Richard pointed me this weekend to an article by Adam Thirlwell on Barbara Wright. Thirlwell mentions that the respected translator passed away in March, and he regrets never having a chance to meet her.
Most people won't have heard of Barbara Wright, although to longstanding readers of QlL her name might ring a bell. She translated many of Raymond Queneau's works into , most notably Exercices en Style. Indeed, it was her version—a present from Richard—which inspired me to begin my own pet project, Exercises in Song. For that reason, I'm more than a little ashamed that I missed the many glowing obituaries that appeared at the time.
I'd rather hoped when I began to plan Exercises in Song some twelve months ago that I might be able to meet her, or even interest her in the project. Then, as time went on, I decided it was probably best to let what was almost certainly a frail old women be. The right decision, of course—who at her age would want me fawning at them?—but I now feel considerably sadder that I can no longer even entertain the possibility. By all accounts Wright was as great a raconteur as a translator, and probably not at all as frail as I'd imagined, and I regret passing up even a slim chance to have come to her attention.
There's some comfort in the fact that the replacement edition of Exercises in Style waiting for me at the local bookshop—my current copy is decidedly over-thumbed—comprises Wright's last work. Her translations of Queneau's originals are a joy to read: literally, as you feel her own enjoyment of the work glowing on every page. So in some way I hope that, by reading her translations as closely as I can—as closely as I must—I may yet through the text meet her and shake her hand. Thank you, Barbara, for changing my life.