She had recently finished the massive job of translating Proust’s Swann’s Way-the first entirely new version in 80 years, and one that was widely celebrated as an improvement-and she was eager to focus again on her own creative work: the stream of meticulously unorthodox short fiction that culminated, last year, in the publication of the 733-page Collected Stories of Lydia Davis. When Viking asked Lydia Davis to translate Madame Bovary, back in 2006, she said no. His legs, in blue stockings, looked out from beneath yellow trousers, drawn tight by braces, He wore stout, ill-cleaned, hob-nailed boots.Davis in her upstate office, where she keeps many copies of Madame Bovary and almost as many well-worn dictionaries. ![]() Although he was not broad-shouldered, his short school jacket of green cloth with black buttons must have been tight about the arm-holes, and showed at the opening of the cuffs red wrists accustomed to being bare. His hair was cut square on his forehead like a village chorister’s he looked reliable, but very ill at ease. The ‘new fellow,’ standing in the corner behind the door so that he could hardly be seen, was a country lad of about fifteen, and taller than any of us. If his work and conduct are satisfactory, he will go into one of the upper classes, as becomes his age.’ ‘Monsieur Roger, here is a pupil whom I recommend to your care he’ll be in the second. Then, turning to the class-master, he said to him in a low voice. The head-master made a sign to us to sit down. ![]() Those who had been asleep woke up, and every one rose as if just surprised at his work. ![]() We were in class when the head-master came in, followed by a ‘new fellow,’ not wearing the school uniform, and a school servant carrying a large desk.
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