Monday, 22 March 2010
La Coda Canterina - Topipittori
"La coda canterina", texts by Guia Risari, illustrations by Violeta Lopiz, Publisher Topipittori, March 2010.
Let's try to remember how many kind of tails we know: there's the dog's tail, always ready to waggle; the cow's tail, that sometimes has a funny tuft at the end; the noble and luxurious horse's tail; the beaver's tail, flat and rounded, just like a scull; the squirrel's springing tail, always perfectly combed; the lion's tail, with a small mane at its edge; the cat's tail, that blows like a could ready to pour rain when the cat is hungry.
Well, for all the tales you'll be able to remember, I am sure that none, and I mean none, will ever be like this tail.
Why? There are at least three good reasons: the first is that this tail belongs to a child; the second consists in its length that equals earth's circumference; the third reason is that this tail sings with a heavenly voice, it sings so well that it would bewitch everybody, you too!
But let's start from the beginning: one morning a boy wakes up but he's not alone anymore, he is in company with a tail, his tail. The night before it wasn't there and now, here it is, firm at its place. The boy tries to hide it at first, without success, he then tries to drawn it in the bathtub but with no result. The tail starts to produce noise, at the point that the boy's parents end up breaking into the bathroom and discover the mystery. Oh my God, a tail! Worse: a singing tail! A cheeky tail that doesn't obey mom and dad's orders.
What to say? This is an awful, awkward, perturbing situation.
If you lived as well "in un paese minuscolo, così piccolo che il nome era più grande del paese"*, then you would know that you can't keep a secret too long. Much better involve also the other inhabitants then, not to afford the situation alone, who knows, maybe somebody could find a resolution to the problem.
No inhabitant of the village sees the tail as a deformity, it's more an inconvenient they want to get rid of: it's a problem that needs a resolution to be found all together. This is why, when someone suggests pulling the tail, the whole village is ready to help.
It's a fun picture book, surreal, that unties (this is really worthy saying) around an unusual protagonist like only a tie singing old Russian folk songs can be. This book has an old-fashioned taste from some point of view, starting with the sing-song the tail is singing, to end with the tiny-winy village, where everybody knows each other and help out; it's also a bit rural, for that strong sense of community that recalls life in the old farm-yard houses of the beginning of the twentieth century. Though nothing makes us understand if this is true as this is, at the same time, a perfectly modern story.
Guia Risari is very good at measuring little hints of magic, with a good amount of ironic and amused smile, mixed with the more concrete reality of the little village portrayed in its typical dynamics. A nice text, pressing, with a cultivated language. The illustrations by Violeta Lopiz, all played around a very simple chromaticism (white, black, different shades of grey and red) and a mixed technique, are wonderful. Her characters so well defined and recognizable go with the tale underlying the crescendo of the urgency, emphasized by the text's rhythm. The plate where the boy's parents are portrayed in foreground, once they get to know about the problem, is simply stunning.
This book is a beautiful journey: the fellow-countrymen's journey, pulling the tail till they go round the world, and our journey as, page after page, we discover what can't be seen.
Copyright© text and images by Topipittori 2010. Images have been reproduced with the permission of the Publishing House.
*"in a tiny village, so tiny that its name was bigger than the village itself"
Saturday, 20 March 2010
Bologna Children's Book Fair (March 23rd-26th 2010)
I love the Bologna Children's Book Fair! Why, you might wonder? In the end it's a fair where you make business, a place where you sell and buy book rights, where trade is fundamental for those who buy a booth, as in any other show in the rest of the world.
Though, once a year, the exhibiting centre's grey walls change their DNA: their structure seems lighter and sinuous, its spaces seem bigger and nicer because - once a year - the fair becomes the beating heart of children's literature and the world tastes differently.
Those who believe that this fair is just business are making a gross mistake, a glance to the programme will be enough to understand the work and passion that are necessary to put together all this. Beside business there are seminars, meetings, events, intellectual exchanges that could grant vital sap for the rest of the year. Of course you must be interested in all this if you wish to participate, maybe this is why it's not open to public. For sure this is not a place where you can bring kids for a break, somewhere you can go to make a ludic excursion: it's more for teachers, authors, illustrators, professionals of this field.
Those who think of coming at the fair with their cheques ready and their wallet full of hope, will be carried away by a wave of art in perpetual changement, they will be projected in a renewed imaginary, they will win back old memories, sensations, forgotten flavours.
Art, yes, in its higher peaks, I truly mean this.
I'm talking to you sirs, you who look down at children's literature turning up your noble noses!! To those who believe that to illustrate a children's book it's enough to simplify shapes, to use basic colours, to make things look sweeter I just want to say one thing: open your eyes, that in this world there are artists that have nothing to fear if compared to those who believe to be representing real Art, to those who look down at the world from their ivory towers. These artists have a lot to say, because their gesture is free from mental bonds, their approach to the world is absolutely frank, ironic, also disenchanted at times, and bitter: a view where sickly has no space. Shall I give you an example? Well, take a look at Mattotti's version of Hänsel and Gretel... ain't this art?
I'm talking to you who believe that writing a children's book is a trifle: well you should try to, why don't you? Only then, you will be able to tell me if taking off all the mental superstructures we get dressed with, in favour of simpler clothes without being banal, without using those honeyed and cloying words that bore kids much more than adults, has been so easy. Do try to keep young readers inconstant attention, there's a world out there that needs being discovered can you give them a good reason not to remove their gaze from your page?
Those who ever read Bianca Pitzorno, Angela Nanetti, Roberto Piumini, Rebecca Stead, Timothée de Fombelle, only to mention a few, would know that there's nothing they should envy to writers such as Barricco, or Stefano Benni, or Ammaniti, or Stephen King (and here too the list would be much longer)... It could as well be true the other way around. Let me ask you something: why, on your opinion, many of the biggest writers of all times, at least once in their lives, have written a children’s book? And I'm not just thinking of Dickens, I'm talking of Moravia for instance, or Umberto Eco, or Elsa Morante, Jean Giono, Herman Hesse, Nazim Hikmet, Mordecai Richler, Eric Emmanuel Schmitt, and many others.
After this animated praise, I believe you could better understand the winds of passion that animate the Bologna Book Fair and the peaks it can reach.
Of course, close to the highest expressions of art there are the typical cheap products, the ones made to sell, not necessarily to elevate, despite this though culture is present and well represented and this is not unimportant, especially in this country that has been the land of literature and now risks to become once for all a dump of obviousness and ignorance, in the European country with the smallest average of books read in one year.
I shall never get tired of repeating it: culture is freedom, let's fight for it!
