I like this concept due to its underlying implications. While the idea of inter-cultural and inter-temporal connections through the aspects of shared human experience is in itself is not necessarily novel (though a worthy note due to the importance of seeing literature as one great web of interconnections), the main idea I got from the accompanying video on your channel is that the breadth of the strands, because they stem from the universal, biologically-determined nature of Man, may actually be altering as we speak due to the fundamental alterations to life that we are undergoing. A past example (of technique-based-narrowing-of-possibility) is Kafka was the pioneer who showed the necessity of the absurd in perfect machines. I'm certain you can think of modern-day phenomena that are unlocking new doors into human experience by expanding said experience to avenues not provided in nature and early technological society.
Art is the soul made manifest. Very interesting that you said this. I intend to discuss this with you as it aligns very closely with my own thoughts.
You made a very interesting observation—one I must admit I hadn’t considered deeply enough when writing the Manifesto—namely that the strands themselves shift because we are changing. And of course, this has always been true, though once at a much slower pace and with subtler effects. Still, I must ask: could we have had Don Quixote without the printing press?
My project is not new at all; it stands firmly within the intertextual current that has shaped our literary landscape for over a century. It could not have come into existence without the web of interconnectedness born of the telegraph, the telephone, the revolutions in transport—all those 19th‑century inventions that bound the world together. Before the 19th century, books and high culture were the domain of a select few. Self‑publishing was common in early modernity because the audience was small, and books, expensive and rare, still carried the mystique bestowed upon them by The Bible and the Qur’an.
Until the 20th century, one could still speak of a dominant high culture, however much the French, German, and British Empires vied for that crown. In 19th‑century Romania, the cultural project was to build a high culture at home while deciding which foreign model to emulate: first the French, then the Germans.
Today, American culture has asserted itself at the popular level by sheer force of capital. That, too, is a mixed blessing. We can sneer at Coca‑Cola or Honey Boo Boo, but without my early love of westerns I might never have picked up Blood Meridian. That is only one example of many. Yet I believe the greatest American contribution was the promotion of a culture of dialogue, something that Romania’s “postmodernist” generation (think Cărtărescu) adopted, at times to a fault.
I grew up visiting bookshops where the vast majority of new titles were translations of foreign authors. This trend began even under Ceaușescu, with imprints like The Novel of the 20th Century, but the cultural openness after ’89 accelerated it. Had my parents remained in London or Montreal when I was a child, I doubt I would have conceived of this project at all.
What I like to think I am doing with Nether Strands is bringing the intertextual conversation—the comparative literary analysis once confined to academia—down to the street (the Nether Street, see what I did there?). But that is only the first layer, the lowest rung of the ladder. The higher purpose, the more spiritual goal, is to help other creators uncover their resonances across cultures, so that they might rediscover something that was already inside them all along.
As always, thank you for sharing your thoughts and making me think. Awaiting your thoughts with great interest.
This sounds like a fascinating endeavour, something for us to dig into, to hold onto, when the storms outside become too loud. I’m looking forward to discovering the strands you pull together and the new artistic fabric that’s woven as a consequence.
Nice Stefan. I like your connection between translating poetry and translating music in a way. That's a nice way to think about it really, folding this music forward in time and re-contextualizing.
Thank you for the support and inspiration, Josh! These days, I see translation not as introducing something new into the language you’re translating into, but as re‑revealing something that was already there, lying dormant. It also brings us closer across cultures—not by explaining a new system of thought, but by showing that our ways of seeing the world are not so different after all. I hope to convey this more clearly in my series on Blaga & McCarthy, rather than simply restating common knowledge with vague, oversized words.
I like this concept due to its underlying implications. While the idea of inter-cultural and inter-temporal connections through the aspects of shared human experience is in itself is not necessarily novel (though a worthy note due to the importance of seeing literature as one great web of interconnections), the main idea I got from the accompanying video on your channel is that the breadth of the strands, because they stem from the universal, biologically-determined nature of Man, may actually be altering as we speak due to the fundamental alterations to life that we are undergoing. A past example (of technique-based-narrowing-of-possibility) is Kafka was the pioneer who showed the necessity of the absurd in perfect machines. I'm certain you can think of modern-day phenomena that are unlocking new doors into human experience by expanding said experience to avenues not provided in nature and early technological society.
Art is the soul made manifest. Very interesting that you said this. I intend to discuss this with you as it aligns very closely with my own thoughts.
You made a very interesting observation—one I must admit I hadn’t considered deeply enough when writing the Manifesto—namely that the strands themselves shift because we are changing. And of course, this has always been true, though once at a much slower pace and with subtler effects. Still, I must ask: could we have had Don Quixote without the printing press?
My project is not new at all; it stands firmly within the intertextual current that has shaped our literary landscape for over a century. It could not have come into existence without the web of interconnectedness born of the telegraph, the telephone, the revolutions in transport—all those 19th‑century inventions that bound the world together. Before the 19th century, books and high culture were the domain of a select few. Self‑publishing was common in early modernity because the audience was small, and books, expensive and rare, still carried the mystique bestowed upon them by The Bible and the Qur’an.
Until the 20th century, one could still speak of a dominant high culture, however much the French, German, and British Empires vied for that crown. In 19th‑century Romania, the cultural project was to build a high culture at home while deciding which foreign model to emulate: first the French, then the Germans.
Today, American culture has asserted itself at the popular level by sheer force of capital. That, too, is a mixed blessing. We can sneer at Coca‑Cola or Honey Boo Boo, but without my early love of westerns I might never have picked up Blood Meridian. That is only one example of many. Yet I believe the greatest American contribution was the promotion of a culture of dialogue, something that Romania’s “postmodernist” generation (think Cărtărescu) adopted, at times to a fault.
I grew up visiting bookshops where the vast majority of new titles were translations of foreign authors. This trend began even under Ceaușescu, with imprints like The Novel of the 20th Century, but the cultural openness after ’89 accelerated it. Had my parents remained in London or Montreal when I was a child, I doubt I would have conceived of this project at all.
What I like to think I am doing with Nether Strands is bringing the intertextual conversation—the comparative literary analysis once confined to academia—down to the street (the Nether Street, see what I did there?). But that is only the first layer, the lowest rung of the ladder. The higher purpose, the more spiritual goal, is to help other creators uncover their resonances across cultures, so that they might rediscover something that was already inside them all along.
As always, thank you for sharing your thoughts and making me think. Awaiting your thoughts with great interest.
This sounds like a fascinating endeavour, something for us to dig into, to hold onto, when the storms outside become too loud. I’m looking forward to discovering the strands you pull together and the new artistic fabric that’s woven as a consequence.
But not as excited as I am to hear your passionate and intelligent observations.
Nice Stefan. I like your connection between translating poetry and translating music in a way. That's a nice way to think about it really, folding this music forward in time and re-contextualizing.
Looking forward to this effort of yours!
Thank you for the support and inspiration, Josh! These days, I see translation not as introducing something new into the language you’re translating into, but as re‑revealing something that was already there, lying dormant. It also brings us closer across cultures—not by explaining a new system of thought, but by showing that our ways of seeing the world are not so different after all. I hope to convey this more clearly in my series on Blaga & McCarthy, rather than simply restating common knowledge with vague, oversized words.