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Bitte, Ich Spreche Nur Amerikanisch I’d like to bracket these observations between two half-remembered New Yorker cartoons. The first shows three people, a woman and two men, each tops in their fields, being interviewed by a man who has asked them to identify three people who’ve influenced them. The woman, a writer, mentions Virginia Woolf, George Eliot, and Chekhov; the golfer names Arnold Palmer, Tiger Woods, and, to everyone’s surprise, Chekhov; finally the physicist rattles off his list: Einstein, Newton, and . . . yes, you guessed it, Chekhov. The importance of translation, anyone? Now juxtapose this against another New Yorker cartoon which shows two men and a woman each tied to a separate tree, looks of horror on their faces, while before them stands a primly dressed woman, her mouth open wide as though she were belting out an aria, an open book in her hand. The caption reads:

Voronezhskaya oblastUnited statesFrance generalMexico cityDistrito federalCastillay leópNew yorkCharles riverLake districtUnited kingdomCity ofNew jerseyNew yorkerHorace engdahlMartin amanshauserHarry matthews