Limbis Company books
Reminder that if you did not read everything listed here, in the original language, you did NOT beat the game
All translations were chosen with laymen in mind. The assumption is that you won’t be writing a thesis on the book, but rather are going to read it for >fun
FAQ:
Why the new URL?
Because I lost the access code to the previous one. I can't edit it without one. And I wanted to edit it to reflect bookzz getting v&
What made you choose these particular translations?
/lit/ archives. They're even worse at establishing a consensus than /v/
Where do I get these translations?
Buy a physical copy, visit your local library or download an e-book from annas-archive.org
I want extra annotations to better understand the book
Norton Critical Editions have a lot of annotations and essays included
Where is Alice?
Take your sedatives
Recommended Translations
The Comedy
Link (Ciardi): https://annas-archive.org/md5/4f4c5eab0613250ab34fabd1954130d9
Recommended translation: John Ciardi
Notes: Alternative translation include Longfellow and Mandelbaum. A lot of different translations that focus on different things https://i.warosu.org/data/lit/img/0189/10/1629821364594.jpg
Bonus: http://www.worldofdante.org/
ISBN: 9781101078037
The Wings + Yi Sang's selected works
Link (The Wings): https://mega.nz/folder/UtNTBA7L#sYSVFM8OlmRyKezlDD2nTg
ISBN: /vst/1084510
Link: https://annas-archive.org/md5/4d75c07cb3b0a7fab2a514f7fa18b7a7
ISBN: 978-1-950268-08-5
Faust
Link (Kaufmann, part 1): https://annas-archive.org/md5/02d4874428304270943f5b0d0244d15b
Link (Luke, part 2): https://annas-archive.org/md5/290d5ef06503ee0fd9ce1445e8ad66e8
Recommended translation: Kaufmann for part 1, David Luke for part 2
Notes: Kaufmann abridged part 2; You can get Walter Arndt for accuracy
ISBN: 9780385031141 (Kaufmann part 1)
ISBN: 978-0-19-953621-4 (David Luke part 2)
Don Quixote
Link (Grossman): https://annas-archive.org/md5/92c3c4ca1c67f392883de6e044ca60bf
Recommended translation: Edit Grossman, alternatively Tom Lathrop
Notes: Grossman’s version is more readable, but Lathrop’s is not only highly accurate with thousands of footnotes, its prose is also pretty smooth-flowing
ISBN: 9780060934347 (Grossman)
ISBN: 9780451531810 (Lathrop)
Hell Screen
Link: https://annas-archive.org/md5/8b89e451046d6fbceb31ae6aff50cc2a
Recommended translation: The one by Penguin Books Ltd
ISBN: 9780141968506
The Stranger
Link: https://annas-archive.org/md5/0a2e15de22e65ec6d0e87842897974ed
Recommended translation: Matthew Ward
ISBN: 9780679720201
Demian
Link: https://annas-archive.org/md5/e94d9476cfe4ab8f785f94972bf4fd59
Recommended translation: Michael Roloff
ISBN: 9780060931919
The Iliad
Link (Fagles): https://annas-archive.org/md5/027aa7726dbcf607a29281594c8f1721
Link (Fitzgerald): https://annas-archive.org/md5/248c4c411826229c53e8e0bc10d465ec
Recommended translation: Fagles for readability, Fitzgerald for poetry. Apparently Lattimore is ok. I personally recommend Fitzgerald
Bonus: Read The Trojan War: A New History for extra background on the Iliad
ISBN: 978-0-14-027536-0 (Fagles)
ISBN: 978-0-19-283405-8 (Fitzgerald)
The Odyssey
LInk (Fagles): https://annas-archive.org/md5/32a5669cd3aadb40257457bef61e6c7b
Link (Fitzgerald): https://annas-archive.org/md5/5c9ce936b4c0b7510e8c62ad1ca580d8
Recommended translation: Fagles for readability, Fitzgerald for poetry. I personally recommend Fitzgerald
ISBN: 9780786509133 (Fagles)
ISBN: 9780374525743 (Fitzgerald)
The Aeneid
Link (Fitzgerald): https://annas-archive.org/md5/0cd7f33934ced4f2d25d526b5e34b548
Recommended translation: Fitzgerald is really good. I heard that Mandelbaum and Fagles also did a really good job
ISBN: 978-0-307-81901-7
Wuthering Heights
Link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/768
ISBN: 9780393284997 (Norton Critical Edition)
Crime and Punishment
Link: https://annas-archive.org/md5/c483e6582de1dfe63e354a700ff51c51
