The streets flashed by, vibrating with the strident cries of hustlers and the sound of guitars, with lantern light and streamers. A barrage of shouts, a mad stampede, a steaming crowd standing hypnotized by catchy tunes. Scarface [Zac] ignored all the squabbling and speechifying. Coppery beggars straggled along under the lurid illuminations or lingered outside the bars and liquor stores. Their faces fused into a single monstrous face set off by the tawdry glitter of trash trinkets. Dancing, music, bunting fluttering absurdly in the air: an ominous, insane, pent-up chimera. Sunk in rancorous, taciturn despondency, Zac felt a single stubborn thought, a simple symmetrical phrase, whir around his head: ‘Mr. Peredita, you’re done for! You’re done for, Mr. Peredita!’
—A sample paragraph from Tyrant Banderas by Ramón del Valle-Inclán. Peter Bush at a recent event said that many people told him it was an impossible book to translate. No kidding!