The first time Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky translated a Russian novel together, it felt as though another man had joined their marriage: Dostoyevsky.
“It was a mariage à trois,” Volokhonsky said over coffee at her and Pevear’s rambling apartment in the 15th arrondissement of Paris. “Dostoyevsky was always in our mind. We just lived with him.”
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