Recommended translation: David McDuff
Notes: Oliver Ready and Michael Katz are okay too. P&V and Garnett are incredibly controversial
ISBN: 9780241347683
Moby Dick
Link: https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2701
Notes: Get this one instead, it's annotated by the foremost experts on the topic https://annas-archive.org/md5/5cdb93a5bcd9d93b3db2a5a2e396156a
Bonus: http://powermobydick.com/
ISBN: 9780393285000 (Norton Critical Edition)
Dream of the Red Chamber
Link: https://annas-archive.org/md5/b5b816b8790ceb6426e82bcd0372e64e
Recommended translation: David Hawkes
Notes: The David Hawkes version is known as “The Story Of The Stone” in 5 volumes, by Penguin Classics
ISBN: 9798630391506 (volume 1)
Metamorphosis
Link: https://annas-archive.org/md5/6f54ea79f175a1e8b5cac3122f853c67
Recommended translation: Willa + Edwin Muir
ISBN: 9781973721239
Audiobooks recommended by anons
Moby-Dick
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zg84olIrn-k
Translation comparisons
The Iliad
Alexander Pope
Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring
Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly goddess, sing!
That wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's gloomy reign
The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain;
Whose limbs unburied on the naked shore,
Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore.
Since great Achilles and Atrides strove,
Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove!
Fitzgerald
Anger be now your song, immortal one,
Akhilleus' anger, doomed and ruinous,
that caused the Akhaians loss on bitter loss
and crowded brave souls into the undergloom,
leaving so many dead men—carrion
for dogs and birds; and the will of Zeus was done.
Begin it when the two men first contending
broke with one another— the Lord Marshal
Agamémnon, Atreus’ son, and Prince Akhilleus.
Fagles
Rage—Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles,
murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses,
hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls,
great fighters’ souls, but made their bodies carrion,
feasts for the dogs and birds,
and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end.
Begin, Muse, when the two first broke and clashed,
Agamemnon lord of men and brilliant Achilles.
Lattimore
Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus' son Achilles
and its devastation, which put pains thousand-fold upon the Achaians,
hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls
of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting
of dogs, of all birds, and the will of Zeus was accomplished
since that time when first there stood in division of conflict
Atreus’ son the lord of men and brilliant Achilleus.
Emily Wilson
Goddess, sing of the cataclysmic wrath of Peleus’ son Achilles,
cause of so much suffering for the Greeks,
that sent many strong souls to Hades,
making men a feast for birds and prey for dogs:
the plan of Zeus was moving to its end –
beginning when those two argued first:
lord Agamemnon and glorious Achilles.
Chapman
Achilles’ baneful wrath resound, O Goddess, that impos’d
Infinite sorrows on the Greeks, and many brave souls los’d.
From breasts heroic; sent them far to that invisible cave
That no light comforts; and their limbs to dogs and vultures gave;
To all which Jove’s will gave effect; from whom first strife begun
Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and Thetis’ godlike son.
The Odyssey
Fitzgerald
Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story
of that man skilled in all ways of contending,
the wanderer, harried for years on end,
after he plundered the stronghold
on the proud height of Troy.
He saw the townlands
and learned the minds of many distant men,
and weathered many bitter nights and days
in his deep heart at sea, while he fought only
to save his life, to bring his shipmates home.
