Struggling to resolve what to me is an ambiguity

[graviton]

AngelicaDeAlquezar (Incidentally—what immortal hand could frame, the lilting symmetry of your name? with apologies to William Blake):

Let me begin with something you'll thoroughly enjoy Angelica—a confession of a bit of negligence. You assumed--and reasonably so—that the quote whose meaning is so fiercely in dispute was from 'just some mystery'. So, quite understandably, you said, “I think you are overinterpreting a simple situation.” If the quote were in fact from 'just some mystery' it is certainly possible that the author would never have intended the reader to laboriously extract what I was claiming to have extracted from the quote when I placed that quote in the context that gave it its true meaning. My negligence came from not realizing how my reading over my lifetime of many of the classic mysteries (while avoiding just about every 'just some mystery') has conditioned me to always think in that deeply inferential way, and made me forget that the ordinary reader of the ordinary mystery would never[/I] think that way (or need to think that way), and in fact would consider such analysis preposterous, as you did. Angelica, the delightfully complicated but utterly “fair” classic mysteries (“fair” in the sense of not violating the laws of logic, nature, or human nature), for example, the Anthony Berkeley series or the Ellery Queen series, do truly require exceptionally careful and profound analysis of every bit of action, and every bit of psychology, if you want to beat Ellery to the murderer (for example, noticing and remembering that a character picked up his spoon with his left hand on page 23 may enable you, when you add it to four other tiny observations, to eliminate him as a suspect on page 141, with nine logical steps from spoon to exoneration).

So now, the question is: is the book from which I extracted the quote, El Club Dumas, 'just another mystery' or potentially a classic? If the former, then your way of interpreting the sentence could well be correct, if the latter, then mine would probably be.

Well, in fact I have every reason to believe that this book is something quite special. I chose to read it for that very reason.
When I decided to refresh my once-proficient Spanish I carefully sought out compelling works of all sorts (that were originally written in Spanish), and, in the mystery genre, it appeared to be the leading candidate—at least the critics feel the author has produced a masterpiece; I haven't read enough to form an opinion. But the author is evidently considered a major literary talent who uses conventional genres like 'mystery' and 'adventure' for his own much more sophisticated purposes, and like many such talents since Joyce, he achieves his effects by implication, suggestion, subtlety, allusion. He's never simple or straightforward; he enjoys frustrating you with ambiguity; he requires you to infer what he deliberately obscures or leaves unsaid—in short, he demands a great deal from his readers—even more than Anthony Berkeley or Ellery Queen.

So, Angelica, accepting that this author writes in this way, where he deliberately leaves so much to be done by the reader, let's re-examine my inferences. And also, let me flesh out that opening scene, when the policeman, judge and all the forensics people converge upon the hanging man, to give you more crucial context.


When you read the sentences that immediately follow the one I quoted, it's clear that the policeman had to have smiled and that the judge would not have had the impulse to smile.

Why do I say that? Let's look at the very first remark the judge makes to the policeman (after the policeman's milk comment)--it indicates that the judge has deduced that the policeman has decided it was a suicide. The judge says, “Hay homicidios que se disfrazan de suicidios.” He has inferred (correctly, as we'll soon learn) that the policeman considers it a suicide, and so the judge immediately presents the contrary notion of “There are homicides that are disguised as suicides”. The judge (as we observe moments later) strongly believes that this case is an example of exactly that.


