Five things about Don Quixote

My first book of what is supposed to be the best year of all our lives (though so far, I’m not sure) is Don Quixote. In my edition (the Penguin Clothbound Classics one, above), it’s 982 pages long plus endnotes, and I remember trying to read it (in a different edition) at least twice before, becoming bored, and dropping it. Now, at last, I’ve conquered it, and as with a previous nearly-thousand-page-long book (The Last Chronicle of Barset), I’m not sure that a review or even an analytical essay is as useful as a few scattered comments and/or tips, if you’re thinking of scaling this mountain yourself.

  1. The translation matters. Not in the way that you might think, or the way which tends to trip me up with comparisons (“which one is The Best/the most faithful to the original language/the most faithful to the original sense/what should I even be looking for in a translation aaauugghhh helpppp”). Like War and Peace, Don Q has many translators, and the one that’s right for you will depend on what kind of reader you are, the context and background knowledge you bring to the book, etc. However, the translation I read is by John Sutherland, and I would recommend it highly, in large part because it’s one of the few translations that really contributes to a sense that…
  2. The book is funny. I really wasn’t sure about this at first, and I’m not sure Cervantes was either–it takes a while for the characters to become people, and for the humour to kick in. After Quixote’s “first sally” (initial adventure), however, it’s clear that Cervantes decides he’s interested in this delusional hidalgo and his coarse and obnoxious yet truth-telling squire, and from then on they start to develop a relationship and characteristics that form the basis of the book’s best humour. Sancho Panza, the squire, not only develops the habit of speaking in endless and often irrelevant proverbs, but also of a kind of reverse malapropism: Quixote mentions “the estimates of Ptolemy, the great cosmographer”, which Sancho dismisses as “the sexy butts and tomfoolery of a great pornographer”. The translation matters! In another, stuffier or older edition, that level of linguistic playfulness wouldn’t, I think, sound nearly so natural, modern, fresh or irreverent, and therefore wouldn’t be nearly as funny. Obviously there’s also the physical humour (Quixote is frequently tricked into uncomfortable, painful or embarrassing situations, often by women, and Sancho gets beaten up as a proxy for his master more times than you can count), which may be less hilarious to you; I didn’t find myself laughing out loud reading those scenes, although it’s possible they’re funnier read aloud. Which brings me to…
  3. The book may have been intended partly for oral transmission. There’s some evidence for this in the cliffhanger chapter endings and the way that the narrator discusses his storytelling strategy (which is what leads so many people to refer to it as a post-modern book avant la lettre; Cervantes’s narrative persona is extremely self-aware, and throughout the text, there are explicit signposts that it is a text). There’s a lot of repetition and rhetorical embroidery, which looks chunkily intimidating on a page but makes a good deal more sense if you think of someone reading it loud or half-performing the scene; it represents the natural rhetorical padding that humans give to spoken sentences. It also means you shouldn’t feel particularly bad skimming those bits. You can get the gist in the first and final few sentences of a page-long paragraph, and pick up the essentials in the middle, without committing your full attention to every single word–the text is clearly not designed for that level of scrutiny.
  4. Women, poor people and working people are interesting and well-represented here. Many of Don Q‘s past translators have assumed that his devotion to chivalry, although deriving from insanity, represents an aspirational ideal, like the holy fool, and have therefore interpreted him as an uncomplicated paragon of goodness and mercy who is genuinely beset by devils and malice. Sutherland approaches the text in a way that reveals Quixote’s madness as ridiculous, if also somewhat pitiable, and grounded in an old-fashioned paternalism that is repeatedly shown to be silly and impractical. Sancho Panza’s wife (initially referred to as Juana but always subsequently known as Teresa) is a sturdy, pragmatic farmer’s daughter who runs her family’s smallholding intelligently and is very reluctant to be drawn into her husband’s airy hopes of promotion and enhancement. The daughter and maidservant of the innkeeper during Quixote’s first adventure play numerous tricks on him, which are all enabled by his outmoded and deluded view of female innocence and susceptibility. A ruffian named Ginés appears twice in the book, once as a convict and once as the proprietor of a travelling ape and puppet show; both times his ingenuity and quick wit is presented with approbation, while Quixote’s credulousness in both situations leads to chaos and destruction. Women, working people and poor people are generally described with sympathy, and given complexity and agency. It’s a nice surprise.
  5. Don’t worry about the plot. There is one, sort of, eventually (it kicks in during the second half of Part II), but you could just as easily call that an extended episode, one of many. It’s an episodic book by nature, which would make it perfect for dipping in and out of over the course of a longer period of reading, maybe one or two chapters an evening. Mostly, Quixote ventures forth, meets someone or sees something which he grievously misinterprets as requiring his help or input, attempts to fulfill the conditions of knight-errantry, fails, and either chalks it up to the work of malicious enchanters or interprets his failure as a success anyway. Sancho has some kind of misadventure, complains about it, tries to fix his master up as best he can, asks for payment, is rebuffed, and they continue. It’s formulaic, of course, but that’s the point when you’re writing a satire of chivalric romance. And it means the reader need not worry too much about losing track of names or events. Characters do recur, but this is not a tightly-plotted novel by any means, so if you’re not following, don’t worry too much–just keep reading and see what happens.

