My OperaTerrible.
Wednesday, January 2, 2008 12:00:35 PM
I don't say this often. I really don't. Sometimes I flirt with the idea of condemning something as the most utterly deranged piece of ink- smear that humankind was unhappily not spared of having recorded on it' s long historic streak of ridiculous mishaps.
But this time I'm serious. And for once, and I assure you this does not come easy to me, I thank the powers that be for the fact that no more people can read norwegian - so they can be spared the pain of reading this quote, and understanding to what fantastic extent it's possible to pervert a language:
Listen - even the sounds of the text is grating.
Honestly, this is the most painful thing I've seen in Norwegian since perhaps the time in fifth- grade where I made up a story I was supposed to have written while reading it out to the class. That I then wrote down quickly afterwards so I could turn it in at the end of the hour. Actually, no, even that wasn't so bad. At least my sentences didn't break off each other so they could compete for which one should be most outstandingly ridiculous one.
You know what - it's just so bad I shouldn't even bring up Ari Behn and his book to compare with, since Behn at least has proper grammars. Hell, he even has a goddamn thought behind the sentences, and, you know, uses language to express them!
See that! Son of a bitch, it's so bad it makes me want to defend Ari Behn's literary exploits. Frankly, this novel, about the post- apocalyptical "Osh Lo", and all the other obstinately mindless phonetic cleverness that demonstrates the book's zombie- like characters', as well as the author's, grasp of written and spoken language, simply lowers the bar for everything so much that the net effect is to elevate everything else I've ever read and heard about into "literary profound". You know, my head frickin hurts from the sheer weight of the wisdom I realise I must've consumed right now.
Heck - judging by this, any damned thing that happens to fall out of anyone's mouth should simply be worshipped as the word of God, just so we can properly distinguish ordinary dull speak from this travesty of an attempt to ruin the Norwegian language forever.
Seriously, B. Andreas Bull- Hansen: thank you so much. What you have done is to lower the bar for getting anything put in print so much, and made it so apparent that the manuscript pile with the publishers is incredibly small at the moment, that you will undoubtedly have inspired all five hundred of those who were unfortunate enough to get your book for Christmas to mail in their most appealing grocery- shop lists to a publisher right away. And one of them, without a doubt, will in fact get their list published with Cappellen - for provoking the general rules usually associated writing a book - in that they don't use actual fucking language fit for conveying anything that can, however charitably, be considered art! Pføy! Tvi! And I call for a fatwa on the chief for Cappellen, for publishing this offense to our values and culture.
But this time I'm serious. And for once, and I assure you this does not come easy to me, I thank the powers that be for the fact that no more people can read norwegian - so they can be spared the pain of reading this quote, and understanding to what fantastic extent it's possible to pervert a language:
Nå la Munn og Votthand ved i oljefatet ute i gangen. Dyrebart brensel, visste Evv, for det var hans oppgave å gå opp i Øståsen og bryte grener av trærne. Han vendte seg bort fra lysskjæret, som nå krøp ut over i hele gennerhølet, men pupillene hadde allerede krympet til nåløyer. Resten av øynene hadde farge som grumset sjøvann, for det var et islett av blå i dem, og det hadde ingen sett hos andre nattjegere enn ham. Men i nattemørket, når han tok seg frem gjennom undergangene eller løp gjennom ruinene, fylte pupillene øynene hans og farget dem sorte.
Listen - even the sounds of the text is grating.
Honestly, this is the most painful thing I've seen in Norwegian since perhaps the time in fifth- grade where I made up a story I was supposed to have written while reading it out to the class. That I then wrote down quickly afterwards so I could turn it in at the end of the hour. Actually, no, even that wasn't so bad. At least my sentences didn't break off each other so they could compete for which one should be most outstandingly ridiculous one.
You know what - it's just so bad I shouldn't even bring up Ari Behn and his book to compare with, since Behn at least has proper grammars. Hell, he even has a goddamn thought behind the sentences, and, you know, uses language to express them!
See that! Son of a bitch, it's so bad it makes me want to defend Ari Behn's literary exploits. Frankly, this novel, about the post- apocalyptical "Osh Lo", and all the other obstinately mindless phonetic cleverness that demonstrates the book's zombie- like characters', as well as the author's, grasp of written and spoken language, simply lowers the bar for everything so much that the net effect is to elevate everything else I've ever read and heard about into "literary profound". You know, my head frickin hurts from the sheer weight of the wisdom I realise I must've consumed right now.
Heck - judging by this, any damned thing that happens to fall out of anyone's mouth should simply be worshipped as the word of God, just so we can properly distinguish ordinary dull speak from this travesty of an attempt to ruin the Norwegian language forever.
Seriously, B. Andreas Bull- Hansen: thank you so much. What you have done is to lower the bar for getting anything put in print so much, and made it so apparent that the manuscript pile with the publishers is incredibly small at the moment, that you will undoubtedly have inspired all five hundred of those who were unfortunate enough to get your book for Christmas to mail in their most appealing grocery- shop lists to a publisher right away. And one of them, without a doubt, will in fact get their list published with Cappellen - for provoking the general rules usually associated writing a book - in that they don't use actual fucking language fit for conveying anything that can, however charitably, be considered art! Pføy! Tvi! And I call for a fatwa on the chief for Cappellen, for publishing this offense to our values and culture.