P.S. I have just received a newsletter from Orecchio Acerbo Publishing House, where I found this article titled: "I libri che stanno facendo tremare Geronimo Stilton"*, excellent new to end my post with!
*"The books Geronimo Stilton is afraid of"
Monday, 8 March 2010
Two Picture Books from Sarbacane
Today I shall introduce two new picture books published by Sarbacane respectively in January and February: "Coline" and "L'étrange projet de Monsieur G.".
Coline, texts by Alex Cousseau, illustrations by Chiaki Mijamoto, Editions Sarbacane, Jannuary 2009
Coline is a story about the friendship between a swallow, Coline, and Youyou, the turtle.
The two friends are inseparable, they happily play hide and seek on the beach, but autumn is incumbent and Coline starts feeling a strong instinct to abandon the country to migrate south. Youyou feels so sorry, she can't stand the idea to loose her friend, even if she knows that one day Coline will come back.
What could she do then? Maybe she could take a little souvenir of her friend, to warm her heart up during the long winter? Maybe a small feather, that smells of her, but will one feather be enough? Maybe two would do better than just one... Pushed by the wish to keep her friend close to her, Youyou doesn't fully understand what she is doing: poor Coline, who was so happy for the upcoming departure, will be quickly left featherless and she won't be able to leave as she had planned. Why, why did my dearest friend do this to me? She will ask herself. Youyou will have to find a solution to for the damage she has caused, and maybe she will as well find a way not to separate from her darling friend.
The power of friendship and the sadness caused by abandonment are the two topics that characterise this picture book for younger kids. The feeling of possession that Youyou feels doesn't allow her to immediately understand the hill she's doing to her friend and, maybe, in every friendship there is a moment like this, when we grow older as well.
This story tender and melancholy teaches us that we can't just think of ourselves, of our feelings, on the contrary we should think of those we love, to protect them from our small or big selfishness as well. And if we do something wrong we should try to find a remedy for it, with the means we can count on and with pure heart.
As I was just saying, this is a lesson that is good at all ages, because friendship is probably the purest feeling we could ever feel, as it's not ruled by relative bonds, or from other impulse other than selfless love.
This little picture book, full of poetry, is the result of the collaboration between two artists quite new to children's literature but already widely credited. Alex Cousseau, who started his career in 2004, has published with l'Ecole des Loisirs, for Le Rouergue he has written novels for kids and teenagers, and now Sarbacane publishes this picture book. His picture book titled "Dans moi', illustrated by Kitty Crowther, has been published in Italy by Topipittori Pub. House. Chiaki Miyamoto, born in Osaka, lives in France since 2000, in 2003 she gets her degree at Emile Cohl's School in Lyon where she still lives nowadays: she has published several picture books with Gallimard Jeunesse, Belem, Nathan and Milan.
Of this book I have admired the gentleness and the sensibility of both, author and illustrator, dealing with the themes of friendship, touching the deepest reasons that lead us to behave incorrectly at times but also underlying e importance of opening mind and heart, in the effort of understanding the reasons of other people.
The illustrations, in their essential simplicity, enter the story quietly, to win readers' attention with the sober and soft lines and the bright colours.
From three years old on.
L'étrange projet de monsieur G., text and illustrations by Gustavo Roldan, translation from Spanish by Jacques Fuentealba, Editions Sarbacane, February 2010
Le me start by saying that, in this book, there is no reference to our Mr G. (Il Signor G. a.k.a Giorgio Gaber). Even if maybe, Gaber himself, would have appreciated its message, the surreal setting and that vein of madness, if madness is the right word, that animates this Mr G.
But let's start from the beginning!
Gustavo Roldan lives in Barcelona, and this could partly explain the flowery taste of some of the illustrations of this book, but he was born in Argentina, and maybe from here come its boundless spaces.
His Mr G. lives in a small village in the middle of the desert. It's a desert where nothing happens, nothing grows, and everything seems to be motionless for good. Everything is dry and silent, an eternal moment, suspended, as if we were in one of those desert scenes of Sergio Leone's western movies. In this desert, Mr. G lives politely with his neighbours, they say hello, and they make sure that everything is all right...
Until, one day, Mr G has a queer idea.
Well, let's say a mad idea: he decides to plant a flower in the desert to "poner un poco de música en este lugar"!*
His wise neighbours know for sure that no flower can rise in the desert, and flowers can't make any music for sure, Mr G. must have grown a little mad. What will happen with the seed that has been planted? Will it grow? Will it sing? I shall let you find the answer yourselves.
The apparent playfulness of the book, with its illustrations and their slightly stereotyped and ludicrous côtè, the light lines and the white background, hide a very serious message: personal initiative, when it's devoted to improve human condition, can change also those situations that are apparently lifeless. Didn't a precious flower grow on Saint Exupéry's desert moon? Thus, maybe, even if we look like mad at other people's eyes, we can try to grow our own sounding flower in the desert and, if it ever blows, who will be mad then?
Idling won't help change things, therefore our Mr G., with his likely desperate gesture, starts a little civil revolution that will bring to an unexpected and welcome changement in his village. To each one of us his own choice: are we mad or wise?
This picture book, with the title "El Señor G.", has been originarily released by the newborn Publishing House A Buen Paso (it's the same publisher that released another little masterpiece: Papá Tatuado, produced in Italy by Orecchio Acerbo)
Copyright© text and images by Editions Sarbacane 2010. Images have been reproduced with the permission of the Publishing House.
* "bring some music in this place"
Coline, texts by Alex Cousseau, illustrations by Chiaki Mijamoto, Editions Sarbacane, Jannuary 2009
Coline is a story about the friendship between a swallow, Coline, and Youyou, the turtle.
The two friends are inseparable, they happily play hide and seek on the beach, but autumn is incumbent and Coline starts feeling a strong instinct to abandon the country to migrate south. Youyou feels so sorry, she can't stand the idea to loose her friend, even if she knows that one day Coline will come back.
What could she do then? Maybe she could take a little souvenir of her friend, to warm her heart up during the long winter? Maybe a small feather, that smells of her, but will one feather be enough? Maybe two would do better than just one... Pushed by the wish to keep her friend close to her, Youyou doesn't fully understand what she is doing: poor Coline, who was so happy for the upcoming departure, will be quickly left featherless and she won't be able to leave as she had planned. Why, why did my dearest friend do this to me? She will ask herself. Youyou will have to find a solution to for the damage she has caused, and maybe she will as well find a way not to separate from her darling friend.
The power of friendship and the sadness caused by abandonment are the two topics that characterise this picture book for younger kids. The feeling of possession that Youyou feels doesn't allow her to immediately understand the hill she's doing to her friend and, maybe, in every friendship there is a moment like this, when we grow older as well.
