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deadpanwalking · 29 days ago

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hello do you mind if I ask you a question about Russian! You can in fact say yes I do mind. Then please stop reading. I’m reading Katz’s translation of the brothers karamazov and I’m curious about the word nadryv — is it a word that people often/conversationally use as “violent expression of emotion” in a sort of derogatory way, or is that use fairly unique to Dostoyevsky? How often do people used it to mean a physical tear? What do you think about the word “laceration” as the translation? (I’m a little taken aback by it bc nobody has ever used it to mean how Dostoyevsky means it in front of me … but I am not an expert. I know what he MEANS but probably there’s no English word for it.)

Ana, your questions are always so fucking good. I was at an arcade with my coworkers last night, and after I read it, I thrice fumbled easy skill shots on the Aerosmith pinball machine because I was thinking about how to answer it.

The reason why надрыв always makes the “untranslatable Russian words” lists is specific to its usage within the context of Russian literature—outside of that, it's fairly unremarkable. I’m not going to get into the nitty-gritty of the derivational morphology, but it’s worthwhile to consider the mechanics.

So you know how Russian has 200,000 words, but English has over a million? It's because Russian is a fusional synthetic language with a high morpheme-to-word ratio. We "synthesize" words by taking a root and slapping prefixes, suffixes, inflections, and endings to it to alter their specific semantic and emotional connotations. You can imagine how something like that can be challenging (and insanely fun) for translators to work with.

On its own, над is a word that means “over, on, at, or above”, but it's also one of the most commonly used prefixes. Its English equivalent works the same way—consider the differences between see and oversee or coat and overcoat.

IIRC, the suffix -рыв is from the Proto-Balto-Slavic word for “dig”, though in Russian, it’s come to mean “tear or rupture”—here’s a list of ways that it is used with various prefixes. As a deverbal, надрыв is used to describe a tear on the surface of something, but also–significantly– something that’s strained unto breaking. I’ll give you some non-Dostoevskian examples from everyday life:

«Хватит этого надрыва! Пинбол-автомат не насмехается над тобой», – сказал мой раздражённый коллега.

(“Enough with the drama. The [Aerosmith] pinball machine is not mocking you,” said my annoyed colleague.)

«Зачем этот надрыв? Никто не заставляет тебя играть на пинбол-автомате по двадцать часов в сутки. И что ты пытаешься этим доказать?» – сказала моя жена, видя, что я буквально изматываю себя игрой.»

(“Why are you putting so much effort into this? Nobody's forcing you you to play the [Aerosmith] pinball machine twenty hours a day. What are you trying to prove?” my wife said, seeing that I was literally exhausting myself with the game.”)

Доктор сказал, что из-за чрезмерной игры на пинбол-автомате у меня произошёл надрыв карпальной связки, и теперь ему придётся ампутировать мне руку.

(The doctor said that, because of excessive playing on the [Aerosmith] pinball machine, I sustained a tear in my carpal ligament, and now he’ll have to amputate my arm.)

The Dostoevskian надрыв is its own thing. He first used the word in The Demons, but you could also say that what it describes is a recurring theme in the majority of his work—the plate tectonics of moral and existential schisms that rend individuals, dividing children from their innocence, intellectuals from reason, hedonists from the pleasure of their unexamined lives, willful men from free will, virtuous men from faith, sinners from salvation, etc.

Translators always approach it carefully—I’ve seen “laceration”, “heartache”, “strain”, “fracture”. Pevear of P&V explained their choice (“strain”) by talking about 'translator's drift", which is "when the translator decides, 'Well, I know what that means and it means this.'" Drifting is dangerous for “there are 20,000 ways to say anything, but the author wrote it only one way.” They chose “strain” to amplify the aspect of the word that evokes the tension of the skin just before it splits open into a wound, rather than the more visually-evocative image of the wound itself.

“Laceration” is a perfectly cromulent choice, and the translation you have is excellent, but I prefer the P&V because, historically, translators have smoothed over the peculiarities of Dostoevsky's writing to make his language “read like a classic”. “Strain” is unbeautiful, but as a native Russian speaker, I find that it superimposes nicely over надрыв, and it respects the deliberate choice Dostoevsky made to synthesize that specific word—does that make sense?

