By Patti Kim
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After the numerous interdisciplinary views on nonverbal verbal exchange provided through the writer in his prior seven John Benjamins books, that have generated a variety of scholarly purposes, the current monograph is ruled via a truly large proposal of translation. This therapy of translation comprises theater and cinema (enriching our intellectual-sensorial event of either 'reading act' and 'viewing act') and provides between different issues: sensorial-intellectual-emotional pre- and post-reading interactions with books; mute or audible 'oralization' of texts; the translator's linguistic and nonverbal-cultural fluency and implicit textual paralanguage and kinesics; translating features of pictorial illustrations; the blind's textual content and movie conception; the overseas reader's cultural heritage and situations; theater and cinema spectators' overall sensory-intellectual adventure of performs and flicks past staging or projection; the a number of interrelationships among cinema and theater performers, spectators and their environments, of unique curiosity to all these fascinated about the theater; and the translator's difficult textual notion of sounds and routine.
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Additional info for A Cab Called Reliable: A Novel
Her eight-track tape of Lee Mi Ja, the Korean singer with large horse teeth, who sang sad love songs about crying in the pouring rain standing outside her lover's locked door. Won't you let me in? Won't you let me in? My father's ashtray was overfilled with crushed cigarette butts. My mother would have emptied it each week, tapping it on the pavement, instead of adding a half-smoked cigarette stained with lipstick to the heap. " Shielding her eyes, she came close to the window chewing food. " "I need to show Boris something.
When I didn't come to the door with my usual greeting, my father would unlock it and let himself in, mumbling something about me sleeping too much after school. No red light on the rice maker. When he lifted the lid, no rice. No soup on the stove. In the sink, dried orange juice on the sides of the glass. Dried rice and cereal stuck on the bowls. Wooden chopsticks and spoons. Dripping faucet. The table wasn't set with cups for the water, bowls for the rice, chopsticks and spoons on the right, folded napkins on the left, and last night's leftovers, slices of bean curd fried in egg with soy sauce and vinegar, in the center.
Boris's mother pointed her finger at the moon and told her son not to be long because it was late, the time wolves hunted children. I told Boris to close his eyes. Taking him by the arm, I pulled him toward my father's car. "Come on," I said. " he asked with his eyes shut tight. "Almost there," I said, opening the driver's door to my father's car. I got in first and crawled to my mother's side. "Get in. Open your eyes. Get in. Sit down. Touch the wheel. See, turn it like this. " I told Boris to pump the brakes, pump the brakes fast and hard.
A Cab Called Reliable: A Novel by Patti Kim