I just got back from the Amherst Cinema showing of Solaris in its Tarkovsky retrospective, and my reaction surprised me. Last Sunday I saw Andrei Rublev, which I had seen several times before and always liked, and liked even more now that I understood everything that was going on (having done some intensive reading). For Solaris I prepared by finally reading the Stanisław Lem novel it was based on; I’d been avoiding it both because the English translation (from French, not the original Polish) isn’t supposed to be very good and because I hadn’t liked any of the Lem I’d dipped into — it all seemed to be the kind of heavily ironical social satire that does nothing for me. I solved the first problem by reading Bruskin’s Russian translation, and I found myself enjoying it tremendously; Lem goes on a bit too long sometimes with his detailed descriptions of the phenomena created by the Solaris ocean, but otherwise it’s a well-thought-out and traditional sf novel, with both suspense and philosophical interest. Thanks to my reading, I finally understood all the bits of the movie that had confused me on previous viewings, but I also understood Lem’s irritation with the result: Tarkovsky’s vision (humanistic, emphasizing the vital importance of love and culture, with lots of Bach and Brueghel plus the occasional horse) is irreconcilable with Lem’s (scientific, emphasizing the importance of not succumbing to sentiment in trying to understand the universe). There’s nothing wrong with humanism, of course, but the attempt to impose it on refractory material renders it incoherent here, so I actually enjoyed the movie less than I had on previous viewings. The final scene is still spectacular and spine-chilling, though.
A linguistic note: the subtitles on the print shown were generally good, but when a drunk Snaut tells Kelvin they should open the manholes in the floor and holler down at the ocean, his “Вдруг услышит” (‘Maybe it will hear’ or ‘What if it hears?’) is rendered “It will suddenly hear.” The subtitler didn’t realize that вдруг ‘suddenly’ can also be used for hypothetical suppositions.
Subtitles, not subtleties.
Hat: Since you enjoyed Solaris, I must, as a die-hard Lem fan, list his most Solaris-like writings: HIS MASTER’S VOICE, THE INVINCIBLE, and FIASCO among the novels (the first being more cerebral than the third, with the second being the least cerebral of the three) and all his short stories involving Pirx the pilot (a character who, I suspect, is very much modeled after Lem himself).
Thanks, I’ll definitely investigate further!
Solaris and His Master’s Voice are, in my opinion, Lem’s best novels—and I have only read them in the English translations, which seemed to be quite acceptable for the material. His Master’s Voice is possibly the best SF novel ever written about working scientists; it captures the nature of a large scientific project quite accurately, in my view.
Solaris, incidentally, was actually begun with no conception of what it was going to be about. Lem just decided he needed to get writing, and so the arrival scene at the beginning was composed without any idea of what kind of planet the protagonist had just arrived on. I doubt that he made it the whole way through the writing process, just making up everything as he went along; the narrative is too strategically structured for that. However, I would be interested to know when and how he came up with the central idea of the story though—the living sea, trying to communicate with the humans somehow, but probably too utterly alien for it to ever work.
the central idea: the living sea, trying to communicate with the humans somehow, [is] probably too utterly alien for it to ever work
Isn’t this a kind of anthropomorphism for which there are myth precedents?
for which there are myth precedents
Precedents for communication, or for inability to communicate? Everything seems to go round talking to each other in some stories!
Normally in myth and fable, a vast impersonal force will be anthropomorphized to make it less alien and horrible. However, when the Solaris entity takes on human aspects, it is so inscrutable that it only makes things worse.
Solaris and His Master’s Voice are, in my opinion, Lem’s best novels […] His Master’s Voice is possibly the best SF novel ever written about working scientists
OK, I’m adding Глас Господа to my reading list. I very much appreciate these suggestions and descriptions.
the living sea, trying to communicate with the humans somehow, but probably too utterly alien for it to ever work
What it immediately reminded me of was Rogue Moon by Algis Budrys (published in 1960, so almost contemporaneous with Solaris). There the mysterious alien artifact is equally incomprehensible, but it routinely kills those who try to investigate it, which makes it more like the Zone in the Strugatskys’ Пикник на обочине [Roadside Picnic, filmed as Stalker], which (as it happens) I am currently reading and enjoying.
Mutual non-recognition and corresponding cross-incomprehension is actually a trope in Greek tragedy, not to mention the Odyssey.
Iphigenia: Swear by the gods to deliver this letter to my brother Orestes.
Pylades: Easiest oath ever! (Hands letter to Orestes, who’s standing right there.)
When I saw that I thought it had to be a comedy trope, but I couldn’t find it on TV Tropes.
for which there are myth precedents
Jen in Edinburgh: Precedents for communication, or for inability to communicate?
I really meant the former. And non-objectlike states such as the weather (thunder, wind) having human characteristics like eyesight and speech.
