bendis thought to himself "wow, that first chapter was action-packed! Better slow the pace down from hereon in." And so things grind to a halt. Part three is particularly poor, from Hawkeye's oft-mocked death to the damp squib of a cliffhanger, although the biggest failure is the way Brian Michael Bendis simply tells the reader the Scarlet Witch is the villain, rather than revealing it. Masterful storytelling it is not.
- On a related note, over at Onward, Manchester I've posted My Life in Comicbooks, charting my appreciation of the artform from its origins to the modern day. It includes cartoons, pilgrimage, and murder!
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