The Terry Pratchett Topic

[Xellos]

Sir Terry Pratchett's study reproduced at Salisbury Museum

http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-england-wiltshire-41267378

[tigermaster]

Прочетох "В черно като полунощ". Не съм чел другите за Тифани и направо се хвърлих на последната - което май беше грешка, доколкото щеше да е добре отношенията между някои герои да са ми по-ясни, преди да захвана книгата - обаче останалите ги нямам под ръка сега. В цялост ми допадна, но повечето от останалите истории за Диска май ми харесват повече. Подозирам, това, че книжките за Тифани се целят в по-млади читатели, е основната причина конфликтите тук да се разрешават много по-лесно, отколкото в прицелените в по-възрастни хора части от поредицата, а и тонът на моменти е доста по-детински, и с тийнейджърски романси за всички на подходящата възраст, и така нататък. Същевременно обаче имаме бруталия, каквато изобщо не очаквах тук. Началото е ударно - тринайсетгодишно момиче прави аборт, след като баща му го смазва от бой, а и не е само това - и не съм сигурен доколко гадостите си пасват с детинщината.
Фигълите обаче са готини, а появата на един образ от по-ранните книги ме зарадва прекалено много.

Spoiler: show

И ме тригърна бая, де. Една от котките ми се казваше Ескарина. Още не мога да я прежаля, макар че си отиде преди почти две години.

Анкх-Морпоркската вещица също е готина. Тифани радва. Идеи - колкото щеш.

[трубадур]

Тифани нещата му са най-калпавите за мен и пак са некви могъщи цици над конкуренцията. Докато нещата в диска са си бетон (предимно), при тифката ми се струва, че е искал да прави експерименти, ама след десетилетия на писане по един начин с определена нагласа, баш не му се получва да се отчупи напълно, което е напълно разбираемо. Едновременно не ме е яд, че тествах тия книжки, но дет се вика спокойно можеше да се мине без тях. Освен тва самата тифани ми е мех на кило и ако ги нямаше дребните синковци, още по-тегава щеше да е работата. Демек абсолютно противоположно на това, което реално пратчет иска. Много се гордее с тях и даже викаше, че иска с нея да го запомнят.

С тва на ум - спомените ми буквално са с некви десет години, ако и не и повече, давност и май последното, дето четох беше Wintersmith, даже трябваше да го гугълна (видях, че след нея има още 2 книги).

[Althea]

Мен поредицата за Тифани ми хареса най-много от всички книги за Света на Диска. По принцип са доста любими на повечето фенове, мен също ми харесват, но по-умерено. Относно „Черно в полунощ“,

Spoiler: show

появата на Ескарина силно ме разочарова. Толкова се радвах на момичето магьосница в „Еманципирана магия“ навремето; толкова очаквах каква е станала като пораснала... ами, станала е вещица с магьосническа магия. Мисленето, методите, всичко. Пълно разочарование за мен.

Още не съм прочела „Овчарската корона“, защото е последната книга на Пратчет и някак все ми се иска да отложа това във времето... въпреки че ми спойлнаха нещо ГИГАНТСКО от нея вече. А може би именно затова... Но и на нея ще ѝ дойде времето.

[aiva]

Чета "Вещици в чужбина" и съм възхитена от начина, по който Леля Ог се опитва да говори на чужбински:

- Гутен ден, голем брато, майне домакине! Троа бири пер нас, порке е мор, сил ну зле.
- Защо пък силну зле? - попита Баба.
- На чужд език това е моля - заяви Леля.

[трубадур]

Явно трябва да я чекна на български, тва е бая топ левел превод.

[Martix]

О, българския превод си имаше доста попадения, особено в ранните книги. Още си харесвам българското за-страх-уловка повече от оригинала inn-sewer-ants.

