Writing about Translating The Shadow of the Wind into Italian

I have been writing about my decision to translate paragraphs at random into Italian from books I have read and liked, and here is the second of such posts.

The book is the originally Spanish bestsellerThe Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafón, which I picked up about two months ago in one of my reading sprees, and found intriguing, especially because it is a thriller about a book. The entire book is done in the first person, and now that I’ve realized how challenging that can be, I salute the author for making such a great job of it in this book.

I picked up this passage because I really like the setting of this chapter, and the scene is complete, sad, and tense.

Request to my Italian friends who visit this blog: Please help make the passage better….aiuto!!!


Translating The Shadow of the Wind into Italian
Translating The Shadow of the Wind into Italian

Dawn was breaking when I returned to the apartment on Calle Santa Ana. Opening the door quietly, I slipped in without switching on the light. From the entrance hall I could see the dining room at the end of the corridor, the table still decked out for the party. The cake was there, untouched, and the crockery still waited for the meal. I could make out the motionless silhouette of my father in his armchair, as he observed the scene from the window. He was awake and still wearing his best suit. Wreaths of cigarette smoke rose lazily from a cigarette he held between his index and ring fingers, as if it were a pen. I hadn’t seen my father smoke in years.

L’alba spuntava quando sono tornato nell’ appartamento in Calle Santa Ana. Aprendo la porta silenziosamente, mi sono scivolato dentro senza accendere la luce. Dall’ atrio potevo vedere la sala da pranzo ad un’estremita’ del corridoio, la tavola ancora apparecchiata elegantemente per la festa. La torta era là, non toccata, le stoviglie aspettavano il pasto. Ho potuto distinguere la sagoma immobile di mio padre nella sua poltrona, come se avesse osservato la scena dalla finestra. Lui era sveglio, e ancora indossava il suo vestito migliore. Gli anelli di fumo salivano pigramente dalla sigaretta che lui teneva tra l’indice e l’anulare, come una penna. Non avevo visto mio padre fumare da anni.

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  1. elybessy

    L’alba stava spuntando quando sono tornato nell’appartamento in calle S.Ana. Aprendo la porta silenziosamente, sono sgattaiolato dentro senza accendere la luce.
    As for the rest is is entirely right.
    Well done!