I really wanted to like this novel. I’ve been captivated by the Scandinavian thriller phenom that has put authors like Henning Mankell, Stieg Larsson, and Lars Kepler on international bestseller lists and the top of public library circulation logs. Jo Nesbø is a Norwegian crime writer whose police inspector Harry Hole (last name is two syllables) is an interesting character. Jo Nesbø has now written seven novels with Harry Hole, and while I may have missed some of the background to characters and context in the series by jumping in with The Snowman, the main difficulty I had seemed to be with the English translation. When a novel “feels” like it’s been translated from a foreign language, then there’s an issue with the translation. I felt that the novel was a slow-starter, and I think much of this has to do with the rough translation. Sometimes it was fine, other times it was so clunky it felt like an unedited term paper. I tried to collect some examples of weird translator errors which I’ve recorded below. Isolated they don’t seem to add up to much, but if you figure the narrative hobbles along with these and any many more awkward translations, it can make for pretty rough going.
Things definitely got better as the novel progressed. The reader’s suspicions of the identity of the serial killer known as the Snowman shift from suspect to suspect so that any attempt at deductive reasoning is rather pointless by the end. All in all it was an intricately crafted, but ultimately contrived plot with a complex climax that more than stretches credibility (spoiler: how did he get all that snow upstairs when the windows were barred? And how did he get out of the room? And why didn’t his wrist snap at Holmenkollen?). So, okay, Stieg Larsson pushes the envelope too, but somehow it seemed just a smidgen more plausible.
“Isn’t that dreadful?”
Knut Muller-Nilsen was a chuckling teddy bear with smiling eyes and hands the size of tennis rackets. The tall stacks of paper made him look as if he were snowed in at his desk, with his rackets folded behind his head. p149
Is this just bad prose, or is the translation the saboteur?
“That sounds manifestly like you haven’t caught the Snowman after all. Is that right?” p190 poor translation? Wrong word?
That was a long time ago. Water under the bridge. Scars under the skin. Versicolor on the soul. p239 unusual observation, and one I had to look up.
In the fields surrounding the farm the snow was in retreat. Wet and gray, it squatted on the countryside it still occupied. p243 “squatted” seems like strange usage here, unless it means “squat” as in moving in illegally?
He was unable to breathe; a steel wire seemed to tauten around his throat. p327 “tauten” really? What about tighten?
“Tell me, who should I see if I have Fahr’s Syndrome?”
[Matthias, after a stint in the ER] “The high point was a boy who’d got a lemonade bottle stuck up his nose. I told his mother he was probably too young to sniff Coke.”
Things definitely got better as the novel progressed. The reader’s suspicions of the identity of the serial killer known as the Snowman shift from suspect to suspect so that any attempt at deductive reasoning is rather pointless by the end. All in all it was an intricately crafted, but ultimately contrived plot with a complex climax that more than stretches credibility (spoiler: how did he get all that snow upstairs when the windows were barred? And how did he get out of the room? And why didn’t his wrist snap at Holmenkollen?). So, okay, Stieg Larsson pushes the envelope too, but somehow it seemed just a smidgen more plausible.
Here are some linguistic oddities that bothered me (italics are my own):
“Isn’t that dreadful?”
“Veritably, Mother.” p117 I’m pretty sure there’s a more current, less stilted word for this.
Knut Muller-Nilsen was a chuckling teddy bear with smiling eyes and hands the size of tennis rackets. The tall stacks of paper made him look as if he were snowed in at his desk, with his rackets folded behind his head. p149
Is this just bad prose, or is the translation the saboteur?
“That sounds manifestly like you haven’t caught the Snowman after all. Is that right?” p190 poor translation? Wrong word?
Bjørn Holm rubbed his cutlet-shaped sideburns. p194 -strange observation, are these mutton-chop sideburns?
That was a long time ago. Water under the bridge. Scars under the skin. Versicolor on the soul. p239 unusual observation, and one I had to look up.
The other recurring term that was strange was “cochineal”. They’re the small red beetles apparently, that make Macdonald’s strawberry milkshakes red. Or was it meant to be French coccinelle, or ladybug, which would be a more common recognizable comparison, and one that might more likely be used to describe a human being?
In the fields surrounding the farm the snow was in retreat. Wet and gray, it squatted on the countryside it still occupied. p243 “squatted” seems like strange usage here, unless it means “squat” as in moving in illegally?
The snow emitted soft, drawn-out screeches under his boots and the sharp daylight flashed against the sunglass-black windows as he approached. p309 I suppose snow might screech if it were cold enough… “sunglass-black” or tinted? Solar? polarized?
He was unable to breathe; a steel wire seemed to tauten around his throat. p327 “tauten” really? What about tighten?
“Do you believe it’s true what they say about swans?” she asked. “That they’re faithful to each other until death do them part?” p 379 This one has to be a typo, right?
“Tell me, who should I see if I have Fahr’s Syndrome?”
Silence.
“It depends,” answered Borghild hesitantly.
“On what?”
“On the syndrome your father has, I suppose.” p138 This is a joke that doesn’t translate. Fahr’s is homophonic with fars (Norwegian “father’s”). Could it have been translated so that the joke could be appreciated? Or maybe at least explained in a footnote? I wonder how many more of these didn’t make it into English.
“It depends,” answered Borghild hesitantly.
“On what?”
“On the syndrome your father has, I suppose.” p138 This is a joke that doesn’t translate. Fahr’s is homophonic with fars (Norwegian “father’s”). Could it have been translated so that the joke could be appreciated? Or maybe at least explained in a footnote? I wonder how many more of these didn’t make it into English.
[Matthias, after a stint in the ER] “The high point was a boy who’d got a lemonade bottle stuck up his nose. I told his mother he was probably too young to sniff Coke.”
p341 Okay, so the Norwegian word for carbonated soft drink is bruslimonade, but lemonade isn’t the correct English translation. The joke only makes sense if you translate it as “soft drink bottle” or “pop bottle”. Oh, and I'm pretty sure you snort coke, not sniff it. This was definitely a translation error.
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