So, Angelica, let's logically analyze these facts (and some additional facts that I'll get to) and see how they bear on the milk comment and who's smiling. 1)If the milk comment itself (without the smile) was enough for the judge to infer that the policeman believed it was a suicide, then the judge would most certainly NOT have the impulse to smile—on the contrary, he would be realizing that he and the highest-ranking policeman assigned to the case had diametrically opposed views of what had happened. 2)But, in any event, it seems quite a stretch that the milk comment alone would have been enough for the judge to infer the policeman's belief that it was a suicide. So then, what did enable him to conclude that the policeman believed it was a suicide? Surely it could not have been the facts at the scene. The dead man's hands were tightly bound!! While the policeman offers an explanation as to how this is still consistent with his suicide theory [the policeman says “A veces temen arrepentirse a última hora”, “Sometimes, they are afraid they will regret it at the last minute” (just to make clear—the policeman is suggesting that they tie their own hands to prevent their acting on any last minute regrets they may feel about choosing suicide)], still, given ONLY the facts at the scene, the judge surely could not have inferred that the policeman would have believed it a suicide. So we're left with 3)It must be the smile on the policeman's face that enabled the judge to decipher the otherwise cryptic words of the policeman. And there's still more context that you need to know to understand why I say that. The judge and the policeman were clearly well acquainted—that's conveyed in sentences I haven't quoted. Therefore, the judge would know how the policeman behaves when he's facing a routine suicide, and how he acts when dealing with a grave matter like murder, which in Europe is a rare event. So the judge must know that if the policeman is smiling while making an otherwise cryptic comment about milk it must mean he's taking the situation lightly—therefore a suicide.


Angelica, a reporter once approached the iconic economist John Meynard Keynes and pointed out that he'd said X in 1926, and the opposite of X in 1934, and he upbraided Keynes for inconsistency. Keynes responded, “When the facts change, I change my mind. What do you do, sir?” Well, Angelica, the facts have, I think, changed..........

[AngelicaDeAlquezar]

Well, I won't be the one to stay in your way if you wish to pass a piece of text or a whole book through a literary interpretation. What we all have told you is the only way to understand your original sentence from the point of view of the language, which is the object of these forums. So, the only possible answer to why the verb "notar" can't be used in the sentence, is because "apuntar" is merely used as "insinuar", with no other possible interpretation; and the reason why it's the judge and not the other character who smiles is because the semantics of the sentence does not allow it. So the reasons why there is no ambiguity in your quoted text are language-related, not interpretation-related.
Finally, keep in mind that cultural references of foreign authors aren't the standard reaction you'd have. I have said before that the judge's smile is neither a frank wide smile, nor an empathetic or agreeing one; the "hint of a smile" in the judge's face is obviously sardonic, either because he finds the second character's attitude inappropriate or absurd or wrong, and it's a show of disdain as he has a different opinion. And that's certainly obvious from the use of the language in the sentence.
I will not talk about "mystery" and "change of facts", because that's decidedly not within the reach of proper language usage and a semantically well constructed sentence, and regardless of the whole book.


Once I've said all that, I'll only add that having fun with texts is by no means forbidden or unwelcomed in the forums, but that's definitely not the field where I intervene or speculate. We have provided the answers for the questions you had on language, and certainly the rest on how to interpret a series of murders in a book can't be up to these answers. :)
That clearly will not impede that other users would share their own views on what each gesture of Lucas Corso could mean, of course, and that will even be interesting to read. :idea:


As for my nickname, I should assume you know that Arturo Pérez-Reverte invented the character of Angélica de Alquézar for the Capitán Alatriste series.
Personally, I find El Club Dumas a fine book and quite enjoyable, by the way. :thumbsup:

[poli]

Dear Graviton,

There's nothing to be grateful about: I'm the first to admit that everything (or most part) I've learnt about the English language has been due to the invaluable labour of altruist users. Yes, I also hope to continue or keep partaking in this forum for a long time. I'm going to travel soon and I hope to suffer no problems with my internet connection.

By the way, I'm 21.

I would translate apuntar una sonrisa as crack a smile.

[graviton]

The culmination of this thread has brought to mind one of my favorite stories about Einstein, who could be very funny, though sometimes in an iconoclastic way, as in this case.


Einstein of course came to prominence originally with Special Relativity, but—although it was a brilliantly innovative theory—many of his predecessors had already figured out bits and pieces of it. But General Relativity was a different matter; all the other physicists of the world didn't even realize there was a problem, while Einstein was busy coming up with the solution! And what a solution it was! But could it be correct? Einstein was confident it was, but the rest of the scientific world was skeptical. Fortunately, one of the theory's predictions could be easily tested: how much would a star's light passing the sun during an eclipse be bent? Newton's theory of gravity said one thing, Einstein's General Relativity said twice as much. As soon as World War I ended and experiments could again be carried out, an expedition set out for the location of the next total solar eclipse. While the scientific world was holding its collective breath to see the outcome—who would prevail, Newton or Einstein?—a reporter approached Einstein and asked him how he would feel if the experiment proved his theory wrong. Einstein replied, “ I would feel sorry for God. The theory is correct.” For those who might not grasp the meaning of Einstein's response, he meant that the flawless logic of his theory was clearly the blueprint for the universe; if the actual universe behaved differently, then God must have bungled in His implementation of that blueprint. Hence, his feeling sorry for God.