But not by will nor valor could he save them,
for their own recklessness destroyed them all—
children and fools, they killed and feasted on
the cattle of Lord Hêlios, the Sun,
and he who moves all day through heaven
took from their eyes the dawn of their return.
Of these adventures, Muse, daughter of Zeus,
tell us in our time, lift the great song again.
Lattimore
Tell me, Muse, of the man of many ways, who was driven
far journeys, after he had sacked Troy’s sacred citadel.
Many were they whose cities he saw, whose minds he learned of,
many the pains he suffered in his spirit on the wide sea,
struggling for his own life and the homecoming of his companions.
Even so he could not save his companions, hard though
he strove to; they were destroyed by their own wild recklessness,
fools, who devoured the oxen of Helios, the Sun God,
and he took away the day of their homecoming. From some point
here, goddess, daughter of Zeus, speak, and begin our story.
Fagles
Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns …
driven time and again off course, once he had plundered
the hallowed heights of Troy.
Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds,
many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea,
fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home.
But he could not save them from disaster, hard as he strove—
the recklessness of their own ways destroyed them all,
the blind fools, they devoured the cattle of the Sun
and the Sungod blotted out the day of their return.
Launch out on his story, Muse, daughter of Zeus,
start from where you will—sing for our time too.
Emily Wilson
Tell me about a complicated man.
Muse, tell me how he wandered and was lost
when he had wrecked the holy town of Troy,
and where he went, and who he met, the pain
he suffered in the storms at sea, and how
he worked to save his life and bring his men
back home. He failed to keep them safe; poor fools,
they ate the Sun God’s cattle, and the god
kept them from home. Now goddess, child of Zeus,
tell the old story for our modern times.
Alexander Pope
The man for wisdom’s various arts renown’d,
Long exercised in woes, O Muse! resound;
Who, when his arms had wrought the destined fall
Of sacred Troy, and razed her heaven-built wall,
Wandering from clime to clime, observant stray’d,
Their manners noted, and their states survey’d,
On stormy seas unnumber’d toils he bore,
Safe with his friends to gain his natal shore:
Vain toils! their impious folly dared to prey
On herds devoted to the god of day;
The god vindictive doom’d them never more
(Ah, men unbless’d!) to touch that natal shore.
Oh, snatch some portion of these acts from fate,
Celestial Muse! and to our world relate.
Chapman
The man, O Muse, inform, that many a way
Wound with his wisdom to his wished stay;
That wander’d wondrous far, when he the town
Of sacred Troy had sack’d and shiver’d down;
The cities of a world of nations,
With all their manners, minds, and fashions,
He saw and knew; at sea felt many woes,
Much care sustain’d, to save from overthrows
Himself and friends in their retreat for home;
But so their fates he could not overcome,
Though much he thirsted it. O men unwise,
They perish’d by their own impieties!
That in their hunger’s rapine would not shun
The oxen of the lofty-going Sun,
Who therefore from their eyes the day bereft
Of safe return. These acts, in some part left,
Tell us, as others, deified Seed of Jove.
Mandelbaum
Muse, tell me of the man of many wiles,
the man who wandered many paths of exile
after he sacked Troy’s sacred citadel.
He saw the cities—mapped the minds—of many;
and on the sea, his spirit suffered every
adversity—to keep his life intact,
to bring his comrades back. In that last task,
he will was firm and fast, and yet he failed:
he could not save his comrades. Fools, they foiled
themselves: they ate the oxen of the Sun,
the herd of Hélios Hypérion;
the lord of light requited their transgression—
he took away the day of their return.
Muse, tell us of these matters. Daughter of Zeus,
my starting point is any point you choose.
The Aeneid
Fitzgerald
I sing of warfare and a man at war.
