There are several reasons why I read English books:
1. Availability. Not all of the books I like to read are translated in English. I think about 75% of the books I have in my bookcase have no Dutch translation. Especially the paranormal ones.
2. Original language is always better, it is as the author wanted to tell the story, without the filter of the translator3. Even when the books are translated, it always takes months, even years to reach the Dutch readers
4. Series aren’t always translated in the correct order and sometimes they even skip books. I’m a stickler for reading in the correct order!
5. The titles are very badly translated. Examples are:
6. Last but not least. I can buy at least 3 English books for the price of one Dutch book!a. Zacht zingen de Hooglanden -The Highlands are softly singing (aka Julie Garwood - Saving Grace)b. Zacht fluistert het goud - Softly the gold whispers (aka Jude Deveraux - Mountain Laurel)
c. De zoete adem van de nacht - The night’s sweet breath (aka Stephanie Laurens - A rogue’s proposal)
Greetings,
Freya
PS The example I mentioned of a bad translation (not that I'm very good at it, but you'll get my gist)
Nora Roberts – For now, Forever - Original tekst:
She opened her mouth, shut it again, then grinned. "I don't remember. Have I ever told you what a magnificent body you have, Daniel?""Such well-developed pectoral muscles."
Her blouse fell with a muffled splash. "And where might they be?"
"Just here," she murmured and ran a hand over his chest. "The deltoids are very firm. And of course the biceps are impressive, not obviously bulging, just hard." Her fingers slid over his shoulders and down as he tugged off her skirt. "It shows not simply strength but discipline—like the abdomen—very flat and tight." His breath caught as she explored there.
"Tell me, Anna—" he lowered his mouth to her ear and began to trace it with his tongue "—just how many muscles are there?"
Her head fell back, and the water sluiced over her. Naked, wet, pliant, she smiled up at him. "There are over six hundred muscles in the body, all attached to the two hundred and six bones that make up the skeleton."
"Fascinating. I'm wondering how many of mine you might point out."
"We could start with the muscles of the lower limbs. I admire your walk."
"Do you?"
"Yes, it's very firm and arrogant, but not quite a swagger. This, naturally, has something to do with your personality, but you also need your antigravity muscles, such as the soleus…" She bent down just enough to run a finger up his calf. Water poured over her hair. "The vasti," she continued, running a finger up his thigh, "and…" With a sound of approval, she slid her hands around to his bottom.
He grinned and let himself enjoy. He'd never had a woman give him quite so interesting a lesson. "I thought that muscle had more to do with sitting. The things you learn in anatomy class."
He switched off the water then reached for a towel to cover both of them.
"The gluteus maximus—" with an approving murmur, she ran her hands over him again "—has to stretch sufficiently or else you'd have a tendency to jackknife forward as you walk."
"Can't have that," he murmured as he gathered her up in his arms. "Especially when you're carrying precious cargo."
"And this is one of your most attractive muscles."
"Thank you." Flinging the towel aside, he lay with her on the bed. Warm night air played over damp skin.
"Now the adductors, the muscles on the inside of the thighs…"
"Show me."
"Just here." Her fingers reached down and skimmed over him just as his mouth closed over hers.
With her eyes half shut, she sighed and nuzzled into him. "I don't think you're paying attention."
"Oh, but I am. The adductors. Just here." Strong fingers pressed into firm thighs. "Just here," he repeated, "where your skin's like silk and already warm for me. And here." His hand journeyed up to tease the sensitive area where hip and thigh joined. "What are these muscles here?"
"They're—" But she could only moan and arch against him.
He caught the lobe of her ear in his teeth. "Have you forgotten?"
"Just touch me," she whispered. "It doesn't matter where."
With a sound of triumph, he took his hands over her, skimming, caressing, kneading, arousing. Like putty, she seemed willing to be molded. Like fire, she tempted and dared. Like a woman, she softened and tensed and gave. Her hands were as eager as his, her lips as hungry. Their skin dried in the warm summer air, then became damp again with excitement.
Each time, she thought hazily, each time they made love, it was more thrilling, more beautiful. The first time, the hundredth time, the edge of desire was never dulled. In a field of grass, on feather pillows it was just as volatile. In the bright light of day, in the dark secret night it was just as frenzied. She'd never stop wanting him. Of all the questions she'd asked herself, she was sure of that answer. Need for him would never fade.
“Nee.” Hij begon haar uit haar natte kleren te pellen. “Waarom doe je dat nú niet?’
Ze nam uitgebreid de tijd om al zijn indrukwekkende spieren aan te raken terwijl ze er hoogst complimenteus commentaar bij leverde. Zijn zinnen kwamen tot leven, even als die van haar. Toen ze, nat en hartstochtelijk, versmolten, was hun eenwording zo boordevol extase dat het hun beide de adem benam.
"No." He began the task of peeling off her clothes. "Why don't you tell me now?"
She took her time to touch all his impressive muscles while commenting on them with the highest praise. His senses came alive, just as hers.
When they came together, wet and passionate, their unity was so full of ecstasy that it took away their breath.
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