Hypersensitive? Me?

 

My personal Amazonian suggests what I might like to read next on my Kindle. She delights mo more often than not by her proposals of books I would probably never have found in a shop, some even self-published, others from small but adventurous imprints I had never heard of. Recently the choice has become larger, since I now find myself reading works in both English and German, in both cases police 'procedurals' being a preferred genre.

Case in point is my current read, a Kindle edition in English. The story is set in Berlin at the end of the Weimar Republic and the specific milieu was one I found interesting. 

After reading the first chapter I felt frustration. There were turns of phrase, descriptive passages, odd similes and mysterious metaphors which convinced me that the German storyteller had been very ill served by the translator. Every second page brought a wince which delayed my full immersion in the complex narrative.

I had thoughts of writing to the author, of pitching my services as a translator should he (or she) be planning further books.

It was no small shock to learn that on the pages scrolling on my little screen were words written by a native English speaker with several titles already to his credit. A New York Times review was reasonably kind.

All of this leaves my very puzzled indeed. Intentional clumsiness? Obscurity with purpose? I shall finish the book, of course, but I think I will end up wishing that it had been a Bernie Gunther thriller by the excellent Philip Kerr.