It was just the other day that we were getting excited about the mere possibility of a Trainspotting sequel, when here we are today with a full red-band trailer for Filth, an adaptation of another post-Trainspotting novel by Irvine Welsh. I cannae believe me good luck. To be honest, I never expected to see a clean, sweet boy like James McAvoy playing Bruce Robertson, the filthiest filth of filth, who spends half the first-person novel complaining about his various ball rots and venereal diseases – the only piece of literature I’ve ever read that includes a child-like drawing of a penis. But here he is toplining the Welsh adaptation (which probably made getting it financed a lot easier) from director Jon S. Baird. Baird is also Scottish, so this may require subtitles. RopeofSilicon calls it a “Scottish Bad Lieutenant,” and having read the book, I can’t say that that’s inaccurate. Check out [this] trailer […], but beware of cursing and brief nudity. I kid, I’m sure you’re used to it.
If you think the trailer editor unfairly chose to focus only on the most vulgar parts, don’t be put off, the whole thing is like that. Think of it as a Scottish Scrotie McBoogerballs. I’m just disappointed about James McAvoy. This would’ve been the perfect role for Mel Gibson.
Vince Mancini » FilmDrunk » James McAvoy steals Mel Gibson’s perfect role in ‘Filth’ (via @JasonThibault)
[…] But even after he joined the establishment and was named a Grand Master of Horror, Herbert never stopped being a rebel. In an interview last October, he recounted what happened when he received the coveted O.B.E. from Prince Charles:
“He said to me: ‘Are you working on a new book?” I pointed at him and said, ‘Yep, and you’re in it!’ If you have ever seen anyone blanch, that’s what Charles did. He went red and then white. I told him, ‘It’s okay, you come out of it fairly well.’ And that was it; conversation over.”
Charlie Jane Anders » io9 » R.I.P. James Herbert, author of The Rats
Loredana Lipperini su Lucia Rodocanachi, la négresse inconnue; sugli aspetti parecchio spiacevoli e parecchio taciuti delle personalità di gente come Sbarbaro, Gadda, Vittorini, Montale; e su come dagli anni Trenta nell’editoria italiana sia cambiato poco o niente.
[…] It’s a truism that genre boundaries are collapsing. In fact, there’s been a great deal of talk about how much “serious” fiction writers can learn from writers of young adult novels or mysteries. This is all to the good. But now it might be time to set aside our reverse snobbery and admit that many genre writers have something to learn themselves, which is how to write. It may be too much to ask that a book like “A Pimp’s Notes” contain more sentences worth reading twice, but it seems reasonable to ask that it contain fewer sentences not worth reading once.
Christopher R. Beha recensisce A Pimp’s Notes, la traduzione in inglese di Appunti di un venditore di donne, sul NYT. La migliore chiusa di un articolo letterario di tutto il 2012, poco ma sicuro.
PS - Come da buona abitudine anglo, il traduttore (Antony Shugaar) è citato e in bella vista.