From the sea-coast of Troy in early days
He came to Italy by destiny,
To our Lavinian western shore,
A fugitive, this captain, buffeted
Cruelly on land as on the sea
By blows from powers of the air—behind them
Baleful Juno in her sleepless rage.
And cruel losses were his lot in war,
Till he could found a city and bring home
His gods to Latium, land of the Latin race,
The Alban lords, and the high walls of Rome.
Mandelbaum
I sing of arms and of a man: his fate
had made him fugitive; he was the first
to journey from the coasts of Troy as far
as Italy and the Lavinian shores.
Across the lands and waters he was battered
beneath the violence of High Ones, for
the savage Juno's unforgetting anger;
and many sufferings were his in war—
until he brought a city into being
and carried in his gods to Latium;
from this have come the Latin race, the lords
of Alba, and the ramparts of high Rome.
Lombardo
Arms I sing—and a man,
The first to come from the shores
Of Troy, exiled by Fate, to Italy
And the Lavinian coast; a man battered
On land and sea by the powers above
In the face of Juno's relentless wrath;
A man who also suffered greatly in war
Until he could found his city and bring his gods
Into Latium, from which arose
The Latin people, our Alban forefathers,
And the high walls of everlasting Rome.
Fagles
Wars and a man I sing—an exile driven on by Fate,
he was the first to flee the coast of Troy,
destined to reach Lavinian shores and Italian soil,
yet many blows he took on land and sea from the gods above—
thanks to cruel Juno's relentless rages—and many losses
he bore in battle too, before he could found a city,
bring his gods to Latium, source of the Latin race,
the Alban lords and the high walls of Rome.
Ahl
Arms and the man I sing of Troy, who first from its seashores
Italy-bound, fate's refugee, arrived at Lavinia's
Coastlands. How he was battered about over land, over high deep
Seas by the powers above! Savage Juno's anger remembered
Him, and he suffered profoundly in war to establish a city,
Settle his gods into Latium, making this land of the Latins
Future home to the Elders of Alba and Rome's mighty ramparts.
Dryden
Arms, and the Man I sing, who forc'd by Fate,
And haughty Juno's unrelenting Hate;
Expell'd and exil'd, left the Trojan Shoar:
Long Labours, both by Sea and Land he bore
And in the doubtful War, before he won
The Latian Realm, and built the destin'd Town:
His banish'd Gods restor'd to Rites Divine,
And setl'd sure Succession in his Line:
From whence the Race of Alban Fathers come,
And the long Glories of Majestick Rome.
Don Quixote
Lathrop
Just then, they discovered thirty or forty windmills that were in that plain. And as soon as don Quixote saw them, he said to his squire: “Fortune is guiding our affairs better than we could have ever hoped. Look over there, Sancho Panza, my friend, where there are thirty or more monstrous giants with whom I plan to do battle and take all their lives, and with their spoils we’ll start to get rich. This is righteous warfare, and it’s a great service to God to rid the earth of such a wicked seed.”
“What giants?” said Sancho Panza.
“Those that you see over there,” responded his master, “with the long arms—some of them almost two leagues long.”
“Look, your grace,” responded Sancho, “those things that you see over there aren’t giants—they’re windmills; and what seems to be arms are the sails that rotate the millstone when they’re turned by the wind.”
“It seems to me,” responded don Quixote, “that you aren’t well versed in adventures—they are giants; and if you’re afraid, get away from here and start praying while I go into fierce and unequal battle with them.”
And saying this, he spurred his horse Rocinante without heeding what his squire Sancho was shouting to him, that what he was attacking were windmills and not giants. But he was so certain they were giants that he paid no attention to his squire Sancho’s shouts, nor did he see what they were, even though he was very close. Rather, he went on shouting: “Do not flee, cowards and vile creatures, for it’s just one knight attacking you!”
