Nabokov "Strong Opinions" （インタービューと評論など）を読んでいる。
以下の答えは気がきいてるし、もってまわってて（Pompous）笑った。できたら日本語にしてみる。 http://lib.ru/NABOKOW/Inter01.txt
（Do you like being interviewed?）
Well, the luxury of speaking on one theme-- oneself-- is a sensation not to be despised.
**As an admirer of Borges and Joyce you seem to share their pleasure in teasing the reader with tricks and puns and puzzles. What do you think the relationship should be between reader and author?
I do not recollect any puns in Borges but then I read him only in translation. Anyway, his delicate little tales and miniature Minotaurs have nothing in common with Joyce's great machines. Nor do I find many puzzles in that most lucid of novels, Ulysses.
On the other hand, I detest Finnegans Wake in which a cancerous growth of fancy word-tissue hardly redeems the dreadful joviality of the folklore and the easy, too easy, allegory.
The old drunk guy is singing this song toward the beginning of the film "Clockwork Orange".
I figured it must be a real Irish folksong, but for about 20 years I was never sure.
1. In Dublin's fair city,
Where girls are so pretty,
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone,
As she pushed her wheelbarrow
Through streets broad and narrow,
Crying, "Cockles and mussels, alive, alive oh"!
「インテリ」タイプではなかったと思う。 Noraみたいな感じを想像する。 http://www.online-literature.com/james_joyce/
Joyce's mother, Mary Jane Murray, was ten years younger than her husband. She was an accomplished pianist, whose life was dominated by the Roman Catholic Church. In spite of their poverty, the family struggled to maintain a solid middle-class facade.
After graduation in 1902 the twenty-year-old Joyce went to Paris, where he worked as a journalist, teacher and in other occupations under difficult financial conditions. He spent a year in France, returning when a telegram arrived saying his mother was dying. Not long after her death, Joyce was traveling again.
The opening lines of The Song of Roland. The pagan villain invokes Mohammed and Apollo. http://www.galileolibrary.com/history/history_page_76.htm
Charles the King, our Lord and Sovereign,
Full seven years hath sojournèd in Spain,
Conquered the land, and won the western main,
Now no fortress against him doth remain,
No city walls are left for him to gain,
Save Sarraguce, that sits on high mountain.
Marsile its King, who feareth not God's name,
Mahumet's man, he invokes Apollin's aid,
Nor wards off ills that shall to him attain.
