Викам си тука да пиша, че е по по темата. Тъкмо прочетох Shadow of the Torturer в оригинал, и все още съм ей така ->
Тва е велика книга (бтв ако някой ми обясни що "torturer" е преведено навсякдъе като "инквизитор"...) и направо побеснях, като разбрах КОЛКО е осакатена на български. Всякакви тънкости на езика са пометени, имената, названията и титлите, които придават такава упадъчна атмосфера на света, са заменени с възможно най-недомислените и прости глупости (Chatelaine = господарка? При положение, че думата не е измислена? Айде нема нужда), но най-грозното е, че много пасажи са просто РЯЗАНИ. Примерно разни безмоторни размисли на Севериан накрая са махнати, явно от някой по-знаещ от автора редактор, който са му се сторили излишни. Срам и позор
Иначе, просто на ниво стил, ето нещо, което много ме впечатли:
Не е спойлер, просто за вслучай, че някой СПЕЦИАЛНО не иска да го чете...
- Spoiler: show
- Севериан се подготвя да изпълнява екзекуция на другия ден и пред сградата, където спи, са се събрали няколко човека, които са вманиачени на тема екзекуции и искат да си общуват с екзекутора, независимо на каква тема.
Gene Wolfe wrote:All of them stirred me to pity even as they revolted me; but one man most of all. He was smaller than the one who had given me the money, grayer than the gray-haired woman; and there was a madness in his dull eyes, a shadow of some half-supressed concern that had worn itself out in the prison of his mind until all its eagerness was gone and only its energy remained. He seemed to be waiting until the other four had finished speaking, and since that time clearly would never come, I quieted them with a gesture and asked him what he wanted.
"M-m-master, when i was on the Quasar I had a paracoita, a doll, you see, a genicon, so beautiful with her great pupils as dark as wells, her i-irises urple like asters or pansies blooming in summer, Master, whole beds of them, I thought, had b-been gathered to make those eyes, that flesh that always felt sun-warmed. Wh-wh-where is she now, my own scopolagna, my poppet? Let h-h-hooks be buried in the hands that took her! Crush them, master, beneath stones. Where has she gone from the lemon-wood box I made for her, where she never slept at all, for she lay with me all night, not in the box, the lemon-wood box where she waited all day, watch-and-watch, Master, smiling when I laid her in so she might smile when I drew her out. ow soft her hands were, her little hands. Like d-d-doves. She might have flown with them about the cabin had she not chosen instead to lie with me. W-w-wind their guts about your w-windlass, stuff their eyes into their mouths. Unman them, shave them clean below so their doxies may not know them, their lemans may rebuke them, leave them to the brazen laughter of the brazen mouths of st-st-strumpets. Wok your will upon those guilty. Where was their mercy on the innocent? When did they tremble, when weep? What kind of men could do as they have done - thieves, false friends, betrayers, bad shipmates, no shipmates, murderers and kidnappers. W-withyout you, where are their nightmares, where are their restitutions, so long promised? Where are their chains, fetters, manacles, and cangues? Where are their abacinations, that shall leave them blind? Where are the defenestrations that shall break their bones, where is the estrapade that shall grind their joints? Where is she, the beloved whom I lost?"
С което цялата сцена просто свършва.
And you can't dance with a devil on your back...
Честно, аз се изненадах, че наше издателство изобщо се е сетило за Улф. Дори се съмнявам дали са знаели с кого се заемат и какво превеждат всъщност. По-скоро някой се заблудил сериозно и е решил, че става дума за някво отвеяно фентъзи. 