[Matrim]

Преводите имат множество добри попадения, но пък на доста места са рязани не просто параграфи, а цели страници. И то не непременно някакви трудни за превод игри на думи, а съвсем неща като Сребърната орда от Интересни времена отива на пазар, hilarity ensues:

Spoiler: show

And what’s that, then?”
“It’s the Plan,” said Cohen.
“Well, I’ll be f—” Truckle began.
“The list, Mr. Uncivil, only the words on the list,” snapped Mr. Saveloy. “Listen, I bow to your expertise when it comes to crossing wilderness, but this is civilization and you must use the right words. Please?”
“Better do what he says, Truckle,” said Cohen.
With bad grace, Truckle fished a grubby piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it.
“‘Dang’?” he said. “Wassat mean? And what’s this ‘darn’ and ‘heck’?”
“They are…civilized swearwords,” said Mr. Saveloy.
“Well, you can take ’em and—”
“Ah?” said Mr. Saveloy, raising a cautionary finger.
“You can shove them up—”
“Ah?”
“You can—”
“Ah?”
Truckle shut his eyes and clenched his fists.
“Dang it all to heck!” he shouted.
“Good,” said Mr. Saveloy. “That’s much better.”
He turned to Cohen, who was grinning happily at Truckle’s discomfort.
“Cohen,” he said, “there’s an apple stall over there. Do you fancy an apple?”
“Yeah, might do,” Cohen conceded, in the cautious manner of someone giving a conjuror his watch while remaining aware that the man is grinning and holding a hammer.
“Right. Now, then, cla—I mean, gentlemen. Ghenghiz wants an apple. There’s a stall over there selling fruit and nuts. What does he do?” Mr. Saveloy looked hopefully at his charges. “Anyone? Yes?”
“Easy. You kill that little”—there was a rustle of unfolding paper again—“chap behind the stall, then—”
“No, Mr. Uncivil. Anyone else?”
“Whut?”
“You set fire to—”
“No, Mr. Vincent. Anyone else…?”
“You rape—”
“No, no, Mr. Ripper,” said Mr. Saveloy. “We take out some muh—muh—?” He looked at them expectantly.
“—money—” chorused the Horde.
“—and we…What do we do? Now, we’ve gone through this hundreds of times. We…”
This was the difficult bit. The Horde’s lined faces creased and puckered still further as they tried to force their minds out of the chasms of habit.
“Gi…?” said Cohen hesitantly. Mr. Saveloy gave him a big smile and a nod of encouragement.
“Give?…it…to…” Cohen’s lips tensed around the word “…him?”
“Yes! Well done. In exchange for the apple. We’ll talk about making change and saying ‘thank you’ later on, when you’re ready for it. Now then, Cohen, here’s the coin. Off you go.”
Cohen wiped his forehead. He was beginning to sweat.
“How about if I just cut him up a bit—”
“No! This is civilization.”
Cohen nodded uncomfortably. He threw back his shoulders and walked over to the stall, where the apple merchant, who had been eying the group suspiciously, nodded at him.
Cohen’s eyes glazed and his lips moved silently, as if he were rehearsing a script. Then he said:
“Ho, fat merchant, give me all your…one apple…and I will give you…this coin…”
He looked around. Mr. Saveloy had his thumb up.
“You want an apple, is that it?” said the apple merchant.
“Yes!”
The apple merchant selected one. Cohen’s sword had been hidden in the wheelchair again but the merchant, in response to some buried acknowledgement, made sure it was a good apple. Then he took the coin. This proved a little difficult, since his customer seemed loath to let go of it.
“Come on, hand it over, venerable one,” he said.
Seven crowded seconds passed.
Then, when they were safely around the corner, Mr. Saveloy said, “Now, everyone: who can tell me what Ghenghiz did wrong?”
“Didn’t say please?”
“Whut?”
“No.”
“Didn’t say thank you?”
“Whut?”
“No.”
“Hit the man over the head with a melon and thumped him into the strawberries and kicked him in the nuts and set fire to his stall and stole all the money?”
“Whut?”
“Correct!” Mr. Saveloy sighed. “Ghenghiz, you were doing so well up to then.”
“He didn’t ort to have called me what he did!”
“But ‘venerable’ means old and wise, Ghenghiz.”
“Oh. Does it?”
“Yes.”
“We-ell…I did leave him the money for the apple.”
“Yes, but, you see, I do believe you took all his other money.”
“But I paid for the apple,” said Cohen, rather testily.
Mr. Saveloy sighed. “Ghenghiz, I do rather get the impression that several thousand years of the patient development of fiscal propriety have somewhat passed you by.”
“Come again?”
“It is possible sometimes for money to legitimately belong to other people,” said Mr. Saveloy patiently.
The Horde paused to wrap their minds around this, too. It was, of course, something they knew to be true in theory. Merchants always had money. But it seemed wrong to think of it as belonging to them; it belonged to whoever took it off them. Merchants didn’t actually own it, they were just looking after it until it was needed.
