translating Bulgakov

Damn it to hell... i finally read The Master & Margarita earlier this year. Although it had been recommended to me dozens of times, it was usually recommended by kids who played Vampire: The Masquerade who fancied themselves as libertine iconoclasts. They also had good things to say about Anton LaVey's Satanic Bible and wore pewter pentacles around their necks. I cannot count how many cats that i've met named Behemoth. There was no fucking way that I was going to read Bulgakov.

Another debate has erupted over which is the superior translation of the book, and this time, i actually give damn. Unfortunately, the translation that i've read is the Burgin & O'Connor translation, which suited me just fine as i now love the book, but i ain't got a horse in this race.

Despite the number of books that i read that are in translation, the only non-epic poem ones that i recall intentionally reading in different translations are Don Quixote and The Arabian Nights oddly. And the Bible. Ach.

via 3%.