When I first moved to the Netherlands, I worked as a translator. A
catalogue for the Rijksmuseum, a Ph.D. dissertation on patients’ rights,
an environmental law journal. I translated because it was a way for me
to learn Dutch, word by word. It felt like an algebra exercise. Each
sentence was an equation. All I had to do was work out the variables.
hidden works
In my second job as a lawyer,
I continued to translate though the work got a lot harder. I explained
to foreign clients how Dutch law worked, using words borrowed from
another legal system. That’s a tricky thing to do. Legal terms come with
deep roots, a judicial pedigree and legislative baggage. It’s not
enough to know the words in order to translate.
Now that I’m on my third career as a writer,
I am in awe of translators. I love to read about peoples, places and
times that are not my own. Nine times out of ten, you’re talking about a
work in translation. It could be Spanish or Japanese or Danish. And
since I can’t read all those languages, I need translators to reveal
those hidden works to me.
So I don’t understand the sneers dealt out to works in translation. At Blackwell’s,
for example, the Oxford booksellers proudly display original English
works in the front of the shop while the books in translation cower in
the back.
a bum rap
If books in translation are treated like second-class citizens, then their makers are treated even worse.
In 2017, the award went to A Horse Walks Into a Bar, a seering indictment of Israeli society as seen through the eyes of a stand-up comic. No small task for translator Jessica Cohen. As Smith notes:
Humour is notoriously
difficult to translate […] but Cohen acquits herself with aplomb,
swapping a Hebrew neologism meaning, broadly, “top percentile
bloodsucker”, with the brilliantly barbed “eau de one per cent”.
This is no Google translate. A computer could not have made that leap
of imagination. “Eau de one per cent” is translation as an art form.
love at first sight
Every author hopes to write a bestseller. You want it translated into
a dozen languages. A deal with Netflix wouldn’t hurt, either. So the
publisher or the agent or even the author schleps to the Frankfurt Buchmesse or the London Book Fair to sell the foreign rights. I imagine a huge open air market with publishers as fishwives. Hot cockles here!
Maybe it’ll happen for me someday. Or maybe I should hope instead for someone like Lisa Dillman.
She translated the work of Andres Barba as a labor of love. For years,
Barba didn’t know she existed. Yet Dillman went on translating,
eventually corresponding and finally meeting with Barba in person. Even
then, she had no guarantee of publishing her translation of Such Small
Hands.
Enter Transit Books. Based in Oakland, California, this new press publishes primarily works in translation. Or, as their mission statement puts it:
Transit Books is committed to the discovery and promotion of enduring works that carry readers across borders and communities
Such Small Hands was their premiere novel. Lisa Dillman was the translator.
crossing borders
Image source: http://www.wordswithoutborders.org
There are other kindred spirits out there. Like Words without Borders, an on-line magazine for international literature. Their mission is to promote:
cultural understanding through the translation, publication, and promotion of the finest contemporary international literature.
That vision extends well beyond a magazine. Words without Borders encourages teachers to include international literature in their curricula. And publishing houses to produce print anthologies. Like Literature from the “Axis of Evil”: Writing from Iran, Iraq, North Korea, and Other Enemy Nations (The New Press).
Thank you Smith and Cohen and Dillman, Transit Books and Words without
Borders. I’m seeing a future with lots of translation in it. I can’t
wait to start reading.
Note: Lost in Translation was first published by Karen Kao on her blog Shanghai Noir.
As an ex-prof of French, (from which it's relatively easy to translate compared with some of the examples you give), I endorse all the points you make. And I particularly liked 'It’s not enough to know the words in order to translate'. I'd like to have included a picture of a sample of text from the Korean translation of one of my non-fiction books, where words are replaced by (to me) magical symbols, but technology is another language to which I don't have access.
Thank you for this illuminating tribute to the underappreciated art of translation. It reminded me how many translations (to English) I count on the short list of books that have moved me most in all directions - a list that travels through time as well cultural space, and without which I would be provincially impoverished, as would the cultural soup in which I swim.
Veni, vidi...Wiki! Not long ago I had the all-time greatest Great Idea: one, born of total ignorance, that nearly tanked a novel. As you may have guessed from my opening line, my subject is Julius Caesar. But you might not have guessed from the title that my Great Idea entailed his being reborn as a penis. Don't laugh, please, I beg you. I saw no way around this, even though showing JC as a 'dick' might lead some to think that I've written a spoof. In fact, it's a serious thriller. Without giving the plot away, I can say this: I needed JC's ghost, today, remembering his nights with Cleopatra on her fabled golden barge. There was the heart of my book--a ghost trying for 2000 years to relive that lost boogie with Liz. And I'd begun to run with this when my memory corrected me: Mark Anthony, not JC, was on the barge with Cleo. And this was after JC's death. What the hell was I to do, lacking the good sense to check memory's 'facts
Barbara Hughes in the Sportswoman's Library (BL permission) The title of my book has been changed: That Spirit of Independence has become Stars to Steer By . It’s still a book of celebration, mentioning more than one hundred wonderful sea-women. And yes, they are all included because of their variously independent spirits. No change there. The title I chose myself was given me by a rebellious Solent racer called Barbara Hughes. She was racing slim, fast keelboats from the age of about 13 in 1885 and loved it: ‘It is the most delightful education in the world, the most interesting and healthful. It becomes so engrossing that you will not rest until you understand the whole thing and know the why and wherefore of all the different moves.’ Barbara was the 5th of 6 children so was usually subordinate to her father, brothers or older sisters. She wanted to be in charge of her own boat, competing on equal terms: ‘you should have it all in your own hands, with no one to say you “nay”, o
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Imagine you’re a you ng journalist from The Times , reporting on the Hay literary festival. Nice job if you love books and writing – which journalists do, or they’d be doing something else – and you should enjoy it while you can, as literary festivals are sadly in their Götterdämmerung p eriod, what with no corporate sponsor being pure enough to be allowed to fund them, and grants from such lofty organisations as the Arts Council being extremely unlikely, owing to books being lamentably highbrow and middle class (not!). Anthony Horowitz By Edwardx - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=126308848 So there you are, listening to Anthony Horowitz speak on a panel on the subject of rewriting classics by dead authors in order to remove ‘offensive’ language ( as Puffin did last year with a new edition of Roald Dahl’s works ), and you hear him say he doesn’t approve of burglarising books. Yup, that’s what he said. Well, he must have said that, there’
Image Credit: Images created in Book Brush using Pixabay photos Opening lines must hook a reader so they read the rest of your story or article. I aim to write something which intrigues me, draft the rest, and as I do that, ideas occur to strength that first line. So I go back and do so. The act of writing something down in and of itself seems to trigger creativity to come up with more and better ideas. It’s a pity you can’t bottle that effect and bring it out when you need it! As I write a lot of flash fiction, where my maximum word count is 1000 words, the opening line carries even more weight. I see it as doing a lot of heavy lifting. Sometimes I will write circle stories where the closing line is a repetition of the opening one or is similar to it with, say, one minor change. That change has come about due to what happened in the story itself. I find, whatever I write, as long as I have something down to start me off, away I go happily. It can be finding the way into a piece whic
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I'd like to have included a picture of a sample of text from the Korean translation of one of my non-fiction books, where words are replaced by (to me) magical symbols, but technology is another language to which I don't have access.