Anatoly Vorobey (avva) wrote,
Anatoly Vorobey
avva

книги, Чандлер, like

Дочитал The Little Sister Чандлера. Пожалуй, самый закрученный и запутанный в смысле сюжета из прочитанных мной его романов. Взялся за The Long Goodbye — последний, если не ошибаюсь, большой роман Чандлера. Дочитаю его и ещё несколько эссе, и на этом закончится двухтомник Чандлера в серии Library of America, который я постепенно (с большими перерывами) читаю уже полгода.

Русские переводы, соответственно, "Сестричка" и "Долгое прощание". Второй ещё не смотрел, а первый полистал чуть-чуть, после того, как закончил читать The Little Sister — интересно было, как он справится с несколькими сложными местами. Справился довольно хорошо, и перевод неплохой, судя по всему — тем более странным показался промах (случайно замеченный) в переводе простого оборота "One of these days I'm going to...", который в переводе вышел "В один из ближайших дней я..." (на самом деле этот оборот довольно точно соответствует русскому "как-нибудь я [сделаю то-то]", или "когда-нибудь").

В обоих романах обнаружил интересные примеры американского просторечного like, но не совсем в том виде, в каком оно употребляется сейчас. У Чандлера это like выглядит несколько странно, оно стоит после оборота, который модифицирует, а не до. Примеры:

The next cookie in the dish was a woman, not old, not young, not clean, not too dirty, obviously poor, shabby, querulous and stupid. The girl she roomed with--in her set any woman who works out is a girl--was taking money out of her purse. A dollar here, four bits there, but it added up. She figured she was out close to twenty dollars in all. She couldn't afford it. She couldn't afford to move either. She couldn't afford a detective. She thought I ought to be willing to throw a scare into the roommate just on the telephone like, not mentioning any names.
     — "The Long Goodbye"


She leaned over the counter and let me smell her hair, pointing with a half-inch fingernail toward the elevator bank. "It's down along that corridor there, next to the porter's room. You can't miss the porter's room on account of it has a half-door and says PORTER on the upper part in gold letters. Only that half is folded back like, so I guess maybe you can't see it."

"I'll see it," I said. "Even if I have to get a hinge screwed to my neck. What does this Flack look like?"

"Well," she said, "he's a little squatty number, with a bit of a mustache. A sort of chunky type. Thick-set like, only not tall." Her fingers moved languidly along the counter to where I could have touched them without jumping. "He's not interesting," she said. "Why bother?"

     — "The Little Sister"


В обоих примерах это явно используется для подчёркивания просторечия (в первом примере женщина уничижительно охарактеризована в самой цитате; во втором примере это отрывок из речи дежурной в грязном дешёвом отеле).

В сегодняшнем американском языке это было бы скорее "Only that half is like folded back, ...", а не звучащее странно "only that half is folded back like,...", как у Чандлера. Не поручусь, что так сейчас вообще не говорят, но если и говорят, то явно реже, чем по первому шаблону [кстати, мнения и отзывы американцев очень приветствуются, как обычно в таких случаях].

Далее, я думал, что все эти ново-американские значения like (этих значений несколько, например, среди них есть "цитатное") появились в 60-х годах; как-то я уже писал об этом (там есть подробнее о разных значениях и ссылка на библиографию). Но эти два романа Чандлера вышли в свет в 1949-м и 53-м годах, соответственно.

Действительно ли тогда уже было в калифорнийском просторечии "like", но в этом несколько странном синтаксисе, и Чандлер это уловил? Или, может быть, тогда уже было/появлялось современное "like", использовавшееся так же, как сейчас, но Чандлер не понял как следует принципы его использования и вставил, как ему показалось правильным, для колорита?

На закуску — вот забавный кусок про блондинок из "The Long Goodbye":


There are blondes and blondes and it is almost a joke word nowadays. All blondes have their points, except perhaps the metallic ones who are as blond as a Zulu under the bleach and as to disposition as soft as a sidewalk. There is the small cute blonde who cheeps and twitters, and the big statuesque blonde who straight-arms you with an iceblue glare. There is the blonde who gives you the up-from-under look and smells lovely and shimmers and hangs on your arm and is always very very tired when you take her home. She makes that helpless gesture and has that goddamned headache and you would like to slug her except that you are glad you found out about the headache before you invested too much time and money and hope in her. Because the headache will always be there, a weapon that never wears out and is as deadly as the bravo's rapier or Lucrezia's poison vial.

There is the soft and willing and alcoholic blonde who doesn't care what she wears as long as it is mink or where she goes as long as it is the Starlight Roof and there is plenty of dry champagne. There is the small perky blonde who is a little pal and wants to pay her own way and is full of sunshine and common sense and knows judo from the ground up and can toss a truck driver over her shoulder without missing more than one sentence out of the editorial in the Saturday Review. There is the pale, pale blonde with anemia of some non-fatal but incurable type. She is very languid and very shadowy and she speaks softly out of nowhere and you can't lay a finger on her because in the first place you don't want to and in the second place she is reading The Waste Land or Dante in the original, or Kafka or Kierkegaard or studying Provencal. She adores music and when the New York Philharmonic is playing Hindemith she can tell you which one of the six bass viols came in a quarter of a beat too late. I hear Toscanini can also. That makes two of them.

And lastly there is the gorgeous show piece who will outlast three kingpin racketeers and then marry a couple of millionaires at a million a head and end up with a pale rose villa at Cap Antibes, an Alfa-Romeo town car complete with pilot and co-pilot, and a stable of shopworn aristocrats, all of whom she will treat with the affectionate absent-mindedness of an elderly duke saying goodnight to his butler.

Ну и совсем на закуску — любопытная цитата о падении нравов в Лос-Анджелесе из The Little Sister (49-й год, напоминаю). Главный герой, Марлоу, выдаёт следующую тираду от первого лица (кстати, довольно неуместно — явно автору хотелось выговориться):
"I used to like this town," I said, just to be saying something and not to be thinking too hard. "A long time ago. There were trees along Wilshire Boulevard. Beverly Hills was a country town. Westwood was bare hills and lots offering at eleven hundred dollars and no takers. Hollywood was a bunch of frame houses on the interurban line. Los Angeles was just a big dry sunny place with ugly homes and no style, but goodhearted and peaceful. It had the climate they just yap about now. People used to sleep out on porches. Little groups who thought they were intellectual. used to call it the Athens of America. It wasn't that, b\ut it wasn't a neon-lighted slum either."

We crossed La Cienega and went into the curve of the Strip. The Dancers was a blaze of light. The terrace was packed. The parking lot was like ants on a piece of overripe fruit.

"Now we get characters like this Steelgrave owning restaurants. We get guys like that fat boy that bawled me out back there. We've got the big money, the sharp shooters, the percentage workers, the fast-dollar boys, the hoodlums out of New York and Chicago and Detroit--and Cleveland. We've got the flash restaurants and night clubs they run, and the hotels and apartment houses they own, and the grifters and con men and female bandits that live in them. The luxury trades, the pansy decorators, the lesbian dress designers, the riffraff of a big hard-boiled city with no more personality than a paper cup. Out in the fancy suburbs dear old Dad is reading the sports page in front of a picture window, with his shoes off, thinking he is high class because he has a three-car garage. Mom is in front of her princess dresser trying to paint the suitcases out from under her eyes. And Junior is clamped onto the telephone calling up a succession of high school girls that talk pigeon English and carry contraceptives in their make-up kit."

Вопрос: что подразумевается здесь под "contraceptives"? Презервативы?
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