This story tender and melancholy teaches us that we can't just think of ourselves, of our feelings, on the contrary we should think of those we love, to protect them from our small or big selfishness as well. And if we do something wrong we should try to find a remedy for it, with the means we can count on and with pure heart.
As I was just saying, this is a lesson that is good at all ages, because friendship is probably the purest feeling we could ever feel, as it's not ruled by relative bonds, or from other impulse other than selfless love.
This little picture book, full of poetry, is the result of the collaboration between two artists quite new to children's literature but already widely credited. Alex Cousseau, who started his career in 2004, has published with l'Ecole des Loisirs, for Le Rouergue he has written novels for kids and teenagers, and now Sarbacane publishes this picture book. His picture book titled "Dans moi', illustrated by Kitty Crowther, has been published in Italy by Topipittori Pub. House. Chiaki Miyamoto, born in Osaka, lives in France since 2000, in 2003 she gets her degree at Emile Cohl's School in Lyon where she still lives nowadays: she has published several picture books with Gallimard Jeunesse, Belem, Nathan and Milan.
Of this book I have admired the gentleness and the sensibility of both, author and illustrator, dealing with the themes of friendship, touching the deepest reasons that lead us to behave incorrectly at times but also underlying e importance of opening mind and heart, in the effort of understanding the reasons of other people.
The illustrations, in their essential simplicity, enter the story quietly, to win readers' attention with the sober and soft lines and the bright colours.
From three years old on.
L'étrange projet de monsieur G., text and illustrations by Gustavo Roldan, translation from Spanish by Jacques Fuentealba, Editions Sarbacane, February 2010
Le me start by saying that, in this book, there is no reference to our Mr G. (Il Signor G. a.k.a Giorgio Gaber). Even if maybe, Gaber himself, would have appreciated its message, the surreal setting and that vein of madness, if madness is the right word, that animates this Mr G.
But let's start from the beginning!
Gustavo Roldan lives in Barcelona, and this could partly explain the flowery taste of some of the illustrations of this book, but he was born in Argentina, and maybe from here come its boundless spaces.
His Mr G. lives in a small village in the middle of the desert. It's a desert where nothing happens, nothing grows, and everything seems to be motionless for good. Everything is dry and silent, an eternal moment, suspended, as if we were in one of those desert scenes of Sergio Leone's western movies. In this desert, Mr. G lives politely with his neighbours, they say hello, and they make sure that everything is all right...
Until, one day, Mr G has a queer idea.
Well, let's say a mad idea: he decides to plant a flower in the desert to "poner un poco de música en este lugar"!*
His wise neighbours know for sure that no flower can rise in the desert, and flowers can't make any music for sure, Mr G. must have grown a little mad. What will happen with the seed that has been planted? Will it grow? Will it sing? I shall let you find the answer yourselves.
The apparent playfulness of the book, with its illustrations and their slightly stereotyped and ludicrous côtè, the light lines and the white background, hide a very serious message: personal initiative, when it's devoted to improve human condition, can change also those situations that are apparently lifeless. Didn't a precious flower grow on Saint Exupéry's desert moon? Thus, maybe, even if we look like mad at other people's eyes, we can try to grow our own sounding flower in the desert and, if it ever blows, who will be mad then?
Idling won't help change things, therefore our Mr G., with his likely desperate gesture, starts a little civil revolution that will bring to an unexpected and welcome changement in his village. To each one of us his own choice: are we mad or wise?
This picture book, with the title "El Señor G.", has been originarily released by the newborn Publishing House A Buen Paso (it's the same publisher that released another little masterpiece: Papá Tatuado, produced in Italy by Orecchio Acerbo)
Copyright© text and images by Editions Sarbacane 2010. Images have been reproduced with the permission of the Publishing House.
* "bring some music in this place"
Tuesday, 2 March 2010
Three names and a publisher!
Due to lack of time, today's post will be very short, though I couldn't avoid signalling a real masterpiece: for once I'm not talking of books but of a dvd.
The three names are: Gioacchino Rossini, Emanuele Luzzati and Giulio Gianini.
The publisher: Gallucci.
The dvd, Omaggio a Rossini, contains: L'italiana in Algeri, Pulcinella and La Gazza Ladra.
Content: the dvd and a booklet where Luzzati's animations are shortly explained, with a preface letter by Federico Fellini and conclusions by Gianini and Luzzati.
As I was saying the preface is a letter by Federico Fellini, where the director declares all his admiration for "la fantasia figurativa, l'estro umoristico, il senso della fiaba e le geniali soluzioni grafiche"* characterising Luzzati and Gianini's work.
In the conclusion, it's Gianini and Luzzati in person explaining the reasons that induced them to create those wonderful animations without words that are giving voice to chidls' poetics so well, not to infantilism beware!
Those animated stories, created between 1964 and 1973, are an essential part in the history of Italian Television and not only: they are extremely precious and poetic documents, produced by tow genial minds, that should never be forgotten. Today, thanks to Gallucci Publishing house, modern kids as well will have fun with the ironic irreverence of Luzzati's characters, they will be enchanted by the vivid colours and the splendid animations by Gianini and, least but not last, by Rossini's music.
To conclude this, by Gallucci, is a very important and very high quality operation.
For more information you can visit the Publisher's website: http://www.galluccieditore.com/
Omaggio a Rossini: La gazza ladra-L'italiana in Algeri-Pulcinella. With a book by Emanuele Luzzati - Giulio Gianini, Gallucci Editore, December 2009.
* "the figurative fantasy, the humoristic inspiration, the sense of fairy-tale and the genial graphic solutions"
The three names are: Gioacchino Rossini, Emanuele Luzzati and Giulio Gianini.
The publisher: Gallucci.
The dvd, Omaggio a Rossini, contains: L'italiana in Algeri, Pulcinella and La Gazza Ladra.
Content: the dvd and a booklet where Luzzati's animations are shortly explained, with a preface letter by Federico Fellini and conclusions by Gianini and Luzzati.
As I was saying the preface is a letter by Federico Fellini, where the director declares all his admiration for "la fantasia figurativa, l'estro umoristico, il senso della fiaba e le geniali soluzioni grafiche"* characterising Luzzati and Gianini's work.
In the conclusion, it's Gianini and Luzzati in person explaining the reasons that induced them to create those wonderful animations without words that are giving voice to chidls' poetics so well, not to infantilism beware!
Those animated stories, created between 1964 and 1973, are an essential part in the history of Italian Television and not only: they are extremely precious and poetic documents, produced by tow genial minds, that should never be forgotten. Today, thanks to Gallucci Publishing house, modern kids as well will have fun with the ironic irreverence of Luzzati's characters, they will be enchanted by the vivid colours and the splendid animations by Gianini and, least but not last, by Rossini's music.
