So what's the best English translation of Proust's

>>9497638
My unpublished translation.

mi diario desu

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>mfw meme replies
I actually want help, should I go for Yale's publications, Penguins, or what?

moncrieff i believe

>>9497638
lydia davis for vol. 1, rest go for enright et al.

>>9498721
no
just go Montcrieff all the way
the whole "different translator for each volume" idea is dumb

>>9498721
nonsense, go moncreiff
v. woolf though it was better than the original, somehow

Davis is way better

Moncreiff's prose is dull and analytic, completely unlike Proust

>>9497638
Lydia Davis if you're reading Swann's Way on its own. Otherwise Moncreiff

>>9499194
>prose
>analytic

haveyougotasinglefacttobackthatup.jpg

>>9499194
cool
too bad she only translated one volume and not the entire work

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Judge for yourselves. Davies is pic related and Moncrieff revised by Enright is below:

Many years had elapsed during which nothing of Combray, except what lay in the theatre and the drama of my going to bed there, had any existence for me, when one day in winter, on my return home, my mother, seeing that I was cold, offered me some tea, a thing I did not ordinarily take. I declined at first, and then, for no particular reason, changed my mind. She sent for one of those squat, plump little cakes called “petites madeleines,” which look as though they had been moulded in the fluted valve of a scallop shell. And soon, mechanically, dispirited after a dreary day with the prospect of a depressing morrow, I raised to my lips a spoonful of the tea in which I had soaked a morsel of the cake. No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shiver ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory—this new sensation having had the effect, which love has, of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me, it was me. I had ceased now to feel mediocre, contingent, mortal. Whence could it have come to me, this all-powerful joy? I sensed that it was connected with the taste of the tea and the cake, but that it infinitely transcended those savours, could not, indeed, be of the same nature. Where did it come from? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it?
I drink a second mouthful, in which I find nothing more than in the first, then a third, which gives me rather less than the second. It is time to stop; the potion is losing its virtue. It is plain that the truth I am seeking lies not in the cup but in myself. The drink has called it into being, but does not know it, and can only repeat indefinitely, with a progressive diminution of strength, the same message which I cannot interpret, though I hope at least to be able to call it forth again and to find it there presently, intact and at my disposal, for my final enlightenment. I put down the cup and examine my own mind. It alone can discover the truth. But how? What an abyss of uncertainty, whenever the mind feels overtaken by itself; when it, the seeker, is at the same time the dark region through which it must go seeking and where all its equipment will avail it nothing. Seek? More than that: create. It is face to face with something which does not yet exist, which it alone can make actual, which it alone can bring into the light of day.

Bumping for the last time.

OP here, I initially gave up on this thread, but I'm glad it got replies.
>>9500742
I like them both, but if Davis has only translated the first volume then I'll just go with Enright. On a side note, I can see where Deleuze's inspiration from Proust came from now.

>>9498944
It's not an "idea," Davis has only translated Swann's Way.

>>9503859
whatever, have fun waiting a decade for the whole thing to be translated by her