Der Schoß ist fruchtbar noch, aus dem das kroch

A brave man named Michael Russell has undertaken the massive task of providing English-speakers with a full translation of Karl Kraus' monstrous magnum opus, The Last Days of Mankind. Previous translations have been abridged, and even tidied; the version in the Karl Kraus Reader is commended as an "eminently performable" three-act drama, an achievement on a par with turning out an "eminently tasteful" version of Voyage au bout de la nuit. I am a little nervous about some aspects of Russell's translation; notably the rendering of Nörgler as "Begrudger", which seems both unidiomatic and infelicitous, and the preservation of Kraus' rhyme schemes in the verse, which will almost certainly involve numerous triumphs of metre over spirit. But of course every translation requires certain sacrifices, an armistice of meanings; the best one can hope for is a negotiated piece. Still, in victory or defeat, Russell's valorous enterprise will surely help to mitigate the nightmare of pious nostalgia which will undoubtedly mark the centenary of the First World War.