To conclude this, by Gallucci, is a very important and very high quality operation.
For more information you can visit the Publisher's website: http://www.galluccieditore.com/
Omaggio a Rossini: La gazza ladra-L'italiana in Algeri-Pulcinella. With a book by Emanuele Luzzati - Giulio Gianini, Gallucci Editore, December 2009.
* "the figurative fantasy, the humoristic inspiration, the sense of fairy-tale and the genial graphic solutions"
Wednesday, 24 February 2010
Paolo Antonio Livorati: MISSION TRANSLATOR!
After interviewing a débutante illustrator, today I would like to move the focus to another fundamental aspect connected to foreign books in general and, consequently, to children’s books: translation.
I thought of introducing this important point of view with an interview to a multifaceted translator, both for his cultural background and his professional experience: Paolo Antonio Livorati, a very well known persona amid Italian comics passionate and not only.
Those who know him well call him a “know-it-all”, because there are really few questions he cannot answer, even if, for that sense of discretion and modesty that only really clever people have, he obstinately denies it. While reading the interview you will discover, at least in part, the reasons for this vast culture. Livorati has lived in several places around Italy and, for a few years, in England. He has had a varied and intense professional life. This last aspect makes our conversation even more interesting as, not being limited to a narrow sphere, his experience allows us to range over several literary areas.
I preferred to divide this virtual conversation into three parts: the first one is devoted to personal information, the second is an in-depth about translation, the third is more focused on children’s books translation. To be honest, dealing exhaustively a topic such as translation would require much more space than this, I though hope this might be an occasion to ponder and clarify about the importance of this part of the mechanism hiding behind books’ production.
So, why hesitating? Let’s start!
Some personal history
- name? Paolo Antonio Livorati
- how old are you? Almost forty-three.
- you were born in? Cuneo
- where do you live? In Rome since 2004.
- were you a good reader when you were a child? What did you usually read?
“Good reader” yes, even too much, meaning that for me any occasion was good to read, I used to voraciously read all I could find, even things I was able to fully understand only many years later. One constant presence though, from the age of four to the age of fifteen, has been Topolino (T.B.S. note: the Italian version of the Mickey Mouse Magazine) by Mondadori, a kids magazine that was almost perfect as it mixed high level comics (nowadays they have become classics) to effective popular articles. I’m sorry to say that its actual version isn’t even the faintest copy of the original magazine.
- are there books, authors and/or illustrators that you still love so far? Can you tell us something about them?
Like most people my age, I started by getting passionate with those works that had been considered “for kids” starting a couple of generations before, despite the fact they actually weren’t when their authors wrote them. I’m talking about Salgari, Verne, Stevenson, E. R. Burroughs and, strangely enough, also the mostly seafaring books by Conrad. Amid illustrators and draughtsmen, those I was never tired of when I was a kid were the great disneyans such as Carpi, Scarpa and Cavazzano, Tarzan’s Hogarth, Kirby of the Fantastic Four, but also the unequalled Karel Thole covermaker for Urania. But there would be many more, in both categories.
- how long have you been a translator?
I starter translating professionally in 1993.
- how did your passion for translation start?
I started studying English when I was seven but it was only around the age of eleven, when pop-rock music brain-waved me, that I instinctively started being attracted by translation. With no possible comparison to any classic language class in this regard, the texts of these songs made me discover the extreme conciseness of the language I was dealing with and I soon wished to try and render them, with all the limits of teenage me, in a language like ours that is everything but concise. Maybe it’s not by chance if the first translation I made with awareness, let’s say on purpose, was a text by King Crimson.
- when did you understand that you wanted to do this job?
If I have to be honest, before 1993 becoming a translator was not in my plans, it wasn’t when I took Foreign Literatures and Languages at University. It might sound a bit strange, but it’s not. Unluckily, also thanks to the shockingly inadequate fees Italian publishers pay translators and also to the romantic and false image that is commonly given about us, this job is conceived almost everywhere as something complementary to some other profession, that usually corresponds to teaching or writing. I imagine that few people, before becoming adult, would tell friends and family: «I want to be a translator!»
- how did you start your career?
By chance. Or, better, because of another passion I had: comics. In the fall of 1991, when I was already at my fourth year of University, I went to the International Fair of Comics (this is how the actual Lucca Comics was called): while there, I happened to talk to the editor in chief of a publishing company that was specialised in editing American comics in Italian. Towards the end of our conversation, I asked him if it were possible to unite my technical skills and the passion we both shared, and he invited me to send him a translation test. The test arrived and it was evidently appreciated because, after a year and a half, I was already working full-time for that same publishing house of which I then became editor in chief for comics' sector.
- which kind of books do you usually translate?
Fiction of different genres and for various ages, even if the most part of the works I have translated so far is for “giovani adulti” (n.T.B.S. young adults), an awful expression moulded from the English and used to determine readers aged from thirteen to seventeen years of age.
"In-depth" on translation
- what do you think of the said that equals translators to traitors?
To me it makes no sense. A translation that is entirely faithful at the original text is a non-translation, only people who can’t understand the meaning of translating and, most probably, what is Italian language, could appreciate such a thing. Consequently, a good translator must adapt the text he’s working on to make it not just understandable to final readers, he also has to make it enjoyable and free from bizarre impressions. With the exception of some specificities and some geo-cultural references, the text should be read as if it were written originally by an Italian mother tongue. In short, to obtain a good result you have to inevitably betray (if I have to stay within the limits of an idea that, I repeat, to me makes no sense), at the end the only “translator” who really betrays is the one who makes mistakes originating from personal ignorance.
- which is, in your opinion, the most interesting challenge you have to afford when translating a book?
What I have just mentioned, that is to say, being able to never let the original language the book had been written in, to shine through the translated text.
- how important is it to enter the spirit of a text in order to truthfully translate it?
When you spend two or three months on a book of three hundreds pages, it’s not a matter of importance: like it or not, you enter its spirit. Otherwise you wouldn’t be able to translate it at all.
- do you usually make some research on the writer you’re about to work “on” before translating a book?
Always, it’s a habit of mine. Often, especially when we’re talking about writers at their debut or almost, checking how they write on their site or on social networks is very useful to better understand what to expect, for good and for bad, every single day for at least a dozen of weeks.
- how much does the author’s linguistic register affect translation?
It’s everything.
- and how about cultural background?
