Some of the translations are really nothing like as good others.

There's a fascinating book by Umberto Eco, exploring the whole question of the relationship of translations to originals.

I remember my MPhil tutor saying that there was some phrase in a novel of his which he wasn't keen on, but was the best there was for what he wanted to describe, but in French, there's an absolutely perfect phrase, so that for that sentence at least, translation was better than original...

Emma

Maria, it's funny how children adopt so completely the language of the place they live (although I seem to remember you said that both your parents were Mexican) My children are the same. Despite my best efforts, they resist English, it's a real stuggle.

I've read English books translated to French and French books both written in French and translated to English and I find that some writers translate better than others. I just wondered about GGM although my impression is that his brillance is in no way dulled by translation.

there was some phrase in a novel of his which he wasn't keen on, but was the best there was for what he wanted to describe, but in French, there's an absolutely perfect phrase

Like, Schadenfreude, for example (but in German)?

Languages are awesome. There's no word for 'the' in Hindi, around 16 in German, though.

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Ashlinn, I think you could be right. One Hundred Years of Solitude is fantastic in English, can't imagine it being 'better' in Spanish. Of course, they'll be nuances and idioms (and nuances to idioms) that I'll miss out on, but a translation may also add something in a positive way too, I guess.

I've also thought Love in a Time of Cholera knocked the socks off OHYOS, which I enjoyed, but didn't go all misty eyed for a week about. Unlike LIATOC.

Britain's greatest living author? I'd have reluctantly to say J G Ballard. Reluctantly, because there's something oddly boring about his prose style - he repeats himself over and over (curious intrusive use of 'this', as in 'this man', 'this woman' etc). It doesn't sparkle; you have to wade through it. But he tackles big issues, forces the reader to think, and the scenarios his books outline linger strangely in the mind long after you've read them. I can't go within twenty miles of Heathrow Airport without drifting mentally into the eerie hinterland of 'Crash'...

The problem with most of the stuff mentioned on this thread is that too much of it is (in my view) clever-clever wordspinning stuff, pure escapism, self-consciously literary; or deals with issues which are at bottom of purely artistic, or emotional, or parochial or contemporary importance.

We need to come back to this question in 100 years' time and see what stands up. Trouble is...

I like Ballard, though I much prefer his older stuff High Rise, The Drought, Empire of the Sun. Last book I read by him was Cocaine Nights but then he seemed to embark on a quest to perfect that novel by basically rewriting it over and over, and quite frankly, that bored the hell out of me, so I gave up. Still think he's fab though. Just wish he'd get his sense of adventure back.

JB

Yep, well, Cocaine Nights is a good example of what I'm complaining about. I also got the feeling he was leaning a bit towards crime fiction with that one - it was never going to pan out, because the plot was way too predictable & the characterisation typically flat. Still got great insight into those weird cut-off communities of the super-rich though, where everything is so safe and sterile that danger has to be introduced artificially. The way he depicted that made it worth the read.

I enjoyed Cocaine Nights and thought it would work well as a film. I could just see Sharon Stone as that saucepot wealthy woman with her two musclebound lovers. The premise was very interesting, but I didn't need it rehashed in Super Cannes, which is basically the same book. I liked Rushing to Paradise too though I think High Rise will always be my favourite.

JB

I don't know how anyone can answer this question. It's as daft as asking your favourite food or drink. Everything depends on something else.

Although maybe, right at this moment, we could perhaps bestow the honour on Doris Lessing.