Does it even count? Do those thoughtful messages mean so much less than if I’d told you in person? Probably. Try reading your most-personal-blog-post-ever aloud, and I’m sure some of what you wrote will make you squirm. It’s all too easy to type words that you wouldn’t quite have the guts to say aloud, not only because you’re distanced from their consequences, but also because those words you’re so proud of writing? They never actually left your lips. People can only tell me how great my hugs are if they receive them in person, and I can only notice that new shaving scar if I’m sitting right next to you. How can you explain how unique and magical you are in pixels? I’m not sure that you can. Most of what makes you up, I’m sure, get’s lost.
Thanks to this barrier of broadband and fibre-optic splendour, we can read people however we want to, and we can write ourselves in whatever way too.īecause although think you can translate yourself onto the screen the way you actually are, there’s absolutely no guarantee that anyone else will read it how you intended. Lost over the internet, lost in the internet. What I have actually been thinking about is how much of you and me-how much of everybody-is lost in translation these days. And I’m sure that other books share a title with me, but I haven’t read them. I’ve never seen the film, which doesn’t mean that I don’t love Bill Murray, I just haven’t ever gotten around to it. I’ve lived with that title for the last few months, and it has got me more than thinking about the phrase. It has my name on the cover, but for now that’s irrelevant. The first guest post I wrote for The name of my book is Lost in Translation.
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