Tag: literature

  • Translation Ethics and Choice

    Translation Ethics by Joseph Lambert was a well-written introduction to the sub-field that posed many questions while leaving the reader free to come up with his or her own answers. Of course, this left me plenty of time to mull over the different paths that could be taken in its various case studies (a few of which I will discuss here), and it also left me slightly peeved at the hesitancy of the modern author to take any firm stance on any issue—though I fully understand it. This is a short review of several tiny parts of the book that are on my mind at the moment. I shall come back to other parts in future posts.

    Once one accepts that direct word-for-word translation is not optimal in 100% of cases—let’s say, “red dust” for the Chinese “红尘” (红 = red, 尘 = dust), a word which means the world of mortals (as opposed to the world of deities), the translator is opened up to a world that is, on one hand, quite a fun and creative endeavor. This perhaps explains why some people want to be translators; it’s much more than just copy-pasting word by word from a dictionary, to put it very crudely. On the other hand, the book states that translators may be grappling with a long list of considerations: personal interest, competing ideologies, power dynamics, moral relativism, xenophobia, and the list goes on. I have seen situations where a translator is forced to choose a side because every word, for better or for worse, is laced with connotation; or better yet, if it is neutral, then the adage “silence speaks louder than words” can be applied directly to neutral writing. To use a few scapegoats that won’t get me in trouble, consider the reaction of Americans to calling North Korea’s state mouthpieces “independent news outlets,” or Kim Jung-Un a “duly-elected leader,” simply because that is how these terms might be written in Korean (I don’t know Korean; this is merely a fictional and exaggerated example).

    Surprisingly, that is basically what I do in my translating, though not all translators may have the same luxury. I think the translator has a basic veto right; that is, as one of many translators out there (i.e., not a monopoly providing a basic necessity), he or she has the right to refuse service to any client, for any reason, but particularly for reasons of ideology. Perhaps a translator may still take a client whose works go against their beliefs, and try to be neutral and invisible, but perhaps they ought to also let a client know if they have any biases that could impact the finished product, and let the client decide if the translator should be recused. One example from the book that stood out to me was a German translator translating a Finnish author’s novel to German. The protagonist of the novel had a very unfortunate birthday: April 20th, the same day as Hitler. What happened in practice was that the translator unilaterally decided to change the birthday to April 19th to avoid the novel being taken for Neo-Nazi Propaganda, choosing to not contact the author for fear of being disallowed the change. Recently, online, I have seen other cases brought forward by members of Japanese anime communities lamenting more heavy-handed changes made by localizers trying to scrub lines that are, to them, supporting “the patriarchy.” Different translators will feel that the line that shall not be crossed is in different places, and different readers want different levels of strict translation or ignorant bliss.

    I find it is much easier to ascribe nearly unlimited intelligence to the reader, and simply let the chips fall where they may. In cases of extreme discomfort, I come down on the side of the translator’s veto. If I’m uncomfortable working with the material, I won’t promise the client transparency while “saving the world” in the background. I may make suggestions on changes, which authors can sometimes be amenable to, and I may choose to not work on a specific project. It is true that certain viewpoints will be shared more by me as a result of this; no man is an island. I believe it’s better to respect the client and the work by talking upfront than to go behind their back and make stealth edits to appease my own sense of justice, morality, or what have you. I hope other translators do the same in order to lend more respect to our industry.

  • What is poetry translation?

    There are many who translate poetry today, yet they vary greatly in their translation styles, and the results are perhaps even more variegated than the translators, even for the same poems. A cynic might say that these people are looking to stand out, to make their mark, and if they have to run roughshod all over the original, it doesn’t matter. I prefer to think that they are simply coming from different places and hold different opinions or beliefs on translation. Of course, a part of the differences may be up to translator error. So, what constitutes an error, what constitutes a conscious choice, and what is a poetry translation?

    Arthur Schopenhauer famously said that “Poetry cannot be translated.” In fact, many have shared his view over the years. If economics is the dismal science, then poetry translation may well be the downright pessimistic science. In my own experience, he is largely correct; poetry can perhaps never be rendered perfectly in another language. When I get close, it feels like part luck and part skill. For instance, a rhyme that just happens to exist in English, and I found it. Still, rhymes are only one layer to the onion. Vladimir Nobokov wanted “copious footnotes,” and not the “emasculation and padding” of “. . . poetical versions, begrimed and beslimed by rhyme.” I agree with and share this want for myself, but it may not be a method that works for all audiences. Some audiences read poetry to study history, some read it to study the author, some read it to feel something, and some read it to dream. The real question is whether the kinds of poetry tailored to these audiences should all be considered translations, or whether some of them are, well, other things. Transcreations, adaptations, localizations—take your pick.

    I come down on the side of fire and brimstone. Conservatism in defining translation. Just like a biblical translator would, I take the original document as the word of God. The best policy when you want to change something is to consult the author. Barring that, no can do. Any activities like paying attention to cultural sensitivity, adding in new content to make rhymes that snap, etc., are, to me, outside the scope of translation (though perhaps ultimately useful and necessary to a particular client).

    A natural corollary to this is that translations should be nearly one-to-one. That is, there ought to be some quantifiable and acceptable band of liberty a translator can take, outside which the text can no longer be considered a translation, strictly speaking. And translators should be tasked with self-reporting if their work is a translation or another endeavor. After all, there is nothing stopping translators from writing their own stories. Be creative as you will. Just not on the page that is supposed to contain the words, thoughts, and stories of another author, merely transposed into another language. Put that way, it seems that translators taking excessive liberties could be diagnosed with “main character syndrome” (read: excessive self-importance).