After considering all the comments in this thread—with the unanimous viewpoint that, strictly from a language usage perspective, there's only one meaning that 'apuntar' can have in this context, and therefore only one person who can be smiling, the judge—it would be unreasonable of me not to accept that as correct, especially since so many native speakers of Spanish insist upon it, most emphatically Angelica (and incidentally, Angelica, I did NOT have the least idea that Angelica de Alquezar was a creation of Perez-Reverte, who I was completely unfamiliar with until a few days ago. So it's quite an amazing coincidence, verging on synchronicity!).


Anyway, how does all this relate to Einstein's very pungent comment? In this way: Angelica correctly distinguished between her strictly linguistic objections to my interpretation of the use of 'apuntar' as 'noticed' and, on the other hand, my complicated logical argument, based on the context, in favor of its interpretation as 'noticed', whose evaluation she felt was outside her jurisdiction. So, given the contradiction between the two—which I now accept—my conclusion is: I feel sorry for Perez-Reverte, for the same reason Einstein would have felt sorry for God , i.e. my logical argument based on the context is correct, Perez-Reverte simply bungled the execution—like most mystery writers, he was sloppy in analyzing the implications of his own writing. This is almost ubiquitous among mystery writers, which is why aficionados revere the few classics, like “The Poisoned Chocolates Case” by Berkeley, that are perfect in their execution, with the implications of every single word being properly taken into account.

[chileno]

En todo caso cuesta ser un buen traductor/intérprete.:)

[graviton]

Yes, chileno, translating is difficult, but if I could change anything about how translation is done it would be this:


The textbook I used for English Literature classes in college was “The Norton Anthology of English Literature, Volumes 1 and 2” and whenever there was any kind of ambiguity or puzzling feature in the text there'd be a footnote. Perhaps the meaning of a word had changed over the centuries--for example, “conscience” in Shakespeare's day meant “reflection”, it didn't have its present meaning of “an inner feeling of right and wrong that guides our behavior”, so you can see how that difference of definition completely changes the meaning of the famous line from Hamlet's "To be or not to be" soliloquy “conscience doth make cowards of us all”. So Norton's put a footnote indicator after the word “conscience” in the speech by Hamlet, and the reader could shift his gaze to the bottom of the page for a second or two and be supplied with the additional knowledge that is absolutely crucial to understanding that line.


So I think that translators should do the same thing. Whenever there's an ambiguity, whenever there's just no simple and direct way to translate something, the translator should footnote his own translation and explain the problem, and give the reader all the additional information he needs to have a proper understanding of the author's meaning. Back when I was learning Spanish for the first time, I was using the Spanish edition of Reader's Digest for practice, and I remember one particularly absurd situation. Remember, basically the Spanish edition is just a translation of the English edition, which has many jokes scattered throughout the magazine. One of these jokes involved a comical definition of “gross ignorance”, that depended for its humor on the potential double meaning of the word “gross”--which in English means outrageously large or disgusting, but also 144 units of some product. Unfortunately the Spanish word “grueso”, which is how the Spanish edition translated “gross”, doesn't mean 144. So they translated this very long and complicated joke, several hundred words in length at least, and, of course, never put a footnote explaining about 'gross' in English also meaning 144; therefore any Spanish reader who didn't also know English pretty well would be completely baffled when he got to the punch line! The absurdity of it! (By the way, the joke was a very amusing one—but probably only a tiny percentage of the Spanish readers got it.) And there are so many instances in a novel where a footnote is essential to convey the true meaning of the original text—I've been observing that in my recent reading of Julio Cortazar's stories. But evidently publishers feel that if they footnoted a text readers would feel like they are “in school”, and their reading pleasure would be diminished because of the unpleasant memories being in school conjures up for so many people.

