The Last Word
In 1843, in the town of Boisk, a little way outside of Riga, the Hevrat Aggadeta had a party: “Our joy was exceedingly great … We poured the wine like it was water—some pouring it down their throats and others on the floor.”
From A Party in Boisk by Abraham Socher | Winter 2016
Reviewing The Collected Stories of Isaac Bashevis Singer, Cynthia Ozick pointed out that Singer’s list of translators was so long she could not possibly name them all. Ozick remarked that “Singer has not yet found his Scott Moncrieff,” the preeminent translator of Marcel Proust. But, of course, Ozick knew that Singer didn’t want a Scott Moncrieff.