/lit/ - Literature

[Anonymous No.22078905]

>one of the best book I have ever read is written in <small_nation> language
>it will probably never be translated to english
>I cannot share it with the mongolian lacrosse board

[Anonymous No.22078909]

>I cannot share it with the mongolian lacrosse board
Why not?

[Anonymous No.22078918]

>>22078905
Share it anyway, I'm curious

[Anonymous No.22078919]

>>22078909
no one would be able to read it, those few people who speak the language most probably know it very well

[Anonymous No.22078922]

>>22078905
Try ChatGPT

[Anonymous No.22078928]

>>22078919
So why make this thread?

[Anonymous No.22078931]

>>22078918
ok then, here I at least found a short description of it in english
https://www.litcentrum.sk/en/book/nocne-spravy-late-night-news-0

[Anonymous No.22078933]

>>22078922
try a heroin overdose

[Anonymous No.22078940]

>>22078931
lmao, it's slovakian, can be easily translated with DeepL or ChatGPT

[Anonymous No.22078945]

>>22078940
wouldn't the result be an absolute dogshit?

[Anonymous No.22078947]

>>22078940
yeah it's not like some crazy rare indigenous language, translate that shit OP

[Anonymous No.22078950]

Translate it yourself

[Anonymous No.22078954]

>>22078945
No. Haven't you head of current ML and LLM developments? They've become pretty advanced.

[Anonymous No.22078967]

>>22078947
shit I cannot find an ebook, just some poor scans of real book

[Anonymous No.22078975]

Here's an excerpt of the novel translated with DeepL:

In the evening I was in the cinema; Buñuel's Angel of Doom was on. I saw it for the second time, but certainly not for the last time. I am fascinated by this story of the impossibility of crossing the threshold of a wide-open door. Before the end of the film, I suddenly became frightened that I didn't have the keys to my apartment. Quickly, confusedly, as if those keys would decide my future fate, I began to rummage through my pockets. Meanwhile, the film had finished, the lights were on in the hall, people were pushing towards the exit with a kind of unusual insistence, but I was still turning over my pockets, pulling out the forgotten coins hiding under the torn lining (maybe they were long expired), crooked tickets from trams and buses, written-out refills from eternal pencils, crumpled Sportka tickets, burnt-out matches, I rubbed around me the tobacco shaken out of broken cigarettes, but there were no keys. "That movie properly took him," I heard a sort of ironic voice say, and only then did I recover. I looked around. I could see the garbage dump by my seat and the astonished faces of the people leaving, and I could feel the hot, expanding blood rising to my face. My whole body began to itch unbearably. Flea, as usual, I realized. I always take a flea from the cinema; they like my sweet blood. I pushed my way to the exit with the intention of hiding in the toilet, catching the flea and killing it right at first before it could irreparably piss me off. There was a long line of people in the lobby, outside the locker room. Coat, I had completely forgotten about the coat. I was relieved, for I remembered my keys sharply and clearly - I had them in the right pocket of my winter coat. Standing up, I got in line; the itching slowly ceased. It persisted only in one place - on the calf of my left leg. I subtly pulled up my trouser leg, bent down, pre-contemplating that something had fallen on the ground, and quickly scratched myself. I jerked up sharply, and hotness flooded me again. With a dull ache in the back of my head, I began to look through my pockets. I still found the ticket to the National Museum and the exhibition rooms of the Bratislava Castle, I remembered that I had been there yesterday with my older daughter, but I searched in vain for the ticket from the cloakroom. I must have thrown it away looking for the keys, I realized, and returned to the empty cinema. Humming fans expelled damp, stale air, the old cleaning lady, maybe seventy years old, was bent over a shovel, her sparse, gray, mousy hair falling into her forehead, grumbling angrily, unintelligibly, and sweeping the contents of my pockets onto the shovel.

[Anonymous No.22078987]

>>22078975
he sounds slightly unhinged, I want to read the rest

[Anonymous No.22079040]

>no one would be able to read it
>Slovakian

[Anonymous No.22079046]

>>22078945
ChatGPT translations can be really fucking good if you provide it a good prompt as to how you want it translated

[Anonymous No.22079047]

>>22079040
the rest of that post explains it, people who could most probably already did

[Anonymous No.22079264]

>>22079047
Your post sounds like you're talking about some semi-extinct Amerindian tongue with a handful of 80 year old native speakers and not an appreciable European language. There already are extant translations of Mitana's works in English and Russian at the very least. I'll try to pick up Nočné správy for you, dumb frogposter.