Sometimes you walk into a bookstore with no specific idea in mind, but with the desire to be seduced by an unknown author. Three elements play a significant role in this seduction, which some call marketing: the cover image, the paratexts (bands and back cover), and the title. Perhaps we'll discuss cover images another day, because there's a huge variety—we have everything from Gallimard's minimalism to the garish colors of the British—and perhaps some publishers deserve jail for their bad taste (the jail thing is just a figure of speech, but since I see some readers have a lot of nerve, I'm clarifying to avoid incredibly tiresome comments like: "You're trivializing prison," "You're the one who should be imprisoned for writing articles like these," etc.; basically, things like that, but with thirty spelling mistakes). I've already spoken about the texts on the bands before.And I'd be in favor of burning all the back cover blurbs. Today, then, we'll talk about the titles, because there are also authors who deserve severe sanctions from those who choose them. I'll talk about texts that are close to my heart so as not to offend anyone.
I'm thinking, for example, of the splendid The Ides of March, by Thornton Wilder, which has just been published by Eclecta and which I myself wrote the foreword for. In my opinion, it's a terrible title, because it gives a misleading idea of what you'll find inside, assuming you even know what the Ides of March are (March 15th, the date on which Julius Caesar was assassinated). The title is, therefore, rather incomprehensible and, even if you do understand it, leads you to think that it's a novel with a political theme, when in reality it's a book about the human condition that encompasses everything: love, poetry, marriage, friendship, death, and yes, politics too, of course.
Another unclear title is this formidable short novel by Charlotte Gneuss, recently featured in Periscope with my translation. We often considered what to do with the title. Because Gittersee It's a place name, a location on the outskirts of Dresden, that is, in the former GDR, which is precisely the subject of the book. But the Catalan reader doesn't know what Gittersee is, much less where it is located. For the non-German-speaking reader, Gittersee It means nothing to him, that's why the Italian and Spanish publishers have published it with the title The confidantswhich, in my opinion, reveals too much. Furthermore, Gittersee can be understood as a compound word that in German would mean: Sea of barsAnd yes, we could say that the characters live "caged" within the GDR system.
Another translation of mine is Sad animal (Club Editor), by Monika Maron, whose original German title was Sad animalThat is, the original had the title in Latin. What were we to do with the Catalan version: leave the title in Latin and have the reader inevitably read it in Spanish? Absolutely not. Change the Latin case and put, for example, sad animal To respect the original Latin? Simply to translate it? Undoubtedly, a book with a Latin title would sell less than one with a Catalan title.
With the Melchor Comas We also talked a lot about the title of the novel she published this year, The man who sold the world (Prow), because, as good a title as it is, I was afraid that it wouldn't quite convey what you find in the book. The man who sold the world To me, it sounds like a confident and powerful macho (and that would put me off as a potential reader), while the protagonist is more of a lost and confused man in a world adrift, trying to figure out not only who he wants to be but who he dares to be.
Choosing a title is difficult because it's like choosing a slogan that condenses many ideas and many pages into a few words, often a single word. Furthermore, ideally it should be easy to remember, although it seems that long titles have come back into fashion (I gave you eyes and you looked into darkness, Like the sound of a heartbeat in a microphone, A story is like a stone thrown into a river.etc.).
When I write stories, I rack my brain trying to come up with a good title. There's something I've been meaning to do, but I don't dare, for fear it will be interpreted as a jestFor me, the title of a story is extremely important, but unfortunately, the reader has often already forgotten it by the time they reach the end, and when they refer to it, they say things like, "that story about the swimming pool." To remedy this, it occurred to me that perhaps in short story collections, the title should appear at the end of the story, not at the beginning, almost as if the title gave you the key to understanding it (often it does). Let's see if I dare to try it with the next book.
Be that as it may, we can see that relying too much on the title is disastrous when it comes to being captivated. What I do is ignore the title, the image, and the paratexts, and start reading the book. There's no better way to find out if it works for me or not. Try it, you'll see.
