the translation.

for all of you math buffs, no, it is not the sliding of something around in a plane keeping orientation the same and all. (bad joke, sorry.)

i really liked this story, surprisingly. the opening was a little weird and it took me a bit to follow and understand it, but i ultimately got it. which is really good. i don't think i've done enough analysis of the short while i read it to say anything about  joyce carol oates's personal style, but i think i agree with what she's saying--the fact that if we go to a foreign country with a translator, the translator becomes one of our senses. depending on who our translator is, we will have a good or bad experience, as shown by oliver's story.

the translation is a short story about a middle-aged man named oliver who goes to russia. i'm thinking that this takes place during the time period where russia is still the ussr because there's some underlying tension between oliver and the setting (though not exactly man versus nature...) as he seems amazed that people can be living so well behind the iron curtain. (this comes with the disclaimer from before, i don't know if this is soviet russia. actually, JK he said it was central europe. so somewhere in the ussr but not soviet russia.) oliver is first taken through the city by his first translator, liebert. liebert becomes oliver's mouthpiece and also his method of perceiving other people through their questions and the dialogue that happens between the oliver and his surroundings. oliver eventually meets a woman named alisa who he thinks he falls in love with. however, once oliver's translator is switched, the magic of the city vanishes, and everything (including alisa) is drab, uninteresting, hypocritical, and all sorts of other Things Made of Bad. now, for the analysis. that's the hard part. :(