The dangers, for the writer as for the driver, are obvious.Īnd yet, even as I was writing, I felt shadowed by two questions: 1) when would the text be turned into English and 2) who would translate it? These questions rose from the fact that I am also, and was for many years exclusively, a writer in English. While writing, one must keep one’s eyes on the road, straight ahead, and not contemplate or anticipate driving down another.
But when it came to replicating this particular book, conceived and written in Italian, into the language that I knew best-the language I had emphatically stepped away from in order for it to be born in the first place-I was of two minds.Īs I was writing Dove mi trovo, the thought of it being anything other than an Italian text felt irrelevant. I was not apprehensive when translators began turning the novel into other languages-into Spanish or German or Dutch, for example. Naturally it could be translated any text can, to greater or lesser degrees of success.
Having written my novel Dove mi trovo in Italian, I was the first to doubt that it could transform into English.
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