I found the English translation of Solaris to be fine, but I do wish I had a good enough command of another language to avoid such an indirect version of his work. Most of the dozen or so Lems I’ve read fall under the “heavily ironical social satire” you’d rather avoid, but I second the recommendation of Fiasco and will add The Chain of Chance.
There’s a dedicated Lemopedia, because of course there is:
https://lem.pl/lemopedia/The_Lem_Encyclopedia
Unrelated:
[…] the new Imperial era will be named Reiwa […]
[…] the name was formulated based on the introduction to a set of poems from “Manyoshu,” the oldest existing compilation of Japanese poetry. The first character represents “good fortune,” while the second can be translated as “peace” or “harmony.”
https://www.japantimes.co.jp/news/2019/04/01/national/politics-diplomacy/japan-readies-announce-name-new-era/
The Reiwa period (Japanese: 令和時代 Hepburn: Reiwa jidai) will be the next era of Japan.
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Reiwa_period
Hat: I second Brett’s description of HIS MASTER’S VOICE: As you may have noticed in SOLARIS (with the history of “Solaristics” and the overview of the interactions between different schools of Solaristics, it is not at all difficult to suspend disbelief), Lem does not just understand the methodology of science, he also understands the sociology of science (which is why his made-up science of the future feels very real).
And while I can understand your preferring to read SOLARIS in Russian translation (rather than using an English translation of a French translation), it is unclear to me whether Глас Господа is a better/more faithful translation than HIS MASTER’S VOICE (Can any hatter give an informed opinion on this?).
I second the recommendation of Fiasco and will add The Chain of Chance.
Thanks!
and because I hadn’t liked any of the Lem I’d dipped into — it all seemed to be the kind of heavily ironical social satire that does nothing for me
I wonder what kind of Lem you might have possibly dipped into, because I can’t think of particularly many of his works that I would call “heavily ironical social satire”. Observation on the Spot, I guess, and to a lesser extent most of the rest of the Ijon Tichy and Tarantoga series?
If I had to recommend a Lem work that is (almost) definitely not “heavily ironical social satire”, I would probably say A Perfect Vacuum. But my opinion is that The Cyberiad in particular, satire or otherwise it may be, is easily a great work on its own merits.
Solaris was translated directly from Polish into English in 2011 by Bill Johnston, a professor at Indiana University. However, this translation is only available in Kindle and audiobook versions, for legal reasons.
The Cyberiad is my favorite, but I did read it as a teenager, so some of my fondness for it may just be nostalgia. I read it in English, so given the amount of wordplay I’m not sure how much was Lem and how much was Michael Kandel.
I struggled to stay awake during this film but a piece of criticism I read much later gave me an appreciation for the endless driving scene near the beginning. It is a depiction of space flight. I think that still works well as a metaphor now but the endless highway must have seemed even more futuristic to the Soviet viewer of the early 70’s. And it’s a brilliant way of using the means at your disposal rather than going for special effects.
Personally I find it better to experience the derivative work first and then go to the original. Saves me from disappointment of it not measuring up.
I struggled to stay awake during this film but a piece of criticism I read much later gave me an appreciation for the endless driving scene near the beginning.
I have to admit I took a bathroom break during that scene. It’s great, but it does go on a bit long…
For those who read Russian, Igor Gulin has a wonderful discussion of the novel and the four films based on it (I had never heard of the first two, Irina Povolotskaya and Mikhail Sadkovich’s 1967 «Таинственная стена» [The secret wall] and Boris Nirenburg and Lidiya Ishimbaeva’s 1968 made-for-TV «Солярис» [Solaris]). A few paragraphs, with my translation:
The Russian:
Two independent mentions of that passage from Job in one day! (Of course, it is by far the most famous part of Job, and for good reason. The imagery is impressively creative, and the theology quite sophisticated by Tanakh standards. It is also notable that Job gets a reasoned response when he argues with Adonai, something that only the preeminent prophets Abraham and Moses were permitted to do.)
A reasoned response? Not according to my notions. “Where were you, mayfly, when I created the universe? Tell me!” Job’s so intimidated by this intellectual bullying he can’t get a single word in.
@John Cowan: I don’t find it convincing, but, “The world is too complicated for humans to comprehend why things happen,” is at least a theologically defensible position. That’s pretty sophisticated by Iron Age standards.
I actually preferred the version with George Clooney. This is presumably because I’m shallow.
You’re Shallow?
Here is Got’s plessing, and your friend, and Justice Shallow; and here young Master Slender, that peradventures shall tell you another tale, if matters grow to your likings.
Hurtful stereotyping!
It’s odd how WS makes my cousin Hugh devoice his initial voiced plosives, especially given that it’s a notable feature nowadays of English as spoken by L1 speakers to do this. Obviously the Brythonic Substratum was still carrying on its nefarious work between then and now …
“because I hadn’t liked any of the Lem I’d dipped into — it all seemed to be the kind of heavily ironical social satire that does nothing for me.”