#i'm gleefully reliving the experience of popping my brothers karamazov cherry through you btw #you've read war and peace--isn't it funny how dostoevsky and tolstoy are spoken of almost interchangably?#oh and yes thanks to dostoevsky надрыв is often used interchangably with hysteria to #describe severe emotional dysregulation and “menty bs”#matopoeia #assbox #fyodor dostoevsky #russian literature

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greenleaf4stuff · 29 days ago

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Of Convenience 7.2

(all previous parts of "Of Convenience")

Adar x Celebrimbor (silverscars) political marriage AU, 7th snippet, part 2. Celebrimbor finds a project to occupy himself with and makes another friend. He also happens to forget the time in the process. It leads to an unexpectedly intimate moment between the two husbands.

I originally planned to make this a short chapter of Brimby at the forges and Adar’s reaction to that, but then I had a sudden cute idea and well, the chapter grew to the point I needed to split it up (again). Oops? Like always, thank you guys so much for the likes, reblogs and comments, I love you wonderful people. <3 Still blown away by the support – and by the fact I have written this much. What an AU, what an experience! Now, enjoy!

Gurlak hadn’t lied when she told Celebrimbor that her forge wouldn’t be comparable to his elven one, the smith realized in dismay. His smithy had been expertly assembled to suit his needs, constructed by the most gifted builders and with only the finest materials. All this to hopefully bring about something that could, one day, enable him to create wonders which would rival those of his grandfather.

Gurlak’s forge was, in comparison, an oddly-shaped amalgamation of whatever the uruk had been able to get their hands on, with little leeway to consider quality or utility. From the bellows to the tuyere, the forge itself and even the fuels and raw materials used, it was clear that the uruk were reshaping, reusing and improvising much of what they had, and with limited resources in less-than-ideal conditions as well.

And honestly, the elf couldn’t fault them for any of it – as he understood it, the uruk had little natural resources of their own in what was now called Mordor. The area might be rich in charcoal after the eruption of the Orodruin, perhaps, but not much else remained of the fertile former Southlands.

He guessed that this might be how he ended up sidetracked so quickly; he’d started out working on some simple iron nails – which, to his credit, he did finish and which actually served to convince Gurlak that he might indeed not be lying about his smithing skills –, but after that, things had quickly taken a turn to him focusing on other things.

"I think the airflow could be improved upon," he told Gurlak as they stood next to each other, inspecting the tuyere. "Might be because your bellows are made from a patchwork of materials, or because the charcoal you are burning is not of good quality, but the temperature fluctuation makes it harder than neccessary to work with the metal."

She grunted. "Well, we take what we can get. S’not like we can trade for better parts, and the last trees we burned, we had felled during heavy rainfall," a shrug. "Sometimes we even burn wood from furniture and such. It’s what it is."

Celebrimbor felt his face pinch at her words, then turned towards her. His tone was careful. "Would you mind if I...tried to tinker with this?" he pointed at the forge itself, but mostly the aforementioned bellows and the tuyere. "Maybe I’ll be able to mitigate some of the problems."

She glanced at him much the same way as did her, but by now, her gaze was one of curiosity – and, dare he say it, perhaps even respect?

He felt weirdly accomplished to think that it might be.

"Don’t burn yourself – wouldn’t want Adar to have my hide for getting his favorite elf damaged," she replied, and then took obvious delight when Celebrimbor got ready to argue her choice of words, "Looks like you know what you’re doing. I’ll leave you to it. As I said, just don’t get yourself hurt."

"Thank you, Miss-," Celebrimbor tried, but she scowled him into silence.

"None of that ‘mistress�� stuff. Makes me feel weird. The only one here who has a title is Adar – we are all equal, otherwise."

The elf nodded. "Understood. In that case, Celebrimbor is fine for me too," he replied. He turned back to the forge before him, and got ready to work.

"While you’re at it-," Gurlak spoke up again, and her tone made him pause. It sounded far too mischievous for his liking. "Out of curiosity. How is married life with the Lord Father?"

This time, Celebrimbor could not avoid a groan in response to her words. Her resulting laughter seemed loud enough to shake the walls of the shed.

Time, as it so often did when he was in the middle of his work, ended up slipping away from Celebrimbor. He was somewhat aware of it when Glûg, visibly bored out of his mind, came up to him and insisted they’d have to return to the tent now or they’d risk going against Adar’s wishes.