[Rusty]

The textbook I used for English Literature classes in college was “The Norton Anthology of English Literature, Volumes 1 and 2” and whenever there was any kind of ambiguity or puzzling feature in the text there'd be a footnote. ...
So I think that translators should do the same thing. Whenever there's an ambiguity, whenever there's just no simple and direct way to translate something, the translator should footnote his own translation and explain the problem, and give the reader all the additional information he needs to have a proper understanding of the author's meaning.Agreed!! I've seen this done by some translators and it was well worth the glance downward.
I actually like the additional insight that reading footnotes can provide.

:thumbsup:

[graviton]

Rusty, m'boy, it's nice to have you back! I thought to myself, “Uh-oh, graviton, your mad praise of the value of having native Spanish speakers in this forum, and its seeming (though not genuine)implied disparagement of non-native speaker Rusty, hurt his feelings and sent him into permanent self-exile!” But you've triumphantly returned!


But let's discuss this native speaker issue for a minute—specifically, whether it's possible to achieve not mere proficiency but virtuosity in a language if you only start to acquire it, full time, at a point beyond early childhood. By virtuosity I mean the ability to do in your non-native language every single thing you do in your native one, and just as effortlessly. Have you ever heard it pointed out that Ginger Rogers did the same thing that Fred Astaire did, but backwards and in high heels? Well, if your native language is Ginger Rogers and your second language is Fred Astaire, then that doesn't count as virtuosity in your second language, just proficiency. (Hey, Angelica, given your outstanding fluency in both Spanish and English, we'd love hearing from you—specifically, if you feel the same sure-footedness, the same sense of mastery and effortlessness of expression in English as you do in Spanish. Tell Inigo to go play golf for a while and give us your thoughts and experience with this, if you would be so generous!)


Rusty, Angelica, et al: Here's one powerful piece of evidence to consider: When I read Anna Karenina, I was dumbstruck by the fact that the 19th century aristocracy in Russia (depicted with painstaking realism by Tolstoy) insisted that the tutors educating their children (from birth) converse strictly in English one day, in nothing but French the next, and, of course, only in Russian the third. If a child asked for more milk on the French day, he'd be ignored until he said, “Plus de lait”. Well, a few months ago, I read that Vladimir Nabokov (very much born into the Russian aristocracy, in 1899) was raised the same way!! So much so that when he was a tot, his very first words were in English!! His father, a fiercely patriotic Russian, was horrified! “What have I done! What have I done!”, he cried. Of course, it turned out he'd done a very good thing, since aristocrats like Nab's father were not favorites of Lenin, Trotsky, Stalin, et al, and when Vlad, dad, and their wealthy brethren soon had to flee for their lives, as long as they chose an English- or French-speaking nation for asylum, they could immediately order a full-course dinner—or write a sonnet or curse the concierge--in their new country without having to consult a phrase book. But the point of this tale lies in what happened many decades later, where I become a character in my own story! There I am, in a used book store in lower Manhattan, and I espy, on a remote, dusty shelf, barely discernible amid the cobwebs, a copy of The Playboy Interviews, a massive tome that was a compilation of perhaps thirty years worth of interviews—yes, strangely enough, it was the much-maligned Playboy and not, say, the august Smithsonian Magazine that conducted, over decades, a series of the longest, deepest, and most probing interviews with the world's most interesting intellectuals, one published each month--at a discreet distance from the centerfold! And as I'm riding home on the train, I choose to read the Nabokov interview. Now, this compilation book was published long after Nab's death, so Playboy felt it could finally reveal the truth, which they did in the introduction to the interview. It turns out that the celebrated Nabokov interview, which dazzled the reader with Nab's coruscating, breath-taking eloquence, had never actually taken place! Yes, this man tutored in English from birth (of course, just one day in three), whose first words were in English, didn't feel comfortable enough speaking in English when matters of great complexity and nuance would be discussed, so while the interviewer amused himself elsewhere in Nab's house, Nab took the interviewer's list of questions and wrote out all his answers--and rewrote most of the questions, too! Nabokov was comfortable enough in English to write all his later works in that language, but still recognized his own limitations in English as a non-native speaker when extemporaneously discussing topics of great complexity, where even slight shades of difference between words can, if the wrong choice is made, send the argument into unintended precincts. Hence the Playboy interview subterfuge.