Above I referred to specificities and geo-cultural references as the only elements that should show in a translation. To make it easier, if the author writes about something that is intrinsically British, Irish, Australian or American (translating from English these are the backgrounds I had to deal with in my career), you can almost never transform it into something Italian, because the result would be absurd, if not ridiculous. The translator’s skill is to maintain the reference as it is, though combining it with the narration, without bumps and, most of all, without those Translator's Notes that almost always mean defeat.
From comics to children’s books
- you started by translating comics, how was the approach to children’s books?
The leap from comics to fiction is the same, no matter if it’s for kids/teenagers or not. Comics, especially current ones in which the main authors have almost completely eliminated captions, are mainly working on dialogues and it’s not a chance if it’s dialogues where I still give my best. In the passage to fiction you then have to measure all that comics don’t have, that corresponds to the long descriptive pages. Most of all, you should get the hang of those pages planning narration in the first chapters, when you still have to get used to the author’s style.
- do you believe that comics somehow helped you to afford the translation of children’s books?
Not particularly because, for about twenty years now, Anglophile comics have become much more adult than they used to be. Let’s say that, to this purpose, it has been much more useful being a comic reader when I was a kid.
- going back to the question I asked you before, I would like to know if there is a bigger challenge in translating children’s books than in translating books for grown-ups?
There are forcedly many elements (concepts, references, expressions... the list is much longer than you might think) that adults give for granted but that are almost unknown to kids. Avoiding these is fundamental. While translating you should always try to think as if you were the final reader, but this is mostly true for younger reader’s fiction.
- without really knowing, many people believe that children’s books are easily written. Do people believe they’re easily translated as well?
It’s most probable that this commonplace is widely held, yes. My previous answer though should have already clarified this matter. Those who believe it, most probably have no idea of what translation is all about and, realistically, of what writing is all about.
- the simplification of linguistic register mustn’t become triteness of contents: how does this transpose, if it does, into translation?
Well, if the author is being banal there is not much that we 'ferrymen' can do to remedy this, we therefore end up, despite our will, being banal too. Often we can slightly improve a text that is not so well written, but our margin is very limited. For sure we cannot rewrite the book.
- can you name some of the children’s books you have translated so far?
I shall mention three books that were very well written in the original, and that gave me great satisfactions while translating them. Primi passi nell’arte* by Rosie Dickins (Usborne, 2007) is an excellent popular text that helps younger readers to approach history of painting and sculpture. Se la mente avesse gli occhi** by Lucy Eyre (Salani, 2008) is the surreal adventure of a kid in philosophy-world, while Morte di un supereroe*** by Anthony McCarten (Salani, 2009) is the difficult but moving story – written as if it were a film elaboration - of a fifteen years old using his talents as comic scriptwriter to come to terms with a terrible disease. My most recent translations, together with those that are in the works, are all visible on my blog/showcase, http://paololivorati.blogspot.com/
- any projects for the future?
In a job such as ours, where almost all collaborators are freelance, it’s difficult that the word “future” might get beyond the book you receive in assignment right before the end of the one you’re currently working on. This said, I’m about to start working on an interesting contemporary reinterpretation, in an urban-fantasy key, of the tale Little Red Riding Hood, made by a young, and very good, American writer who at present is already in the process of remaking The Little Mermaid and Hänsel and Gretel as well.
Thank you to Paolo Antonio for being so kind and available and to you for reading us.
P.S. I just hope he won’t read my translations to his interview! Ain’t it funny? The translated translator!?! Yup!
* Original title: The Usborne Introduction to Art (Scholastic, 2005);
** Original title: If Mind had Toes: a novel (Bloomsbury USA; Advance Reading Copy (ARC) edition (March 6, 2007)
*** Original title: Death of a Superhero (Alma Books (July 1, 2007)
I thought of introducing this important point of view with an interview to a multifaceted translator, both for his cultural background and his professional experience: Paolo Antonio Livorati, a very well known persona amid Italian comics passionate and not only.
Those who know him well call him a “know-it-all”, because there are really few questions he cannot answer, even if, for that sense of discretion and modesty that only really clever people have, he obstinately denies it. While reading the interview you will discover, at least in part, the reasons for this vast culture. Livorati has lived in several places around Italy and, for a few years, in England. He has had a varied and intense professional life. This last aspect makes our conversation even more interesting as, not being limited to a narrow sphere, his experience allows us to range over several literary areas.
I preferred to divide this virtual conversation into three parts: the first one is devoted to personal information, the second is an in-depth about translation, the third is more focused on children’s books translation. To be honest, dealing exhaustively a topic such as translation would require much more space than this, I though hope this might be an occasion to ponder and clarify about the importance of this part of the mechanism hiding behind books’ production.
So, why hesitating? Let’s start!
Some personal history
- name? Paolo Antonio Livorati
- how old are you? Almost forty-three.
- you were born in? Cuneo
- where do you live? In Rome since 2004.
- were you a good reader when you were a child? What did you usually read?
“Good reader” yes, even too much, meaning that for me any occasion was good to read, I used to voraciously read all I could find, even things I was able to fully understand only many years later. One constant presence though, from the age of four to the age of fifteen, has been Topolino (T.B.S. note: the Italian version of the Mickey Mouse Magazine) by Mondadori, a kids magazine that was almost perfect as it mixed high level comics (nowadays they have become classics) to effective popular articles. I’m sorry to say that its actual version isn’t even the faintest copy of the original magazine.
- are there books, authors and/or illustrators that you still love so far? Can you tell us something about them?
Like most people my age, I started by getting passionate with those works that had been considered “for kids” starting a couple of generations before, despite the fact they actually weren’t when their authors wrote them. I’m talking about Salgari, Verne, Stevenson, E. R. Burroughs and, strangely enough, also the mostly seafaring books by Conrad. Amid illustrators and draughtsmen, those I was never tired of when I was a kid were the great disneyans such as Carpi, Scarpa and Cavazzano, Tarzan’s Hogarth, Kirby of the Fantastic Four, but also the unequalled Karel Thole covermaker for Urania. But there would be many more, in both categories.
- how long have you been a translator?
I starter translating professionally in 1993.
- how did your passion for translation start?
I started studying English when I was seven but it was only around the age of eleven, when pop-rock music brain-waved me, that I instinctively started being attracted by translation. With no possible comparison to any classic language class in this regard, the texts of these songs made me discover the extreme conciseness of the language I was dealing with and I soon wished to try and render them, with all the limits of teenage me, in a language like ours that is everything but concise. Maybe it’s not by chance if the first translation I made with awareness, let’s say on purpose, was a text by King Crimson.
- when did you understand that you wanted to do this job?
