Naw Much of a Talker
By Pedro Lenz
4.5/5
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Currently unavailable
About this ebook
An award-winning comic novel about truth, lies, and storytelling, with an unforgettably unreliable narrator, translated from its innovative Swiss vernacular back into the Glaswegian that was its original inspiration
Known only as "the goalie," the novel's narrator is always taking the blame. He's just been released from jail, having kept quiet during a drug bust at his local pub. The goalie is a sucker for a good story, he lives and breathes them, is forever telling stories to himself and anyone who'll listen. He returns to his hometown broke, falling in love with Regi, a barmaid. On a trip together to Spain, to hook up with his shady friends, Regi realizes that this obsession with storytelling has its downsides, the goalie all too ready to believe the yarns his so-called friends spin. This novel is a charming, hilarious tour through the goalie's anecdotes. Storytelling is his way of avoiding problems and conflict, his crowning achievement and tragic flaw. Regi concludes that it isn't a woman the goalie needs, but an audience. Pedro Lenz harnesses his considerable powers as a performer and oral storyteller in this powerful and unforgettable celebration of the rhythms and musicality of the spoken word.
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Reviews for Naw Much of a Talker
9 ratings1 review
- Rating: 5 out of 5 stars5/5This is one of the most incredible feats of translation I've seen for years. Lenz's novel utterly depends for its effect on a rich, idiomatic, and inherently local narrative voice, and Donal McLaughlin has achieved this by turning the original Swiss German into Scots (I had to correct the Goodreads data, which gave this edition as being in English – well, see for yourself):So there ah wis: fuck aw dosh, desperate furra coffee but, wi schnapps in it, furra bit o company an' aw, a cunt or two tae talk to.Ahm tellin ye, arent ah? Ma pockets wur empty, part fae a few fags, a few coins. Things wur a bit tight like. Tighter than tight, tae be honest. Waitin on money some cunt owed me, ah wis. Try sayin that but when yir fresh ootae the nick. Ahm owed a whack o money, jist dont hiv it yet.Impresses nae cunt, that.[Ds Abschiedsgäud vor Chischte hani scho vertublet gha, ohni genau z wüsse wie. Ig ke Chole, aber unbedingt es Kafi Fertig und chli Gsöuschaft und chli Stimme bbrucht, denn.I säges jo, nüt im Sack aus es paar Sigeretten und chli öppis i Münz. En Ängpass äbe, aber e ziemlech e böse. Ha drum uf öppis gwartet, woni z guet hätt gha. Nume, säg das mou öpperem, wennde grad usem Loch bisch cho, säg mou öpperem, du heigsch zwar ziemlech vüu Gäud z guet, sigsch aber grad nid bsungers flüssig. Das interessiert jetz gar niemer.]This breaks the unofficial rule of translation which says that ‘dialect’ in a source language should not be translated into ‘dialect’ in a target language, because the social connotations will be too different. In this case however, it fits perfectly, and it happens to make me personally extremely happy because (as I've said in several reviews already) I have always sort of equated Switzerland with Scotland in my head, from a linguistic point of view.And the language is very important, because part of the aim of this book is to stress a different kind of Switzerland from the one projected by most of its famous authors – who tend to create protagonists that are well-off, well-travelled men of the world, fluent in Business English and forever getting on and off business flights.That wis the diffrince tae the rich ae today – cos nooadays, nae cunt pits in as much graft as the really rich, aw they entrepreneurs an' industrialists an' mega managers who hiv long since made their billions, still jet aroon the world but, like overexcited ants, workin sixty- tae seventy-oor weeks tae continue gettin richer until, literally, they drap fuckin deid.[Das sig äbe der Ungerschied zu de Riiche vu hütte, wöu hütt chrampfi niemer so vüu, wi di ganz Riiche, au di Ungernähmer, Induschtriellen und Supermanager, wo scho längschtens Milliarde heigen und nächär wi pickti Ameisi ir Wäutgschicht umenang jetti und sächzg oder sibezg Stung ir Wuche dranne sige, für joo immer no richer und no richer z wärde, bissne buechstäblech d Pumpi verjätti.]I did notice one or two strange slips – s Crème ohni Crème surely does not mean ‘a coffee wi cream wi'oot any cream’ (which makes no sense), because a ‘café crème’ in German-speaking Switzerland just means a long espresso (a French allongé), which you would think McLaughlin would know since he has made a career out of translating Swiss writers. But on the whole I thought the whole thing was incredibly exhilarating and well-judged.Lenz (like his compatriot Franz Hohler) is pretty active in the spoken-word scene, and that explains a lot. This begs to be read aloud (and you can check out Alan Bisset reading the first few pages here, for a flavour). Admittedly if you don't already have a good idea of how Glaswegians speak, this book, though it can be read and understood, will not have the same emotional effect. Because reading it is the closest thing you'll get to being button-holed by some drunk weegie at the back of the Paraffin Lamp, the sweep of any main plot forever subsumed in the joys of tangential anecdotes.Ah kin only see the wee stories. Ah hivnae got whit it takes tae dae a bigger story. Wi a beginnin, middle an' end. An inner logic ae its ain. An arc an' aw that jazz. Or ahm jist naw intristit in aw that cos ahm mair intristit in the wee stories. Ahm sorry if ahm naw gi'in ye whit ye wantit.[I gseh immer nume di chliine Gschichte. Für di grossi, zämehängendi Gschicht, mit Logik und Spannigsbogen und auem was derzue ghört, do fäuht mir gloub eifach d Begabig. Aber vilecht interessierts mi eifach zwenig, wöu mi di chliine Gschichte meh interessiere. Es tuet mer Leid, weni nid das bringe, woder erwartet heit.]I know I've probably geeked out about the language too much and made you worry that there's no story, which isn't the case. Although, it is one of those books (my favourite kind) that depends on its prose style to inject the emotion of characters and plot direct into your brain. The central character, known only as ‘Goalie’, is an outsider, a fuck-up, someone who's had no breaks in life, desperately trying to make things work, to avoid bad influences, perhaps if he's lucky to get off with the pretty barmaid he fancies. I thought he was adorable, and by the end of the book I was more emotionally invested in him than I have been in a fictional character for a long time – and that's why the language is important, because his story would make no sense in the Queen's English.Quite aside from the emotional power of the story, the book qua text is a strong argument for the use of ‘regional’ languages – too often relegated here to a tiny Mundart shelf at the back of the bookshop – as a way of describing those on the edge of society, of giving voice to the outsiders, of narrating the periphery. Which is one of the things good literature should be doing all the time.