The complicated ideas human beings are capable of expressing require the most sensitive feel for the language he's using to express them. I think that can only come from very early, and constant, exposure to that language. Of course, if all someone wants to say is, “Honey, hand me the remote”........

[chileno]

But that's why the is a big difference between interpretation and translation.

I concur partly with your opinion.

[AngelicaDeAlquezar]

Angelica, I did NOT have the least idea that Angelica de Alquezar was a creation of Perez-Reverte, who I was completely unfamiliar with until a few days ago.

:) He's a fine writer and an excellent narrator. The Capitán Alatriste series is a very interesting voyage through Spanish so called Golden Century, all full of adventure and also of reflection on social and political aspects. Highly recommendable.

[graviton]

Winston Churchill once described Russia as “a riddle inside a mystery wrapped in an enigma”. True enough. But what would he have said had he been acquainted with a certain 'Angelica' from Mexico City? A riddle inside a mystery wrapped in an enigma contained in a conundrum with the whole baffling thing converted into a thoroughly jumbled jigsaw puzzle of 10,000 pieces (some of which her dog ate) with no picture on the box? Probably so.


Exactly why I say that, Angelica, is best reserved for a less public communication.


But I can say this right here, right now: there are many areas of Spanish language and culture I truly would enjoy discussing with you—you're smart, and seem to have deep knowledge of not just two languages but of the two cultures that gave (and continue to give) each of those languages their nuances. But such discussions are only possible if you are willing to overcome this strange reticence you exhibit whenever I try to talk about something that goes beyond the proper use of the imperfect subjunctive (figuratively speaking). For example, I'd like to discuss the differences between the American reaction to certain books, films, TV shows, songs, events, and the Latin American reaction, or at least the reaction among your acquaintances, in the circles you travel in--not that I have the slightest idea what those circles might be: perhaps you live in a modest, middle-class neighborhood with reserved, respectable middle-class folks, or possibly the Billy-Joel-quoting rock 'n roll lover in you has decided a place in La Condesa is more your style, or it could well be that you are, right this instant, in a 40-room mansion in the Lomas de Chapultepec 'colonia', stretched out on a divan with a cocktail in your left hand, an iPad in your right—waiting for Consuela, one of your twelve servants, to carry out your order of: “Consuela, peel me a grape!” Who knows where you are, who can say what circles you travel in, but here's one overriding, undeniable fact—we can only converse about these very interesting subjects I have in mind if both of us are willing to tap the keys.


By the way, Angelica, speaking of “Ain't it wonderful to be alive when the rock 'n roll plays” and Billy Joel, I'm actually a bit of a 'piano man' myself, or these days I'm actually a 'Casio keyboard man', a hundred different instruments at the touch of a button. Fantastic device! And even though listening to a great song is marvelous—Angelica, does anything rock more than Billy howling “You may be right, I may be crazy, but it just may be a lunatic you're lookin' for”? I love the way he pronounces 'lunatic', he really sounds just a little bit like a lunatic at that instant--playing that music yourself on an instrument makes the experience so much more intense, as is always the case when you switch from the passive to the active role. And when you literally 'put your hands on' a piece of music, especially by playing it on a keyboard where all ten fingers get to have their say in complex cooperation with one another, you really grasp exactly what the contribution of each note is in carrying out the intentions of the composer.


But, assuming you didn't just quote Billy Joel because he happened to express the way you feel about rock 'n roll, but because you like his music—tell me, what are your favorites of his? And who else do you like? Do you, like most people, have an 'era' whose music you love—you know, the '60s, the '70s, the '80s, etc.? Surely these are questions you'll be willing to answer!!