But with how much good progress he was making at improving the forge, it was just too easy to fall back into old habits – he waved the other off and said, "I just have to finish this one thing first, Glûg. You can go and tell him I’ll come back to the tent later, if you’d like. That way he won’t have to worry. You know where I am anyways, and it’s not as if I’m alone, or unarmed for that matter."

He pointed at the variety of weapons in the smithy – a topic that he’d already begun to discuss with Gurlak. While the smith was awed by the ingenuity the uruk possessed when combining swords, axes and various tools to make new weaponry for the soldiers, there were things that could be improved upon in that as well, and she’d been quite content to go over materials and their advantages with him.

There was just so much Celebrimbor could do – from working on the forge itself to helping Gurlak with various projects, the smith was truly giddy about his craft for the first time in what felt like weeks, and he was loathe to stop now that he was allowed to partake in it.

Glûg had tried to argue about the elf not even knowing the way back – to which Gurlak had snarked that she knew the way just fine and could go drop the elf off later – and then finally thrown up his arms with a frustrated, "Fine, then!" and left in a huff.

The smith had no idea how much time had passed since then, only that when all too familiar steps walked up to him, the hour wasn’t exactly midday anymore.

"Glûg tells me you asked him to leave you here," Adar’s smooth voice called out from a little distance away. Celebrimbor couldn’t help but think the uruk was deliberately announcing himself. Which was a good thing, because even so, he startled out of his work and then turned around in confusion to face his husband.

It was still astonishing to see how the other uruk visibly deferred to their leader when he walked among them; some inclined their heads or even bowed in respect, multiple took a step back as he walked up to the smithy, and even Gurlak seemed to stand straighter as she watched him approach.

"Adar," Celebrimbor said, and then realised he’d completely forgotten the uruk and his request for them to meet for supper. He felt himself blanch in shame at the realization. "Oh no, I am so sorry- I missed our meal, did I not?"

The uruk was tilting his head at Celebrimbor, gaze questioning, as he took in the other uruk and the forge, before his sight settled back on the elf. "You did. I was...worried." He seemed to almost be surprised at his own words.

"I- I appreciate that," the smith replied, and definitely was surprised at his own words. Or how sincerely he meant them.

Another look about the smithy from Adar. "What happened? Did someone rope you into a conversation you couldn’t escape from?" His words were mild, questioning instead of accusing. But it was clear Adar was confused by the circumstances of why Celebrimbor had chosen not to come back to the tent.

Celebrimbor was quick to reply, "No, no, your smith has been most kind in answering my questions, in fact – it was I who got far too involved in my work here and forgot about the time. It...happens, sometimes, when I am in the middle of work. My apprentices always-, well it doesn’t matter now. I should have gone with Glûg instead of making you worry. I apologize. It won’t happen again."

It was a bad habit of his, Celebrimbor knew that. Even more so now, when their circumstances were not exactly peaceful, despite the rather successful negotiations so far. He shook his head at himself.

Adar stepped closer towards him. "At least you sent my lieutenant to tell me. Though knowing you were without a guard did not exactly put my mind at ease," the uruk said pointedly. Celebrimbor rubbed the back of his neck and looked ruefully at Adar from beneath his eyelashes.

To his surprise, his husband dropped the issue. "So you’ve discovered our forges, hm? What do you think – grandson of Feanor? Not much like your great forges in Eregion, I’d presume?"

"Yeah, Gurlak suspected much the same thing," Celebrimbor couldn’t help but remark, glancing sideways at the uruk smith who seemed undecided between trying to inch away from her leader and the elf to leave them to their business, and remaining rooted to the spot to watch how things would unfold.

"I think your people did well with what means they have, but there are still plenty of ways to better the conditions that haven’t been made use of yet. Gurlak has actually been kind enough to let try my hand at some things."

A moment of silence, and then Adar hummed. "You are aware that this would give the uruk an advantage, if the greatest living elven smith helped them with their craft?" Celebrimbor could hear Gurlak suck in a breath at that. He guessed he ought to speak to her again, once he had made sure to reassure his husband.

"I mean- Eregion is technically your city just as much as mine due to our marriage, so technically, your army is mine as well," Celebrimbor started, but made sure that his tone was humorous. "Mirth aside, I know you care about your children. And we are hoping for this to be a long-lasting alliance so yes, of course I’d want for them to have a chance to improve their craft. It’s going to benefit everyone, isn’t it?"

