There’s a subtle difference between the book geek and the book snob. Book geeks have unabashed, passionate obsessions with eccentric niches, grammatical intricacies, and clever turns of phrase, and will rave until their puckered little mouths foam if you show even a hint of interest. They are prone to social awkwardness and can be found in used bookstores and dimly lit reading nooks everywhere. Book snobs, on the other hand, conspiratorially drop the names of the edgy contemporary authors they’ve been reading and the number of times they’ve read Milton/Flaubert/Joyce/Dostoevsky over expensive, foamy coffee.

You guessed it, continued on Young Germany.

“Das ist sau komisch.”

Literal translation: “That is pig strange.”

What I would have said in English in the same situation: “That is really f@–ing strange.”

And therein lies the entire problem of translation. The itch that can never quite be scratched. The photo that just won’t hang straight. It’s not just the (impossibly imprecise) art of translating culture- or language-specific idioms that get my panties in a bunch. It’s the (impossibly complicated) translation of what a certain person with a certain personality would say in a certain situation. It’s an issue that goes beyond the realm of words and accuracy and into the realm of identity. Of personal propaganda. Since moving to Germany I have often found myself posing the rather confounding question: Am I a different person in every language that I speak?

Continued on my debut Young Germany blog.

Alternatively, the entire problem of translation can be explained by and through Zero Wing. That’s right. I went there.