If I have to be honest, before 1993 becoming a translator was not in my plans, it wasn’t when I took Foreign Literatures and Languages at University. It might sound a bit strange, but it’s not. Unluckily, also thanks to the shockingly inadequate fees Italian publishers pay translators and also to the romantic and false image that is commonly given about us, this job is conceived almost everywhere as something complementary to some other profession, that usually corresponds to teaching or writing. I imagine that few people, before becoming adult, would tell friends and family: «I want to be a translator!»
- how did you start your career?
By chance. Or, better, because of another passion I had: comics. In the fall of 1991, when I was already at my fourth year of University, I went to the International Fair of Comics (this is how the actual Lucca Comics was called): while there, I happened to talk to the editor in chief of a publishing company that was specialised in editing American comics in Italian. Towards the end of our conversation, I asked him if it were possible to unite my technical skills and the passion we both shared, and he invited me to send him a translation test. The test arrived and it was evidently appreciated because, after a year and a half, I was already working full-time for that same publishing house of which I then became editor in chief for comics' sector.
- which kind of books do you usually translate?
Fiction of different genres and for various ages, even if the most part of the works I have translated so far is for “giovani adulti” (n.T.B.S. young adults), an awful expression moulded from the English and used to determine readers aged from thirteen to seventeen years of age.
"In-depth" on translation
- what do you think of the said that equals translators to traitors?
To me it makes no sense. A translation that is entirely faithful at the original text is a non-translation, only people who can’t understand the meaning of translating and, most probably, what is Italian language, could appreciate such a thing. Consequently, a good translator must adapt the text he’s working on to make it not just understandable to final readers, he also has to make it enjoyable and free from bizarre impressions. With the exception of some specificities and some geo-cultural references, the text should be read as if it were written originally by an Italian mother tongue. In short, to obtain a good result you have to inevitably betray (if I have to stay within the limits of an idea that, I repeat, to me makes no sense), at the end the only “translator” who really betrays is the one who makes mistakes originating from personal ignorance.
- which is, in your opinion, the most interesting challenge you have to afford when translating a book?
What I have just mentioned, that is to say, being able to never let the original language the book had been written in, to shine through the translated text.
- how important is it to enter the spirit of a text in order to truthfully translate it?
When you spend two or three months on a book of three hundreds pages, it’s not a matter of importance: like it or not, you enter its spirit. Otherwise you wouldn’t be able to translate it at all.
- do you usually make some research on the writer you’re about to work “on” before translating a book?
Always, it’s a habit of mine. Often, especially when we’re talking about writers at their debut or almost, checking how they write on their site or on social networks is very useful to better understand what to expect, for good and for bad, every single day for at least a dozen of weeks.
- how much does the author’s linguistic register affect translation?
It’s everything.
- and how about cultural background?
Above I referred to specificities and geo-cultural references as the only elements that should show in a translation. To make it easier, if the author writes about something that is intrinsically British, Irish, Australian or American (translating from English these are the backgrounds I had to deal with in my career), you can almost never transform it into something Italian, because the result would be absurd, if not ridiculous. The translator’s skill is to maintain the reference as it is, though combining it with the narration, without bumps and, most of all, without those Translator's Notes that almost always mean defeat.
From comics to children’s books
- you started by translating comics, how was the approach to children’s books?
The leap from comics to fiction is the same, no matter if it’s for kids/teenagers or not. Comics, especially current ones in which the main authors have almost completely eliminated captions, are mainly working on dialogues and it’s not a chance if it’s dialogues where I still give my best. In the passage to fiction you then have to measure all that comics don’t have, that corresponds to the long descriptive pages. Most of all, you should get the hang of those pages planning narration in the first chapters, when you still have to get used to the author’s style.
- do you believe that comics somehow helped you to afford the translation of children’s books?
Not particularly because, for about twenty years now, Anglophile comics have become much more adult than they used to be. Let’s say that, to this purpose, it has been much more useful being a comic reader when I was a kid.
- going back to the question I asked you before, I would like to know if there is a bigger challenge in translating children’s books than in translating books for grown-ups?
There are forcedly many elements (concepts, references, expressions... the list is much longer than you might think) that adults give for granted but that are almost unknown to kids. Avoiding these is fundamental. While translating you should always try to think as if you were the final reader, but this is mostly true for younger reader’s fiction.
- without really knowing, many people believe that children’s books are easily written. Do people believe they’re easily translated as well?
It’s most probable that this commonplace is widely held, yes. My previous answer though should have already clarified this matter. Those who believe it, most probably have no idea of what translation is all about and, realistically, of what writing is all about.
- the simplification of linguistic register mustn’t become triteness of contents: how does this transpose, if it does, into translation?
Well, if the author is being banal there is not much that we 'ferrymen' can do to remedy this, we therefore end up, despite our will, being banal too. Often we can slightly improve a text that is not so well written, but our margin is very limited. For sure we cannot rewrite the book.
- can you name some of the children’s books you have translated so far?
I shall mention three books that were very well written in the original, and that gave me great satisfactions while translating them. Primi passi nell’arte* by Rosie Dickins (Usborne, 2007) is an excellent popular text that helps younger readers to approach history of painting and sculpture. Se la mente avesse gli occhi** by Lucy Eyre (Salani, 2008) is the surreal adventure of a kid in philosophy-world, while Morte di un supereroe*** by Anthony McCarten (Salani, 2009) is the difficult but moving story – written as if it were a film elaboration - of a fifteen years old using his talents as comic scriptwriter to come to terms with a terrible disease. My most recent translations, together with those that are in the works, are all visible on my blog/showcase, http://paololivorati.blogspot.com/
- any projects for the future?
In a job such as ours, where almost all collaborators are freelance, it’s difficult that the word “future” might get beyond the book you receive in assignment right before the end of the one you’re currently working on. This said, I’m about to start working on an interesting contemporary reinterpretation, in an urban-fantasy key, of the tale Little Red Riding Hood, made by a young, and very good, American writer who at present is already in the process of remaking The Little Mermaid and Hänsel and Gretel as well.
Thank you to Paolo Antonio for being so kind and available and to you for reading us.
P.S. I just hope he won’t read my translations to his interview! Ain’t it funny? The translated translator!?! Yup!
* Original title: The Usborne Introduction to Art (Scholastic, 2005);
** Original title: If Mind had Toes: a novel (Bloomsbury USA; Advance Reading Copy (ARC) edition (March 6, 2007)
*** Original title: Death of a Superhero (Alma Books (July 1, 2007)
Saturday, 20 February 2010
Vorrei Avere - Topipittori
It’s very likely that the most imperfect creature God has ever created is man. Animals are, exactly, how they should be.
