I did a whole degree in reading books, which 20 years ago was not viewed as a particularly valuable skill. To try and make us employable, the university made us read and translate a book in another language. I chose Dante’s Inferno, despite not speaking Italian, a choice that was unwisely difficult and has, in 20 years of work, never appeared on my CV.
Successful change efforts, I was once told, depend on two things: shared language and early success. Inferno offers neither of these. The first four lines are incredibly difficult to translate. The core message is simple: the narrator is in the middle of his journey, but now he is lost; he’s come off the path he was following, and he’s in a dark forest. So one version says:
When I had journeyed half of our life’s way
I found myself within a shadowed forest
For I had lost the path that does not stray
But then again:
In the midway of this, our mortal life
I found me in a gloomy wood, astray
Gone from the path direct
Or, if you take the original Italian:
Nel mezzo del cammin di nostra vita mi ritrovai per una selva oscura ché la diritta via era smarrita
And put it into Google translate:
In the middle of the journey of our life
I found myself in a dark forest
for the right way was lost.
Almost every single one of the words can be changed and so each translation shares little with any other. Even your own version will share little with the one you wrote last week. Your mind can feel what’s being said - he is lost; the path is gone, the journey is life, he is aging, the forest is depression, he has lost faith - but the exact image is hard to bring into focus. In English, it always feels clumsy and lacking directness. It is a puzzle I still remember, and that floats to mind when I walk on forest paths.
Is it what comes to mind from this picture? When I shot it, I actually remember thinking of the scene at the start of Lord of the Rings where the Ringwraiths are first chasing the hobbits. The ingredients are the same as the Inferno: someone from a comfortable life, fearful, lost in a dark forest. But in the film, the image is deeply precise, so precise it is hand-made and with no need for CGI help after the fact. The frame warps and telescopes slightly as the Ringwraith approaches; such is his power. He has no face - such is the ring’s power - and the camera lets its blankness fill the frame, and he pauses to sniff, to sniff for the ring. Then it cuts to a close up of bugs and worms being pushed up through ground, rottenness revealed. I saw the film 20 years ago, roundabout the time I was struggling with the Dante passages.
But when the photo comes out, there’s no Ringwraithiness in it. Overbright, it’s about the people in it, and strength: of the path, of carrying your children, and of the way children carry toys. He’s 2 and a bit here. When they’re that young, you’re a fool to set off and be determined to reach any specific destination. It’s better to just go and see how long you can keep going. And then you carry them, and you can stop when it’s time to stop. Unlike Dante, we aren’t going anywhere. Any road will do.
Some time after I took it, there was a night when he was dreaming. He awoke with a sudden scream.
The crocodile!
The crocodile is there!
There’s no crocodile, I said. Just bunny. This is his favourite toy; the one I can find in the dark of his room just with my fingertips. The one we keep a secret, pristine copy of in a secret location, should the original bunny ever be lost.
I hope you’re all well.
Thanks for reading,
Alex
PS This is the first one. Let me know if anything is odd or broken in the email.