Lem wrote in all thinkable genres except pronography. He is clearly one of my favorite authors and also one of improtant authors for “history” of literature (for me) because there is something unique about him.
One, of course, can like or dislike this “something unique”.
But not ”genre”.
@Brett: “Human cognition is insufficiently sophisticated or accurate for humans to comprehend why things happen” seems another way to make the same point.
Substratum, surely not, but Sprachbund, quite likely. All of Irish, Scots Gaelic, Welsh, English, Icelandic, Faroese, Norwegian, Swedish, Low German have an unaspirated/aspirated distinction instead of a Romance-style voiced/unvoiced distinction. (But not so Dutch, presumably under French influence, nor West Frisian, presumably under Dutch influence, nor yet Yiddish, presumably under Slavic influence.) Central/Upper German and Danish have gone their own ways and are out of the picture.
But it’s been a wave effect, and different languages have transitioned at different times. It seems quite plausible to me that early modern Englishmen heard Welsh /b d g/ [p t k] as English /p t k/ [pʰ tʰ kʰ], agreeing in voicing but not in aspiration. Conversely, George I was heard to say (by the English), “I hate all Boets and Bainters”, agreeing in aspiration but not in voicing.
I was watching Bob le Flambeur (highly recommended) and got a little distracted by willing for somebody to say “Bob” one more time. Every single phoneme of the three realised noticeably differently from the English.
(It has an evil Scots criminal mastermind in it too. What’s not to like?)
Tarkovsky gets the sweatiness of interstellar travel (also remarked by Douglas Adams) better than Clooney’s version, but what prompts me to respond is Hat’s upthread mention of Budrys’s Rogue Moon, which I think deserves to be better known.
Yes indeed. I first read it in F&SF and have never forgotten it.
Popular Tarkovsky joke:
A man walks into a bar. Sits down at the counter.
Sits in silence for ten minutes. He turns towards the window, sits in silence for another ten minutes.
Calls the bartender. Looks into his eyes, the bartender looks back. This takes about half an hour. Asks for a glass of water. The bartender brings a glass. The guy looks at him for five minutes. He puts his head on the table and lies there for another twenty minutes.
He plunges his finger into the glass and begins to drive it back and forth, stirring the water. It takes an hour.
After that, he gets up, puts on his coat and leaves, but stops in the doorway and looks at the people in the bar for another hour and a half. People look back in silence.
Leaves.
Bartender:
– Tarkovsky is a genius!
@John Cowan: Thanks. I used to tell my students that no one understands what Shakespeare was getting at with his stereotypical Welsh accent.
In 1990 or 1991 I hung out with A.J. Budrys (Algiras Jonas — “Algis” was one of his many pseudonyms; another was “John A. Sentry”, a half translation) a few times: he was a friend of a friend, or perhaps one more friend intervened in the chain. He was winding down his sf career (writing, editing, and criticking) at the time; he had been a captain in the Free Lithuanian Army since the early fifties, though I have no idea what military training he had.
A.J.’s father Jonas (1889-1964), however, was the consul-general in New York for the 1918-1940 version of the Republic of Lithuania, having taken up his post in 1936. The Lithuanian Diplomatic Service, a collection of consulates-general (if you weren’t a Power, calling yourself “ambassador” was considered arrogant in those days) and ordinary consulates around the world, was made the bearer of Lithuanian sovereignty in one of the last acts of the Lithuanian government before the Soviet annexation.
The Diplomatic Service then functioned as a government in exile until the new government in Lithuania passed the Act of Re-establishment, declaring that as the international order of states had continued to recognize the government in exile and rejected the annexation (though some governments recognized it de facto only), the Republic remained in continuity with the state founded in 1918. (The same happened to Latvia and Estonia, except that Estonia also had a formal government in exile in Oslo, though rather ineffectual compared to its diplomatic service.)
So what A.J. was mostly interested in in 1991 was going to Lithuania to see what he could do for his country; he was a citizen despite having lived in the U.S. since age five. So when we talked, it was about Latvia, the Baltics generally, the Nazi occupation, and the Soviet occupation, in which topics he could of course run rings around me, but very kindly did not. I don’t know if he at any time returned to Lithuania; he died in the U.S. in 2008.
Rogue Moon was republished in 2000 under A.J.’s original title, The Death Machine. Most of A.J.’s novel(la)s (none of which are doorstops) have messy histories: they got cut for magazine publication, and then sometimes re-expanded and with other changes for book publication, and then if they are republished as books, further changes and re-expansions are sometimes made. I haven’t read the 2000 version or been able to find a detailed comparison. I just mention it for those who might want to read a late Budrys novel: it isn’t.
