I was going to celebrate a pretty good day by posting some kind of YouTube video associated with Vikings. I don’t know what. Just something. But YouTube doesn’t seem to be functioning tonight. So I chose the painting above, The Ravager by John Charles Dollman (ca. 1909). Because it’s cold and snowing up here, and it seemed appropriate. Even with the stupid winged helmets.

But it’s still a good day, never mind the weather. Or the wings. Did a reading of one of my theological translations for the Georg Sverdrup Society at the seminary this morning. That went well.

Also signed the contract for my book translation with Saga Publishers International. That means a direct connection between the wealth of Norway and my personal bank account. Also the tremendous respect that being a certified professional scholarly translator brings. And the groupies, of course.

Not coincidentally, I sent the completed first draft of the translation to Saga.

I even got a good parking place at the grocery store – one of those where I could pull forward into the next slot and so leave without backing up.

I should have asked some random woman on a date. But there are limits to a good day.

J. Mark Bertrand is a remarkable man. He probably hunts elk on weekends and subs occasionally at Chez Dakota for his sous chef friends. He’s also an author and reader, has been an editor, if he isn’t still, and blogs about Bible design at his blog called… Bible Design Blog.

He doesn’t always drink beer, naturally, but when he does–you get the idea.

All to say he has a fascinating article on which Bible to buy for yourself or your dear, dear friend on First Things. The article has many recommendations, but I’d like to highlight one to which a reader points: The Four Holy Gospels, ESV Bible (Slipcase), illuminated by the wonderful painter Makoto Fujimura. It’s not a bible you take to church really, but I’m sure it’s one that will inspire your meditation.

As promised earlier, we have a few more possible book covers for you to look at. Here’s a sentimental favorite (with me at least): Another version including all my buddies, utilizing the central space for a blurb from Hal Colebatch:

Continue reading More cover crowdsourcing →

If I were really professional, I’d probably have postponed beginning my translation of Norge i Vikingtid until I had a signed contract, but phooey. Most of my novels were written before I had a contract, or even the promise of one. And I’m excited about this project. It vitalizes me.

Translation can be a disorienting process. I suspect it’s extremely complex, neurologically. There’s a sort of mental dance that goes on between the original text and the translator’s thoughts. You can get a semi-passable (sometimes) translation of a text by running it through something like Babelfish, but the results testify to the very complex and subtle nature of language. There are nuances in the text that have to be caught, music you need to transpose. Sometimes an accurate translation takes you a moderate distance from the precise words of the original, because the original language is accustomed to taking different paths to the meaning than English is.

I read somewhere that the Italians have a joke, based on the fact that the words “translator” and “traitor” are very similar in that language. I think it’s also the Italians who say (my apologies to anyone who might be offended), “A translation is like a wife. If she is faithful, she is probably not beautiful, and if she is beautiful, she is probably not faithful.”

I have an ambition – and I don’t think it’s entirely arrogant – to make this translation both beautiful and faithful. I honestly think I can do that, or something pretty close.

One of the weird aspects of the process, at least for me, is what I think of as “losing my English.” I’m reading along in the Norwegian, and understanding it just fine, and then when I turn to my laptop to render it my native language, I can’t for the life of me remember the English word I want. It’s there, I know, but I just can’t put my hand on it. It’s very similar to the experience we’ve all had where we search for a word we know perfectly well, but temporarily can’t find it for some reason. Only when I’m translating this happens constantly, again and again. I generally put in a not-as-good word, highlight it, and move on. If I ignore it, it’ll come wandering back eventually, like Little Bo Peep’s flock.

I suspect (I haven’t researched it) that different languages occupy different parts of the brain, and that I’m in the process of running new data lines from the Norwegian section to the English. Perhaps the problem will diminish as I spend time at it.

I bet you I’ll still stink at understanding spoken Norwegian, though.

I got good news today. I received a favorable reply to an offer I’d made (by invitation) to Saga Bok Publishers in Norway to do the English translation of Prof. Torgrim Titlestad’s recent book, Norge i Vikingtid. That would be Norway in the Viking Age in English.

I lowballed my offer, because I’m unproven in professional translating and I’m keen on this project, and on establishing a working relationship with Saga Bok.

Years ago, as I began to work on a novel about Erling Skjalgsson, I came to certain conclusions about what his principles were, on the basis of the saga accounts.

It was with some delight that I discovered later that there was a Norwegian historian who shared, to a large degree, my views on that particular subject. That historian was Prof. Titlestad.

The project looks to be fairly easy, except for the length of the book, which is considerable. But most of my translation to date has been of 19th Century Norwegian writings, with flowery language and often convoluted sentence structure. Prof. Titlestad, on the other hand, writes in a simple, clear style.

I don’t expect that this will interfere with my fiction writing to any great degree.

In any case, I need the money.

Coffee and Markets talks to Keith Urbahn about his new firm, Javelin, and publishing conservative authors. “As the only full-service book writing and publicity firm in the nation’s capital, Javelin is the first of its kind,” says Urbahn’s LinkedIn bio, “offering concrete, multi-channel services from crisis communications and social networking solutions to speech and book writing.”