The Indubitable Dweeb
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August 30, 2011

The Only Ones: Foreign Language Editions

Hey gang! Here’s the word on the street—the street being Broadway, where the Random House offices are located. The Only Ones will be coming out in some foreign language editions! Children around the world will soon be able to share in the adventures of Martin (or Maarten, in Brussels), Henry (or Enrique, in Costa Rica), Darla (or Sheila #2, in Australia), and Nigel (or Dragon Warrior with a Tiger, in Japan).

For now, the kind folks at Dogan Egmont in Turkey and at Rai Editora in Brazil have signed on to publish their own editions. I haven’t been told what the titles will be for these versions, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the Turkish one will be called Ben Senin Çeviri Yazılımını Severim and the Brazilian version will carry a title sure to excite the Sao Paulinos, something like 0-0 Draw.

Of course, I’d like to see the book appear in all countries, in all languages, so I’m calling on the following nations to jump on the bandwagon.

Papua New Guinea: Home to over 850 indigenous languages, this nation formerly known for its headhunters (no, not the corporate variety) is an untapped market for publishers. But it’s not just the people. They’re still discovering species out there in the jungle. Who’s to say there isn’t some tree kangaroo with an insatiable appetite for kidlit, but with absolutely nothing to read? Learn their language and let’s turn me into the Rick Riordan for arboreal marsupials.

New Zealand: We were all supposed to be speaking Esperanto by now. Fact is, the world will probably never adopt what was once hoped to be the world’s universal language. However, if Peter Jackson’s new Hobbit films hit even bigger than The Lord of the Rings, then there’s a good chance that most Kiwis will know a bit of Elrond’s tongue. Yes, and that Elvish language craze will spread and be adopted by the meek. And as the old adage goes “The meek shall inherit the earth and try to impress Liv Tyler and Cate Blanchett by invoking Tolkien.” The Only Ones, now in Elvish. Gotta get on that train before it leaves.

The Vatican: It would mean a lot to me if The Only Ones was translated into Latin. I was a member of the Junior Classical League in high school, which is responsible for all my success. The JCL is like the Skull and Bones, but with toga parties and Argonaut dioramas. These days, I translate The Aeneid from the original Latin at least once every two months. However, I would place Pope Benedict in charge of the Latin translation of The Only Ones, so long as he makes it mandatory reading at all Easter masses. We can even add the line agricola est in ager, to encourage the magister to require it in all “Intro to Latin” classes as well. Catholics and preppy kids worldwide are sure to dig it almost as much as First Thessalonians or the Philippicae of Cicero.

That Oil Rig Thing Where the Libertarians are Going to Live: Read about the place here. Tax dodgers who want to live in a lawless Waterworld-esque land will need a lot of paper to burn once all their stocks go belly up. Now, I’m not for burning books per se, but if someone needs 25 face cords of kindling to make it through an Atlantic Ocean winter, I’d rather it be 25 face cords of The Only Ones then, say, Murakami’s Norwegian Wood, which admittedly burns better, due to the title.

Canada: No, I won’t make any jokes about how every sentence will end in “eh.” Or that there will be a button on the cover that you can press, causing all abouts to be pronounced aboot. That’s just cheap Canuck-baiting. I honestly want to be able to stop by a bookstore in Nunavut and see The Only Ones on the shelf next to 101 Things to Do With Walrus Meat Before You Freeze to Death. I would also like it to be adapted into a film starring the original cast of You Can’t Do That On Television. There will of course be some sliming, but I’m more interested in seeing the climactic scenes played out in a hallway full of lockers, with a lot of “Hey Moose!” and “Hey Alasdair!” to add to the third act’s tension. That’s not too much to ask, eh?

April 29, 2010

World Famous in New Zealand: Das Bieber

I try to keep up with the Bieber-stream media. You see what I did there? Rather than writing “mainstream” or even “lamestream,” I went with “Bieber-stream.” It’s something I do here. Keep folks on their toes. Comment on culture in clever ways. Thank me by buying a book.

In any case, the Justin Bieber-slanting CBS News has asked the kids of New Zealand (The Kiwiettes, if you will) to chill the hell out. Bieber Fever has reached George Romero-like levels, resulting in a frightening mob scene at the Auckland Airport, and Justin’s “mama” has suffered as a result. I want to think the best of our very distant neighbors to the southwest (or southeast should you decide to fly Air Emirates), so I’m a skeptic. I smell a PR person behind this. And if not that, then I smell Germans. Because as anyone who has set their watch to NZST will tell you, if you want meet someone from Munich, go to the Auckland Airport. I swear, it’s like Paris in 1942.

Of course, this is from a tourist’s perspective. I spent 3 months in New Zealand a couple years back. My wife and I bought a cheap car, and filled the trunk with camping equipment and drove down every road and hiked in as many corners of that lovely little country as we could and slept in huts and yards and hostels and on beaches. We met plenty of locals, very few Americans, and a shocking number of Klauses and Ilsas. We ran into one intrepid young Bavarian on two separate occasions: once while doing a jigsaw puzzle in a headlamp-lit hut along the Milford Track; once along the steaming, sulfurous moonscape of the Tongariro Circuit. He (and every other German we met) spoke flawless English and was a perfectly lovely fellow, so I don’t mean to disparage an entire people. I’m just intrigued by the disproportion. The French and Spanish and English and Italian combined didn’t even have half the representation.

I’m sure if I actually lived and worked in New Zealand, I’d shrug this German infiltration off as some backpacker urban legend. But I assure you it’s true, and I think it has resulted in a Bieber bumrush. Germans get a bad rap for their taste in music. So perhaps a band of backpackers were trying to regain some cred. Perhaps they weren’t fans at all, but musical freedom fighters trying to rid the world of a devastating future filled with soulless bubble-gum pop. Perhaps Bieber is lucky to have gotten out with his reputation intact. Have you ever read The Dead Zone?

It seems far-fetched until you watch the following clip. It’s taken from an interview in New Zealand shortly after the airport fiasco. Cunning as ever, Bieber strikes back by denying that the German language even exists. “I don’t know that means. We don’t say that in America,” he quips. It’s a brassy move, and will spark numerous conspiracy theories. I expect Glenn Beck to break it down blackboard-style any day now.

Which brings me to the real point of this post. New Zealand! A strange and wonderful place and so much more than hobbits and Bret and Jemaine. I will be posting frequently about the oddities and peculiarities of New Zealand in upcoming weeks, and hopefully you’ll all learn a little something. Bieber was a just a gateway, the first dose to get you hooked. Stay tuned.