Which was, he supposed, what it came down to – trying to right some of his wrongs and make things better, to give them a fighting chance against the evil that had taken hold of Eregion. He wasn’t a fighter, he couldn’t hope to kill Sauron on his own, but he could help the people who did.

The smith had seen Adar look at him with a vaguely mystified expression more than once now, but it still sent a thrill through him whenever it happened. He supposed it made sense; the uruk as a whole hadn’t gotten a lot of aid from the other races over the centuries, so perhaps this was just a natural reaction to finally getting it. Which was a rather depressing thought, all things considered.

Celebrimbor would do his best to change that.

Finally, Adar nodded and cleared his throat as he looked around the forge once more – it almost seemed as if he was uncomfortable, though the elf hoped he was just reading the other’s reaction incorrectly, before his eyes settled back on Celebrimbor.

The uruk jutted his chin out at the smith. "You have something on your face, by the way."

"Oh, I do?" Confused, Celebrimbor reached up and rubbed his fingers over his cheek, only to remove them and realise that his hands were still covered in soot and he’d likely smeared more of it onto his face now. "I- oh bother, that isn’t-"

"Here," Adar said and suddenly, he was standing directly in front of Celebrimbor, close enough that the elf could marvel at the length of his eyelashes. "Let me-"

They’d gotten more comfortable touching one another without asking for permission each time; handing each other dishes during meals, hands next to each other pointing at something on a map. And so Adar didn’t ask and Celebrimbor didn’t move when the uruk reached up, and tried to draw the edge of his sleeve over the elf’s cheek to wipe off the black smudges.

His gaze was wholly fixed on the spot, but Celebrimbor felt his breath still in his lungs and couldn’t look away from the uruk’s face. The way he looked as he performed his task in concentration was arresting. Celebrimbor had never noticed the blue-green color of his eyes before, and found himself searching his mind for gemstones that would fit their shade.

After a moment, Adar pursed his lips, and then held the back of Celebrimbor’s head with his gauntleted hand as he released his sleeve and began to smooth his thumb over the smith’s cheek instead.

Both the feel of the gauntlet in his hair and the touch of Adar’s thumb on his face made the smith fight to not suck in a breath lest Adar would stop what he was doing, and instead continued to hold very, very still as let his eyes drink in the other’s face.

Even with the scars, the pale skin, Celebrimbor could admit Adar was quite beaut-

Wait.

This time, Celebrimbor did suck in a breath.

Adar’s eyes snapped up to the smith’s, and then widened slightly as they stared at each other.

But they did not move. Both remained, motionless, staring into one another's eyes.

Celebrimbor felt warm all over, the way he’d done when Adar had asked after his wellbeing, when he’d saved him from Damrod, when they’d been wed and k-

‘Aquamarine,‘ the smith thought, faintly. ‘His eyes look like aquamarine.‘

His attention couldn’t seem to settle between Adar’s thumb on his cheek and the way he was watching him.

There was an embarrassed coughing sound from the side, and Celebrimbor looked over to see Glûg stand close to the shed, stepping from foot to foot while visibly, tensely uncomfortable.

Slowly, Adar stepped back from Celebrimbor and removed his hand – though not without one last swipe of his thumb. "There, I think it’s gone now," he said. His voice came out rougher than the elf had expected. It almost made him shiver.

And then Adar had turned to Glûg, taking the warmth of his touch with him, and Celebrimbor felt himself deflate where he stood. "What is it, Glûg?"

"Galadriel has returned to the camp, Lord Father. Says she has brought word from the king – looks like he wants to come in for talks himself next time."

Celebrimbor felt his eyes snap open wide in surprise at Glûg’s words, just as Adar said, "These are indeed unexpected, if welcome news."

He turned to Celebrimbor, and beckoned him over. "We should go and greet her, see what else she has to report. Will you come along, too?"

Celebrimbor quickly looked at Gurlak, who made a shooing gesture. Her face was going through some weird motions that made it look as if she was doing her damnest to fight down a wide grin. The smith turned back to Adar and nodded with a smile. "Of course. Maybe we can still have a meal together, after?"

There was the faintest quirk of a smile on Adar’s lips. "If it would please you."

‘Yes,‘ Celebrimbor thought as he walked to his husband’s side and the two began to walk back to their tent together, Glûg in tow. ‘I think it would please me very much indeed.‘

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