Worth reading? For my money, definitely. It’s a serious investment of time, but it’s fun and doesn’t take itself too seriously (or, really, seriously at all), and it contains some bittersweet moments of sanity in the midst of complete madness. A joyful ride.

22 thoughts on “Five things about Don Quixote

  1. I didn’t know this was a near-thousand pager… that got me interested, and so did your five things! I’d love to see how other translations treated that “sexy butts” line 🙂

    1. I honestly blinked when I got to it because it was so not what I was expecting! It made me really trust the translation, though. If you do read it, let me know what you think!

  2. Ha, love your tips and tricks to get through it! Had to use the same to get through the Karamazovs and isn’t it funny that much of our advice coincides? Glad it agreed with you this time.

    1. Absolutely! I also think that Russian humour and the humour in Don Q are probably similar in one sense, which is that the casual/general reader might not find them very funny until they’re keyed in to how the humour actually works.

  3. I ought to have another try, really – I got through the first part but frankly got a bit fed up with the constant beatings up. It started to remind me of Pokemon – travel for a bit, encounter someone, have a fight, recover, travel on for a bit….. But maybe if I carry on this will vary a bit! ;D

    1. It does, though there is a level of episodic Pokemon-ness to the whole book, which is why I think it might work well as a bedtime companion! I pushed through in a week and never got SO bored I couldn’t pick it up again, which again I think is probably down to the translation. I know Edith Grossman is supposed to be Queen of Anglo-Spanish Translating, but Sutherland really worked for me!

  4. Great thoughts on a classic! It took me a couple tries (and, you’re right, a couple of translators) before I got through and enjoyed Don Quixote but I did end up feeling it was worthwhile. You’re very right that it is a very episodic book. When I figured that out and embraced that aspect is when I began to enjoy reading it.

    1. Absolutely – it’s such a foundational text that I think it’s easy to forget how many narrative conventions we now expect from long-form fiction that it just… doesn’t have! Kaggsy’s description of it above as being a bit like Pokemon tickled me, and feels exactly right.

  5. It really astounds me how many people think the most important thing about a translation is its literal line-by-line faithfulness to the original text. Like you say, it matters so much more what kind of writing you engage with (and I am happy to have a length conversation about the pros and cons of various Les Mis translations should you decide to tackle that beast and would like any guidance). I’m still not quite motivated to pick up Don Quixote but you do make it sound more interesting than I had thought it was!

    1. Hurrah! I’d love to talk about Les Mis translations, that sounds very fruitful. I wouldn’t say Don Q is an essential—it’s just fun, and a bit of a landmark, so there’s the value of that.


        Wilbour – the oldest English translation so pretty much exactly what you’d expect. Very stiff and stuffy but feels appropriately antiquated if your prefer your classics to feel as classic as possible.

        Wraxall – I know literally nothing about this one WHICH IS GOOD I think it’s hard to find.

        Hapgood – good! Editions of her translation often have illustrations too so that’s a bonus. The language is also a bit antiquated at times (I think it’s from the 1880s) but a little less stuffy than Wilbour. She’s my second favorite personally.

        Denny – nice, smooth writing that goes down easy and prioritizes lyricism over word-for-word accuracy but his UNABRIDGED translation is, concerningly, several thousand words shorter than the original, so I’d avoid for that alone.

        Fahenstock & McAfee – fave. This is probably the most popular edition and imo it deserves it. Really clean, concise writing that doesn’t feel overly antiquated or overly modern, just pleasurable to read. Ironically, given my prior comment, I think this actually is the one that stays most faithful to the French, but I don’t feel that it suffers for it.

        Rose – ‘the modern one’, knowing what I know about your taste I’d avoid, it’s a bit jarring in a ‘translator is holding your hand to make sure you get it’ kind of way.

        Donougher – this was published after I graduated from my Les Mis phase so I know less about it but I think it was received favorably! I get the impression that it’s less annoyingly modern than Rose.

        ALSO thank you to the people of Les Mis tumblr for compiling this quick comparison so you can just ignore all of the above and decide for yourself:

      2. This is brilliant! I always love comparing which publishers use which translators for classics. Penguin Clothbound uses Denny, Penguin paperback is Donougher, and Vintage paperback is Rose. Who publishes Fahenstock and McAfee?

      3. Signet Classics so Penguin! At least in the U.S., not sure if it’s the same there. I could have sworn Clothbound was Hapgood but I just double checked and you are absolutely right, what a strange choice. I guess some people do swear by Denny and his poetical prose but I’m a bit like… if you’re going to read Les Mis you’ve gotta READ LES MIS, you know, like, ALL OF IT.

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