I have to say, Rogue Moon is a better title than The Death Machine. And isn’t it Algirdas rather than Algiras?
Algirdas it is: a typo on my part (I never called him that). As for titles, my view is that the publisher is entitled to choose them, for they are part of its marketing efforts. However, later on the author is entitled to restore them if he gains enough authority in the commonwealth of letters.
Sure, but there’s no guarantee his preferred title is better.
It would be nice to add Finnish to it somehow. Because if you add Finnish, you will also add northern Russian dialects (weird things happen there with voicedness) and then a volume “Towards a Circumpolar Arctic Language Area” becomes possible.
There is a theory that tonal language are possible because wet and humid is good for vocal chords (plausible if you look at the map) accrodingly permafrost must be bad for voicedness:)
On the other hand, Coptic also belongs to this Sprachbund; however Late Egyptian has do-support, which has been shown by John McWhorter to be diagnostic of a Brythonic substratum. (No surprise, as it is well known that Druids built the pyramids.) The construction was kept out of Old and Middle Egyptian written records because it’s unrefined, but Akhenaten didn’t care. He was the Beatnik Pharaoh.
οὐ φροντὶς Ακενατόν!
You can rope most of Uralic in this if you count voiced stop avoidance via spirantization (*b *d *g > β ð ɣ) rather than chainshifting to aspiration. The latter is pretty much just Samic, and even there originally preaspiration rather than postaspiration (which has only developed natively in Inari Sami; in loanwords introduced also to Northern Sami). Though of course preaspiration is known to be a sub-areal shared with Nordic-minus-Danish and Scots Gaelic.
I didn’t distinguish above between (normal) postaspiration and preaspiration. But what I do wonder about is whether there was a shift from unvoiced/voiced to aspirated/unaspirate, or whether that’s just a prejudice induces by using the Latin alphabet for these languages. If the latter, my theory about Mangled Welsh and Mangled German can’t be right.
Since Job has been discussed in this thread, I’ll drop this quote from Ori Hanan Weisberg here:
I like that a lot.
Kurt Goblirsch (some of his work is on academia.edu) has read five hundred descriptions of about as many German-and-adjacent dialects and found a somewhat different picture: there’s an aspiration-free belt across West Germanic. The western end, including the Netherlands, could be blamed on Romance; the eastern end could be blamed on Slavic; but between the two, in all of southern Low and northern Central German, that doesn’t work.
In southern Central German, aspiration is found as well – in the positions where the High German consonant shift wasn’t imported, which are fewer and fewer as you go south. Goblirsch concluded that aspiration, which he calls stage 0 of the HG consonant shift, was an areal feature of North and northern West Germanic before the Migration Period, when northern West Germanic was carried south of southern West Germanic.
Not mentioned in the papers and summaries I’ve seen is that there’s an aspiration-free area in northern England as well.
I’m also wondering if aspiration south of the aspiration-free belt is actually causally connected to northern aspiration at all. Perhaps it’s a Celtic substrate feature. Obviously there’s no direct evidence on whether any of non-insular Celtic was aspirated, but the loss of [p] before Proto-Celtic times does hint in that direction.
Isn’t there some evidence that *p went through the stage [ɸ] first? That seems quite aspirational.
Hat:
Since Job has been discussed in this thread, …
And now that you mention Eliphaz, I’m wondering what new light might be thrown on Job 5:7:
I have no biblical Hebrew. But what, I ask Hatters, are the best up-to-the-minute reflections on this evocative but famously problematic text?
With every Job obscurity, I start with Dhorme and especially Tur-Sinai (you need a free archive.org account), considering them primarily food for thought, no matter how definite their statements are. Bar’s recent article on rešep̄ helps to clarify the meaning: the sons of rešep̄ are demons of misery and pestilence.
There is probably more to this yet, that hasn’t been elucidated.
Thank you, Y. I’ll follow up those leads.
I’m wondering what new light might be thrown on Job 5:7
Discussed here in 2013.
The rule of thumb with Job is, if something looks like a non-sequitur, something in the language is misunderstood. Unfortunately, far too many interpreters of Job look to fanciful (“poetic”) exegesis instead.
Hat:
Discussed here in 2013.
How did I miss that at the time? I was even mentioned in your post. Let me now catch up on all this …
Y:
Unfortunately, far too many interpreters of Job look to fanciful (“poetic”) exegesis instead.
Surely. But see my comment here (especially “Illuminans” et seq.). Wondrous things can arise in mistranslation, acquiring true lustre and “authority” as the centuries roll on.
A still small voice, e.g.
Indeed.
Isn’t there some evidence that *p went through the stage [ɸ] first?
Brief overview of evidence here. Scroll down to section 9.2.8, ‘Elimination of PIE *p’.
Note especially the following: