This is odd. Odd and interesting. When I ordered Asli Erdogan’s Bâtiment de pierre at my local bookstore yesterday, I picked up Orhan Pamuk’s Snow also – in French translation – and read the first few pages last night.

This morning, out of a vague impression of not-quite-it, I read the first few pages in English online. Perhaps this is only because I’ve read other works of Pamuk’s in English translation but I get the feeling I’ll keep my French-language copy as a lending copy for local friends, and order the English version. Why? Because the fine, thin edge of irony seems to come through much better in English. Or perhaps it will develop more slowly in the French translation. A side-by-side reading then? Maybe.

In English, the first pages reminded me of Kafka’s The Castle. What can I say? I happen to find irony and humor in Kafka. No matter what the topic or mood it conveys, writing is an act of affirmation. A “Sir, I exist” reflex, whatever response the writing triggers – or doesn’t.

***

For now, I’ve finished the initial revision of my latest. Does the fine thin edge of irony come through in the correct balance? I don’t know yet. Must read through again. At any rate, whatever changes I bring to the text at this point, I doubt they will modify the basic story.

***

Interesting dreams – optimistic sounds ludicrous when applied to their subject matter but that’s often what irony is about – and light-heartedness too when it chooses to crop up.

***

In the category of books I won’t buy unless I get a windfall and extra wall space, there’s one I read about in The Guardian and that widens the horizon on what classical Greek theater may have been like in real time.  For now and given the times, the notion of widening horizons instead of closing them in suits me fine.

(Illustration: more backstage stuff at Théâtre du Rugissant.)