This picture book is a 'canticle' to animal world. 'Playing tag' in thirteen wonderfully drawn plates, words and images allow us to appreciate what surrounds us with new eyes.
It's children's eyes observing animals, admiring them: kids would like to possess their qualities, they identify themselves in animals' agility, in their feline spring, in their sharp sight dominating the world.
It's children's voices acknowledging themselves into animals, in an identity exchange that brings man back to its instinctual and remote origin. Because the tie children have with nature is deeply rooted and immediate. There is no need of particularly complex explanations: nature, with its mechanisms and cruelties, is perfectly understood and accepted.
And so someone would like to have:

"Le orecchie immense dell'elefante per intendere quel che dice il cielo" *
Or:
"La voce della balena che canta e si sente a un oceano di distanza" **
As the publisher explains very well, in the presentation of this text, it's:
"Un libro in cui la bellezza non è mai nominata, ma in cui tutto lascia intendere che è ad essa che tende la voce che lo percorre.
Un libro-preghiera, per dire che se il pensiero è laico, la natura no.
Lei è sacra." ***
Giovanna Zoboli's writing is supple, dry. It’s an essential language, where there is no space for useless embellishments, where every word stands out in all its possible meanings. Short sentences that re-echo in our minds while eyes get lost in the drawings. Writing is made richer in details and colours by illustrations, that emphasise word’s evocative power.
Simona Mulazzani is always able to give her characters particularly intense countenances, these are always central and centred, often characterised by strong pictorial references. I'm thinking for instance at the tiger's image, that reminds me so much of paintings from Le Douanier, Henri Rousseau, with its denser and richer strokes, alternated with lighter touches appeasing an otherwise more dramatic effect.
Finding these two artists together, in a new book, is a real pleasure. We're talking here of an artistic couple that is very well consolidated: in the past they received important recognitions such as the Andersen Prize, in 2008, for the Best book in 0-6 category with "Al supermercato degli animali". Other famous books by Giovanna Zoboli and Simona Mulazzani are: "Filastrocca ventosa per bambini col fiato corto" and "Anselmo va a scuola", always published by Topipittori.
To my opinion, there is another nice new: in fact "Vorrei Avere" will be published contemporarily in several countries. This kind of demonstrates what I was already affirming here regarding the importance of collaboration amid publishing houses.
In particoular "Vorrei avere" will be published, with different covers, by:
Éditions Sarbacane, in France
Peter Hammer Verlag, in Germany
Los cuatro azules, in Spain
Moon Won, in Chorea
to end with Mexico, for Tecolote Publishing House, even if the book will be available with a few days delay with regard to other countries.
Before leaving you I would like to ask: "And you, what would you like to have?"
If you ask me, I would like to have:
"Il colore della pantera di notte per confondersi nel buio."
"Vorrei avere", texts by Giovanna Zoboli, illustrations by Simona Mulazzani, Ed. Topipittori, February 2010.
A special thank you to Paolo Canton and Giovanna Zoboli for allowing me to publish the images in this post and for the gracious collaboration.
Copyright© text and images Topipittori 2010. Images have been reproduced by the permission of the Publishing house.
* "Elephant's immense ears to hear what the sky has to say"
** "The whale's voice that sings and can be heard at an ocean's distance"
*** "A book in which beauty is never mentioned, but where everything lets understand that it's toward beauty that the voice crossing this work tends to.
A prayer book, to say that if thought is secular, nature isn't.
Nature is sacred."
**** "Panther's colour at night to blur in the dark."
Monday, 15 February 2010
L'Albero di Anna - Orecchio Acerbo
"Nelle città di polvere e rumore,
io, per primo, annuncio l'arrivo della primavera.
In aprile si schiudono le mie gemme
e con identico slancio spuntano foglie e fiori.
Io sono un ippocastano." *
Already in the first lines of this picture book, we are projected in another dimension. The world appears different when seen from the branches of a horse-chestnut tree: seasons rotate with the change of its foliage, life runs in an almost suspended rhythm as who tells our story has lived a centenarian life, and days' frantic passage doesn't really matter to it.
Though this is not a horse-chestnut tree like others, it is not just the narrative voice of our story it is, first of all, a memory bearer. We might quite fairly ask ourselves: which kind of memories could a tree have? What could have touched a horse-chestnut tree, in the slow flowing of its life, at the point it decided to tell us about its remembrances?
Well, this horse-chestnut tree has lived all its life in a garden, at 263 Prinsengracht Street, in Amsterdam.
If this address still means nothing to you, then listen to its voice again:
"Io, l'ippocastano del giardino al numero 263 di Prinsengracht,
ho regalato ad una ragazza di tredici anni,
prigioniera come un uccello in gabbia,
un po' di speranza e di bellezza." **
Now the picture starts to be clearer but it's not well outlined yet, still we cannot understand what could be so important, in the memories it has so carefully kept for all this time.
With its undefined rhythm, the tree tells us we are in 1942: the world is shaken by a "terrible ill", ruled by unfair laws, people who once were normal now act like crazy. Those who are submitted to the new, tough, laws find no escape, they hopelessly try to find a way out: some through escape, others hiding away from the rest of the world.
(image temporarily unavailable)
"E' un lunedì, il 6 luglio del 1942,
quando arrivano nella soffitta della casa di Prinsengracht.
....
Nella sua cartella lei [che ancora non ha un nome] ha fatto scivolare
un piccolo quaderno di cartone molto prezioso: il suo diario,
ricevuto in dono per il suo tredicesimo compleanno..." ***
Before we will get to know her name, we will know about her feelings, her sensations, her ever changing and contrasting moods, we will know about her struggling. For the very first time, we will see our horse-chestnut tree through her dreamy eyes, glancing through her 'cage bars', longing for freedom, blue skies and seagulls flying in boundless space. We will first read about her perturbation while, looking through the tiny window of the attic, she perceives the world getting even more so miserable and naked, in feeling death looming over her. We will first see her participating, from her hidden corner, to the pains of the world: as there is no shut door that can stop these from invading everything.
It is once again Anne's voice, Anne Frank, that comes to us through different paths: filtered, this time, by the sensibility of two exceptional artists such as Irène Cohen-Janca and Maurizio Quarello. By twisting perspectives of such a well-known story, they succeeded in returning it to us even richer, more touching.
The stillness that holds the horse-chestnut tree is the same that imprisons Anne: obliged to look at each other, narrating subject and protagonist reveal themselves, their true nature, under our helpless eyes. There is no possible action they can do to change their condition, the only possible action lays in the power of view, last bulwark of freedom.
The tree is sick, it will certainly die, this is the reason that pushes it to tell us about what it witnessed. Anne is prisoner, she will be caught and transported in a much worse prison. Anne will die as well, we already know this.