Grossman
As they were talking, they saw thirty or forty of the windmills found in that countryside, and as soon as Don Quixote caught sight of them, he said to his squire: “Good fortune is guiding our affairs better than we could have desired, for there you see, friend Sancho Panza, thirty or more enormous giants with whom I intend to do battle and whose lives I intend to take, and with the spoils we shall begin to grow rich, for this is righteous warfare, and it is a great service to God to remove so evil a breed from the face of the earth.”
“What giants?” said Sancho Panza.
“Those you see over there,” replied his master, “with the long arms; sometimes they are almost two leagues long.”
“Look, your grace,” Sancho responded, “those things that appear over there aren’t giants but windmills, and what looks like their arms are the sails that are turned by the wind and make the grindstone move.”
“It seems clear to me,” replied Don Quixote, “that thou art not well-versed in the matter of adventures: these are giants; and if thou art afraid, move aside and start to pray whilst I enter with them in fierce and unequal combat.”
And having said this, he spurred his horse, Rocinante, paying no attention to the shouts of his squire, Sancho, who warned him that, beyond any doubt, those things he was about to attack were windmills and not giants. But he was so convinced they were giants that he did not hear the shouts of his squire, Sancho, and could not see, though he was very close, what they really were; instead, he charged and called out: “Flee not, cowards and base creatures, for it is a single knight who attacks you.”
Ormsby
At this point they came in sight of thirty or forty windmills that there are on that plain, and as soon as Don Quixote saw them he said to his squire, “Fortune is arranging matters for us better than we could have shaped our desires ourselves, for look there, friend Sancho Panza, where thirty or more monstrous giants present themselves, all of whom I mean to engage in battle and slay, and with whose spoils we shall begin to make our fortunes; for this is righteous warfare, and it is God’s good service to sweep so evil a breed from off the face of the earth.”
“What giants?” said Sancho Panza.
“Those thou seest there,” answered his master, “with the long arms, and some have them nearly two leagues long.”
“Look, your worship,” said Sancho; “what we see there are not giants but windmills, and what seem to be their arms are the sails that turned by the wind make the millstone go.”
“It is easy to see,” replied Don Quixote, “that thou art not used to this business of adventures; those are giants; and if thou art afraid, away with thee out of this and betake thyself to prayer while I engage them in fierce and unequal combat.”
So saying, he gave the spur to his steed Rocinante, heedless of the cries his squire Sancho sent after him, warning him that most certainly they were windmills and not giants he was going to attack. He, however, was so positive they were giants that he neither heard the cries of Sancho, nor perceived, near as he was, what they were, but made at them shouting, “Fly not, cowards and vile beings, for a single knight attacks you.”
Rutherford
As he was saying this, they caught sight of thirty or forty windmills standing on the plain, and as soon as Don Quixote saw them he said to his squire: ‘Fortune is directing our affairs even better than we could have wished: for you can see over there, good friend Sancho Panza, a place where stand thirty or more monstrous giants with whom I intend to fight a battle and whose lives I intend to take; and with the booty we shall begin to prosper. For this is a just war, and it is a great service to God to wipe such a wicked breed from the face of the earth.’
‘What giants?’ said Sancho Panza.
‘Those giants that you can see over there,’ replied his master, ‘with long arms: there are giants with arms almost six miles long.’
‘Look you here,’ Sancho retorted, ‘those over there aren’t giants, they’re windmills, and what look to you like arms are sails — when the wind turns them they make the millstones go round.’
‘It is perfectly clear,’ replied Don Quixote, ‘that you are but a raw novice in this matter of adventures. They are giants; and if you are frightened, you can take yourself away and say your prayers while I engage them in fierce and arduous combat.’
And so saying he set spurs to his steed Rocinante, not paying any attention to his squire Sancho Panza, who was shouting that what he was charging were definitely windmills not giants. But Don Quixote was so convinced that they were giants that he neither heard his squire Sancho’s shouts nor saw what stood in front of him, even though he was by now upon them; instead he cried: ‘Flee not, O vile and cowardly creatures, for it is but one solitary knight who attacks you.’