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Translations: A Play (Faber Paperbacks) |
Author: Brian Friel
Published: 1995-03-16 |
List price: $12.00
Our price: $10.20
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As of: November 20th, 2008 06:20:59 PM
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Customer comments on this selection.
 Provocative dramatic essay
I'll admit I had expected this play to be another political statement about disappearing languages and the hegemonic powers that threaten them--either that or a celebration of Irish Gaelic (I'm more with Joyce than Yeats when it comes to provincial sentimentality about a nation's older tongue). But Friel manages to make the reader/spectator ponder the seriousness of what can be lost in the translation of the marginal language into the majority discourse. In some instances, the signifer and signified, the sign and its referent are irrevocably separated. In such cases, the resulting loss is not merely to the "richness" of a country's culture but to human consciousness itself. What we can't say we can no longer know or even think.
Phlisophy hits home
I enjoyed reading other reviews, but i was constantly getting the feeling that there was a real ingorance to the underlining theme of the play. On the surface it is about human emotions and the trials a change in culture can have on a society. Friel also challenges the sugnificance of language itself and forces us to seek the relevance of the communication we use. It is thought provoking causing us to realise that everything is subject to human perception, making us questionwhether any liguistic source is reliable, is language just a guise for the truth? Must read for anyone challenging the relevance of everything we know to be real.
 the loss of languages
an eloquent, moving play about the love of one's native language (Irish) and the plight of lost languages (Latin, ancient Greek, and so on). Of course, it was written after the largely successful revival of the Irish language. There's your delayed "happy ending." (It's not the same, though, not by a long shot.)
the nice thing about friel's play is that he conveys the machine of colonialism with the appropriate complexity--it isn't "bad Englishman, good Irishman," but something much more complex. sometimes people like Owen, unwittingly or not, sell out their own. Sometimes others, for example the English soldier here, are part of the colonial apparatus, but not consciously or intentionally--and such people may end up being the colonized culture's greatest champions.
I liked it better than Dancing at Lughnasa. It reads well--and a lot of plays don't.
A sublime play...
Friel does a wonderful job of using the beginnings of the
Irish Potato Famine and the callous attitude of the English
government as a backdrop for the far more interesting issue
of language and history- more specifically, how the words
we use can only imperfectly capture the feelings and connections
we feel about the object itself; and how the stories we
tell about history can be more important than what actually
happened. What is most poignant and touching to me is
the relationship between Maire, who speaks only Irish, and
Yolland, the British soldier who attempts to learn Irish
as they fall in love.
The politics that undo their relationship seem almost to
happen as an afterthought- the moments they share, and
their ability to communicate beyond language, make the
play sad and joyful.
Although this to me is certainly a very Irish play, its
impact and meaning(s) cannot be confined to Ireland. It
poses questions to all of us and the worlds we inhabit.
Language and identity
This is without doubt my favourite play by Friel and one of my favourite plays of all time. However, what I find really frustrating about it is the fact that is nearly always interpreted as being simply about the death of the Irish language and the colonial relationship between the English and the Irish. In other words, it is constantly being interpreted as "uniquely Irish" and I feel this does the play a serious injustice by failing to underline its international appeal. I personally have always read the play as showing that the relationship between a word and what that word designates is not a purely arbitrary one, i.e. a rose by any other name would definitely not smell the same! For example, if someone suddenly started calling me John or Michael instead of Damian, I would feel that a vital part of my identity had been lost. The intricate link between language and identity is of universal significance - it is by no means restricted to Ireland! In fact, the play reminds me a lot of "Le premier jardin" by Anne Hebert and "Lost in translation" by Eva Hofmann.
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