Angelica, can I be deadly serious for a moment? I was reading a few of your old posts, where you were doing the usual-- helping people figure out the best way of translating some English expressions into Spanish. I actually found it quite touching. 'Touching'????????? 'Touching' seems just about the strangest reaction someone could have. But I observed how carefully and conscientiously you mulled over the various choices, pointing out why this one didn't quite capture the English for reason X, and how the noun form of this other Spanish word has slightly different connotations than the verb and so it wasn't quite suitable. As I watched the relentless intensity of your analysis unfolding, you reminded me of me! But all of your marvelous analysis was over such tiny points! If only you were willing to direct your skills to something bigger, something more worthy of them!


Angelica, may I tell you a little story? I must have originally read it when I was, maybe, fifteen—when I was in my “Zen” period. I don't remember any of the details, so I'll have to make them up—but I most certainly do remember the essence of the story—and its point.


The tale is set in China, many hundreds of years ago—or maybe thousands. A wealthy landowner required for his business a constant stream of high-quality horses, and for the important task of selecting them he had relied upon one man for many years. But now that man had died, and the landowner was frantic. Who could he get to perform this crucial task for him now? The landowner went to consult a very old man several villages away, who had a reputation for great wisdom—perhaps he could advise him on whom he could get as a replacement for his dead horse-procurer. So the landowner explained his predicament to the old man, who began stroking his chin and thinking deeply. Finally he said, “I have heard some very good things about Lao Quan, perhaps he might be the man you are seeking”, and he told the landowner how he could find Lao Quan.


So the landowner arranged with Lao Quan to procure high-quality horses for him, and not long thereafter Lao Quan reported to him that he had purchased the first such animal, and it would be delivered later that day. The landowner, pleased, asked Lao Quan what kind of horse it was. Lao Quan was puzzled, and replied that it was a horse of the highest quality. “No, no”, said the landowner, “I mean is it a male or a female, and what is its color? “Oh, I see”, said Lao Quan, who thought for some moments before replying, “It is ….uh....a dappled mare.”


Later that day the animal was delivered, and after one glance at it, the landowner flew into a rage, and immediately rushed back to the wise old man, several villages away. He shouted at the old man, “What kind of advice did you give me, telling me to hire Lao Quan?!! He came and told me he'd procured the first horse and it would be delivered later, and when I asked him if it was a male or female, and what its color was, at first he didn't even seem to know, and finally he said 'a dappled mare'. Now the horse has been delivered and I find that it's a black stallion!!!!!!” When he'd finished shouting, the landowner's face was red with rage, and sweating. The old man said nothing. “Well???”, said the landowner, “what have you got to say?” Finally the old man began to speak, and to the landowner's astonishment he appeared to be smiling! In fact, as he said his first words, the landowner distinctly heard a little chuckle!


“I had heard some good reports about Lao Quan”, the old man said, “but I now realize they were not accurate. Lao Quan sees even more deeply and clearly than I suspected! Don't you understand, sir, that Lao Quan was so focused on the horse's essence, on the very profound and intangible traits that truly make a horse of the highest quality, that he didn't even notice the irrelevant and superficial details—such as whether it was a male or a female, or what its color was. I now realize that most assuredly Lao Quan is destined to evaluate things more important than the quality of horses! Go home now, sir, and wait a little while, and I'm sure you'll be eminently satisfied with the horse Lao Quan has procured for you.”


The landowner went home, and the horse indeed proved to be an extraordinary animal.


And I say, most assuredly Angelica is destined to evaluate things more important than 'should it be ser or estar'--if only she is willing to do it!!

[AngelicaDeAlquezar]

Oh, I'm overwhelmed, but undeniably flattered for having been the object of such colourful lucubrations. Thank you, I appreciate that. :D
However, look out; by no means will I accept that language is composed of petty issues. The mastering of these pieces of language, that are being unfairly considered an object of contempt, are the very reason why a clumsy author can plunge a good idea into pure boredom, while a bright writer turns a simple nothing into a shiny faceted diamond. The difference between being understood and confusing your conversation partner is never trivial. ;)


About Billy Joel, I like much of his music and the quote is of course not gratuitous, as you have correctly inferred. For the rest, feel free to send me a private message. We can talk. :)

[graviton]

Angelica mildly admonishes me: “However, look out; by no means will I accept that language is composed of petty issues. The mastering of these pieces of language, that are being unfairly considered an object of contempt, are the very reason why a clumsy author can plunge a good idea into pure boredom, while a bright writer turns a simple nothing into a shiny faceted diamond. The difference between being understood and confusing your conversation partner is never trivial.”