So, why telling this story again? Does it tell us anything different? Nothing and everything I shall say: nothing because we already know Anne Frank's story, everything because the reason of life itself lies in experience, memory and witnessing.
The small sprout that will be saved from the horse-chestnut tree of 263 Prinsengracht Street will become a new tree, but not a tree like others: it will become the memory horse-chestnut tree.
(image temporarily unavailable)
"L'albero di Anna", texts by Irène Cohen-Janca, illustrations by Maurizio A.C. Quarello, translation from French to Italian by Paolo Cesari, Orecchio Acerbo Pub., 2010. Original text published by Éditions du Rouergue in 2009.
I wish every kid had this book in their bookshelves: it is a real masterpiece of poetry and images that will be very hardly paired. Irène Cohen-Janca's texts gently transport us through the story, with endless tenderness and no subsidence. The art of Maurizio Quarello reveals the story with vibrant sensibility, confirming the incredible talents and versatility of this artist.
I wanted to send a special thank you to the guys at Orecchio Acerbo for allowing me to use the images of this post and, once again, for bringing to Italy a masterpiece from beyond the Alps.
Copyright© text and images Orecchio Acerbo Publishing House 2010. Images have been reproduced with the permission of the Publishing House. Original text published by Éditions du Rouergue, 2009.
*** "It's July 6th 1942, Monday,
when they arrive in the attic of Prinsengracht Street's house.
...
In her school-bag she [who still has no name] has slipped
a little hardcover note-book, it's very precious: it's her dairy,
she received it for her thirteenth birthday..."
io, per primo, annuncio l'arrivo della primavera.
In aprile si schiudono le mie gemme
e con identico slancio spuntano foglie e fiori.
Io sono un ippocastano." *
Already in the first lines of this picture book, we are projected in another dimension. The world appears different when seen from the branches of a horse-chestnut tree: seasons rotate with the change of its foliage, life runs in an almost suspended rhythm as who tells our story has lived a centenarian life, and days' frantic passage doesn't really matter to it.
Though this is not a horse-chestnut tree like others, it is not just the narrative voice of our story it is, first of all, a memory bearer. We might quite fairly ask ourselves: which kind of memories could a tree have? What could have touched a horse-chestnut tree, in the slow flowing of its life, at the point it decided to tell us about its remembrances?
Well, this horse-chestnut tree has lived all its life in a garden, at 263 Prinsengracht Street, in Amsterdam.
If this address still means nothing to you, then listen to its voice again:
"Io, l'ippocastano del giardino al numero 263 di Prinsengracht,
ho regalato ad una ragazza di tredici anni,
prigioniera come un uccello in gabbia,
un po' di speranza e di bellezza." **
Now the picture starts to be clearer but it's not well outlined yet, still we cannot understand what could be so important, in the memories it has so carefully kept for all this time.
With its undefined rhythm, the tree tells us we are in 1942: the world is shaken by a "terrible ill", ruled by unfair laws, people who once were normal now act like crazy. Those who are submitted to the new, tough, laws find no escape, they hopelessly try to find a way out: some through escape, others hiding away from the rest of the world.
(image temporarily unavailable)
"E' un lunedì, il 6 luglio del 1942,
quando arrivano nella soffitta della casa di Prinsengracht.
....
Nella sua cartella lei [che ancora non ha un nome] ha fatto scivolare
un piccolo quaderno di cartone molto prezioso: il suo diario,
ricevuto in dono per il suo tredicesimo compleanno..." ***
Before we will get to know her name, we will know about her feelings, her sensations, her ever changing and contrasting moods, we will know about her struggling. For the very first time, we will see our horse-chestnut tree through her dreamy eyes, glancing through her 'cage bars', longing for freedom, blue skies and seagulls flying in boundless space. We will first read about her perturbation while, looking through the tiny window of the attic, she perceives the world getting even more so miserable and naked, in feeling death looming over her. We will first see her participating, from her hidden corner, to the pains of the world: as there is no shut door that can stop these from invading everything.
It is once again Anne's voice, Anne Frank, that comes to us through different paths: filtered, this time, by the sensibility of two exceptional artists such as Irène Cohen-Janca and Maurizio Quarello. By twisting perspectives of such a well-known story, they succeeded in returning it to us even richer, more touching.
The stillness that holds the horse-chestnut tree is the same that imprisons Anne: obliged to look at each other, narrating subject and protagonist reveal themselves, their true nature, under our helpless eyes. There is no possible action they can do to change their condition, the only possible action lays in the power of view, last bulwark of freedom.
The tree is sick, it will certainly die, this is the reason that pushes it to tell us about what it witnessed. Anne is prisoner, she will be caught and transported in a much worse prison. Anne will die as well, we already know this.
So, why telling this story again? Does it tell us anything different? Nothing and everything I shall say: nothing because we already know Anne Frank's story, everything because the reason of life itself lies in experience, memory and witnessing.
The small sprout that will be saved from the horse-chestnut tree of 263 Prinsengracht Street will become a new tree, but not a tree like others: it will become the memory horse-chestnut tree.
"L'albero di Anna", texts by Irène Cohen-Janca, illustrations by Maurizio A.C. Quarello, translation from French to Italian by Paolo Cesari, Orecchio Acerbo Pub., 2010. Original text published by Éditions du Rouergue in 2009.
I wish every kid had this book in their bookshelves: it is a real masterpiece of poetry and images that will be very hardly paired. Irène Cohen-Janca's texts gently transport us through the story, with endless tenderness and no subsidence. The art of Maurizio Quarello reveals the story with vibrant sensibility, confirming the incredible talents and versatility of this artist.
I wanted to send a special thank you to the guys at Orecchio Acerbo for allowing me to use the images of this post and, once again, for bringing to Italy a masterpiece from beyond the Alps.
Copyright© text and images Orecchio Acerbo Publishing House 2010. Images have been reproduced with the permission of the Publishing House. Original text published by Éditions du Rouergue, 2009.
(image temporarily unavailable)
*"In the cities of dust and noise,
I, the first, announce Spring.
In April my gems open
and with identical impulse flowers and leaves sprout.
I am a horse-chestnut tree."
** "I, the horse-chestnut tree at 263 Prinsengracht Street,
have given a thirteen years old girl,
imprisoned like a bird in its cage,
a little hope and beauty."
*** "It's July 6th 1942, Monday,
when they arrive in the attic of Prinsengracht Street's house.
...
In her school-bag she [who still has no name] has slipped
a little hardcover note-book, it's very precious: it's her dairy,
she received it for her thirteenth birthday..."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)



