“Now, there is an elderly lady over there selling ducks,” said Mr. Saveloy. “I think the next stage—Mr. Willie, I am not over there, I am sure whatever you are looking at is very interesting, but please pay attention—is to practice our grasp of social intercourse.”
“Hur, hur, hur,” said Caleb the Ripper.
“I mean, Mr. Ripper, that you should go and enquire how much it would be for a duck,” said Mr. Saveloy.
“Hur, hur, hur—What?”
“And you are not to rip all her clothes off. That’s not civilized.”
Caleb scratched his head. Flakes fell out.
“Well, what else am I supposed to do?”
“Er…engage her in conversation.”
“Eh? What’s there to talk about with a woman?”
Mr. Saveloy hesitated again. To some extent this was unknown territory to him as well. His experience with women at his last school had been limited to an occasional chat with the housekeeper, and on one occasion the matron had let him put his hand on her knee. He had been forty before he found out that oral sex didn’t mean talking about it. Women had always been to him strange and distant and wonderful creatures rather than, as the Horde to a man believed, something to do. He was struggling a little.
“The weather?” he hazarded. His memory threw in vague recollections of the staple conversation of the maiden aunt who had brought him up. “Her health? The trouble with young people today?”
“And then I rip her clothes off?”
“Possibly. Eventually. If she wants you to. I might draw your attention to the discussion we had the other day about taking regular baths”—or even a bath, he added to himself—“and attention to fingernails and hair and changing your clothes more often.”
“This is leather,” said Caleb. “You don’t have to change it, it don’t rot for years.”
Once again Mr. Saveloy readjusted his sights. He’d thought that Civilization could be overlaid on the Horde like a veneer. He had been mistaken.
But the funny thing—he mused, as the Horde watched Caleb’s painful attempts at conversation with a representative of half the world’s humanity—was that although they were as far away as possible from the kind of people he normally mixed with in staffrooms, or possibly because they were as far away as possible from the kind of people he normally mixed with in staffrooms, he actually liked them. Every one of them saw a book as either a lavatorial accessory or a set of portable firefighters and thought that hygiene was a greeting. Yet they were honest (from their specialized point of view) and decent (from their specialized point of view) and saw the world as hugely simple. They stole from rich merchants and temples and kings. They didn’t steal from poor people; this was not because there was anything virtuous about poor people, it was simply because poor people had no money.
And although they didn’t set out to give the money away to the poor, that was nevertheless what they did (if you accepted that the poor consisted of innkeepers, ladies of negotiable virtue, pickpockets, gamblers, and general hangers-on), because although they would go to great lengths to steal money they then had as much control over it as a man trying to herd cats. It was there to be spent and lost. So they kept the money in circulation, always a praiseworthy thing in any society.
They never worried about what other people thought. Mr. Saveloy, who’d spent his whole life worrying about what other people thought and had been passed over for promotion and generally treated as a piece of furniture as a result, found this strangely attractive. And they never agonized about anything, or wondered if they were doing the right thing. And they enjoyed themselves immensely. They had a kind of honor. He liked the Horde. They weren’t his kind of people.
Caleb returned, looking unusually thoughtful.
“Congratulations, Mr. Ripper!” said Mr. Saveloy, a great believer in positive reinforcement. “She still appears to be fully clothed.”
“Yeah, what’d she say?” said Boy Willie.
“She smiled at me,” said Caleb. He scratched his crusty beard uneasily. “A bit, anyway,” he added.
“Good,” said Mr. Saveloy.
“She, er…she said she’d…she wouldn’t mind seein’ me…later…”
“Well done!”
“Er…Teach? What’s a shave?”
Saveloy explained.
Caleb listened carefully, grimacing occasionally. He turned round occasionally to look at the duck seller, who gave him a little wave.
“Cor,” he said. “Er. I dunno…” He looked around again. “Never seen a woman who wasn’t running away before.”
“Oh, women are like deer,” said Cohen loftily. “You can’t just charge in, you gotta stalk ’em—”
“Hur, hur, h—Sorry,” said Caleb, catching Mr. Saveloy’s stern eye.
“I think perhaps we should end the lesson here,” said Mr. Saveloy. “We don’t want to get you too civilized, do we…? I suggest we take a stroll around the Forbidden City, yes?”