Angelica you may be surprised to learn that your viewpoint, or one possibly even more rigorous, was powerfully represented and vigorously expressed during my childhood every day in my own home!! My mother was a teacher who, herself coming from not-very-well educated parents, re-created herself so that, by the time she had graduated from college at twenty-one, she was a veritable paragon--perfect grammar, flawless spelling, impeccable pronunciation in which she had somehow eliminated any trace of the notorious New York accent, and word usage that reflected an understanding of the subtlest connotative differences among words that are usually considered completely synonymous. And, incidentally, she was someone who casually dropped into ordinary conversation words--like “peregrination”--that would stump anyone but a few Oxford dons!


[As perhaps an amusing side note, when I was fourteen I was simultaneously learning French in school and the piano on my own, with the sheet music performance instructions, as they usually are, in Italian. One word my mother was fond of using was “forte”, meaning 'strong point', e.g. 'I'm a good cook, but, baking is definitely not my forte'. And she would pronounce it, as most Americans do, as a two syllable word: for-te. So one day, I'm playing the piano, and I see the instruction 'forte', meaning to play loudly—not that I ever needed a 'forte' to really bang the keys--so I was playing 'forte' with gusto, when I suddenly had an epiphany. I realized that, in terms of meaning, my mother's use of 'forte' was borrowed from the French, but her pronunciation was borrowed from the Italian. A quick dictionary visit confirmed my epiphany—the impossible, the unthinkable, what even God couldn't have imagined happening had actually happened: my mother was mispronouncing a word—and habitually so!!! At dinner that night, with both parents and all my siblings present, I very quietly delivered the bombshell! Remember, Angelica, going back to a time well before I was born, in fact, ever since my mother had graduated from college, no one had ever corrected her speech—now, it's true that no one ever had to, but even more true is that no one ever would have dared to—my mother was a very formidable woman! (as female teachers of my mother's generation often were) Well, I delivered the bombshell, and for the first, and only, time in family history there was a hush at the dinner table! (Have you guessed, Angelica, that I come from a family of talkers?) After ten seconds of dead silence (except for my younger sister whimpering slightly, afraid of what was to come), my mother (who despite being such a stickler regarding language, had a good sense of humor), finally said, in a tone of mock solemnity, “My son, I think you've just become a man!”]


Anyway, contrary to your suggestion, the mastering of the fine points of language is by no means held in contempt by me. Like you and my mother, I value it. In my own speech, I'm very demanding of myself, particularly with regard to the meaning of words—I recognize the truth of Mark Twain's wonderful comment, “The difference between the right word and the almost-right word is the difference between lightning and a lightning bug.” But I feel with real conviction that when someone (like you or Lao Quan) is capable of much more, it's valuable to society, and exceptionally rewarding to the person himself/herself, to exploit that greater potential. So of course it's entirely appropriate, in fact admirable, for you to help those struggling with Spanish/English translation issues, especially when you do it so well—I just feel you also would have very interesting things to say on larger issues of language.


And of course very interesting things to say on other subjects as well, very far removed from language! That's why I'm delighted at the prospect of conversing with you via PM, although I realize I'll have to always be on my guard: as Captain Alatriste himself realized almost too late, even the twelve-year-old Angelica de Alquezar was capable of doing quite a bit of mischief, even with her bare hands!

[AngelicaDeAlquezar]

:) Confronting parents is a necessary task, but never an easy one. It's an enormously enriching experience for healthy growing up if they're wise though.

[...]the twelve-year-old Angelica de Alquezar was capable of doing quite a bit of mischief, even with her bare hands!
Aw, that old cliché about inherent malice of women should be overcome. Anyway, she found her death young; I'm way older. :rolleyes: