Reading this was like having nasty cough syrup. It left a rather unpleasant taste in my mouth, both figuratively and perhaps even literally in a sense. The words seemed to stick to my tongue, as if they were thick and syrupy, yet not in a good way. Each sentence felt like a spoonful of that yucky cough medicine that you have to force yourself to swallow. It was not the kind of reading experience that one would look forward to or enjoy. Instead, it was a chore, something that had to be endured. The content might have had some value, but the way it was presented made it difficult to access and appreciate. It was as if the author had taken a potentially interesting topic and coated it with a layer of unappetizing syrup, making it a struggle to get through.
Vuelvo a colgar la reseña, ya que la anterior desapareció misteriosamente. Ante todo: esta traducción al español es mala de narices. Me da rabia haberlo abandonado, pero no empecé este libro con buen pie y al final se me ha acabado atragantando.
No me ha parecido una lectura fácil, sobre todo por haberme lanzado a las bravas al inglés enrevesado de Melville, expulsada por la traducción al español (ya hablaré de esto luego). Pero aparte de eso, es una de esas obras que clama por una buena edición anotada. Un prólogo que te ponga en antecedentes de qué perseguía a Herman Melville al escribirla y en qué clima social lo hizo, que avise de detalles como que hay personajes basados en Emerson o en Edgar Allan Poe, por ejemplo, o resuelva las varias referencias oscuras.
Cuando The Confidence Man se publicó en 1857, fue una obra incomprendida y recibió malas críticas. Y esta edición de Veintisiete letras no le pone mucho más fácil al lector hispanohablante actual entender la obsesión maniaca que Melville parecía tener con la confianza. En cuanto a la traducción, si me dio por cotejarla con el original, que se encuentra en varios sitios, entre ellos este, fue por una frase que me pareció expresada de una forma ambigua.
Por eso y por la descripción de un caballero que llevaba un sombrero de paja rojo, tocado con que no imaginaba yo a todo un señor sureño de finales del siglo XIX. Fue así como vi que 1)la frase ambigua en el original no lo era, y 2) el sombrero de paja rojo era en realidad a \\"ruby headed cane in his hand\\", que, creo yo, es más bien un bastón con un rubí en su empuñadura, que además lleva en la mano, claro, no en la cabeza.
Después de eso, empecé a encontrar otros resbalones semejantes: el texto en español hablaba de un orfanato fundado en la rara ciudad de Semínolas, cuando el original decía que era un orfanato creado \\"among the Seminoles\\", la tribu india, vaya. También que un mendigo al que lanzaban monedas a la boca se las tragaba y las guardaba \\"al lado del esófago\\", cosa espeluznante de imaginar aparte de anatómicamente improbable. Por fortuna, Melville propone una opción menos grimosa, \\"retaining each copper this side the oesophagus\\".
Ese mismo mendigo acababa con un buen dolor de piños porque algunas de esas monedas tenían \\"bordes como bastones\\" en la versión española, mientras que en la versión Melville no hay bastones sino botones: \\"the pennies thus thrown proved buttons\\". Y ya no quise mirar más, porque con estas cosas pasa como con el máster de Cristina Cifuentes, que cuanto más mentiras peor huele todo. Lo que sí hice fue buscar información en internet sobre el traductor, José Luis Moreno-Ruiz, y acabé por encontrar esto.
Es decir, que este hombre no es que traduzca, es que reescribe los libros. Es una lástima, porque creo que de momento es la única edición que tenemos en español de The Confidence-Man. Manda eggs que en una obra que habla de con-men el traductor sea uno de ellos.
In early April of the 19th century, on the steamship Fidele traveling along the Mississippi River towards New Orleans, an unknown man boards. He holds a placard with phrases of Christian love, faith, and brotherhood, which contrast with the pragmatic, professional, and commercial placards inside the ship (“credit not given”), making him the object of ridicule for the other passengers.
Soon, a series of swindlers begin to appear on the ship, all seeking to deceive their fellow passengers and extract, however meager, a financial gain. Or perhaps it is all one grand swindler, a master of disguises, with the sole (self)purpose of fraudulently winning the trust of those around him?
Herman Melville's The Confidence-Man, which was published on April Fool's Day in 1857, the same day the events take place, was the last novel published during Melville's lifetime. The last one he wrote was Bill Budd, which was published posthumously. The book, which did not achieve great commercial success or a warm reception from critics when it was first published but was later recognized artistically, in the 20th century, and is now considered one of Melville's three greatest works, was published in Greek by Patakis Publications in their sub rosa series and translated by Charalambos Giannakopoulos.
For The Confidence-Man, Melville was inspired by the true story of William Thompson, a swindler who was active at that time and from whom the term “confidence man” originated, which gave the book its original title. In it, Melville focuses on the nature of deception, the concept of identity and its fluidity, the different personas that people create in order to adapt to each situation and extract as much as they can from every encounter, and the social roles that they are forced or choose to assume within a money-centered, capitalist society.
On the deck of the steamship Fidele, a series of diverse figures are gathered, forming a microcosm of society itself: victims and predators, exploiters and the exploited, swindlers and the swindled. The roles are fluid and constantly changing. In this sharp socio-political satire, every narrator is unreliable, the claimants may be either sincere sufferers or shameless swindlers, and those who attempt to expose them are either prophets of truth or again engaging in the deception of the public.
The eponymous great swindler changes his guise again and again, into a cripple, a beggar, a mourner, a merchant, a philanthropist, and attempts to deceive, not so much to seek personal gain but to convince his fellow passengers to have confidence in him and his words, in a narrative that is a celebration of the art of persuasion. Using demagogic tactics, he sometimes appears as a capable orator who convinces his listeners using philosophical dialectics and sometimes as a preacher who undertakes to proselytize the skeptical public. It is no coincidence, after all, that the central role that Christian/metaphysical faith plays in the narrative and in the very concept of confidence is a theme that mainly concerns Melville in his works.
Philosophical battles, with influences from Aristotle and Plato to Milton and Shakespeare, theological rhetorical disputes, and political wranglings among the passengers of the ship and the multiple personas that the hero adopts form a vivid tapestry of pre-Civil War America. The novel is filled with embedded stories, narrative digressions, and long philosophical dialogues, which, however, become monotonous and tiresome for the reader, while the central motif of the story, that of deception, ends up being overused.
Melville comments on the ways in which religious faith, humanism, and philanthropy are intertwined with economic corruption and opportunism, a practice that is also prevalent among contemporary capitalists. A prophetic and disturbingly relevant novel, which, according to Philip Roth, predicted and attempted to explain the election of politicians such as Donald Trump, charlatans and demagogues who deceived their public without having any credential of authenticity, any clear proof of the feasibility of their promises, but only an inflammatory ability to persuade. The modern-day Confidence-Man could be a politician, an engineer, or a businessman, an investor or a financial advisor. The practices may change, but the archetype remains unchanged and eternal.
Pessimistic, misanthropic, and cynical in his rhetoric, Melville, through subtle satire, proclaims the end of every notion of human confidence, solidarity, and companionship, as within the, ironically named, steamship Fidele passes a gathering of opportunists and time-servers. Through a sophisticated, complexly structured, ambiguous, and mysterious narrative – albeit often tiresome for the modern reader – Herman Melville composes a comprehensive exploration of the concept of identity and its reinvention, an existential treatise on the inherent presence or absence of Evil in the essence of human nature, a central theme in his work, and a study on the art of deception. After all, “life is a festival of disguises; and each of us must participate, must choose a role.”