Превода:

Spoiler: show

— Добре де, какво?

— Нашият План — още по-внушително изрече главатарят.

— Бре, да му го нач… — веднага започна Тръкъл.

— Списъкът, господин Простако, списъкът! — назидателно напомни господин Сейвлой. — Признавам богатия ви опит в дивата пустош, но тук сме в цивилизацията и ще използвате само прилични думи. Разбрахме ли се?

— Тръкъл, най-добре го послушай — намеси се Коен.


{Здраво рязане по неясни причини]



— Предлагам да се разходим около Забранения град — забързано предложи господин Сейвлой, за да не прекали.

[трубадур]

Некви препоръки кои са кадърните пратчовски преводи на беге или ин дженеръл кой преводач да търся

шото са 700 книги, не очаквам някой да тресне списъка с напълно преведените книги, които са добре, ама са рязани, тези, дето са добре и не са рязани, тези, дето са абсолютен провал, ама не са скипвали и тия, които чеп за зейе не става от тях, ама на всичкото отгоре са ги окълцали кат стой та гледай.

[tigermaster]

^Това горе е на Катя Анчева.
Иначе - на Владимир Зарков са добри преводите, но той съвсем директно се оплакваше от гадно отношение от страна на издателите.

[Ghibli]

Аз не признавам по-добър преводач на Пратчет от Светлана Комогорова - Комата.
За рязането нямам представа, не съм ги чела паралелно на двата езика.

[Marfa]

Значи в момента Озон издават наново Пратчет, откупили са правата, към момента преводите на Стражите са направени отново, с попълнените лиспващи части, предстоят и останалите, също редактирани и попълнени без изрязаните страници и сюжетни линии.

https://www.ozone.bg/author-teri-pratchet/

[Matrim]

Това е чудесно, но аз като непоправим мърморко ще се оплача, че сега щеше да е добър момент да сменят заглавието на "Стражите! Стражите" с доста по-точния и добре звучащ превод "Стража! Стража!". Но това е бял кахър, даже и не са надули цената както е обичаят на родните издатели.

[Marfa]

Излезе и обновената поредица за Смърт на Пратчет: https://www.ozone.bg/book_series-svetat ... 5PC37sl9WI

Честно казано в момента не мога да отделя пари, за да си купя цялата, а и то реално само Дядо Прас е безобразно осакатен, та него ще си го поръчам.

[Marfa]

Поредицата за Смърт е вече при мен! (Благодаря на когото трябва <3 ) Ами пипната е. Липсващите части са си по местата, всичко е просто идеално! Нямам търпение натам да си взема и "Интересни времена", че тя май е най-окастрената след "Дядо Прас". И "Пощоряване", разбира се.