Is That a Fish in Your Ear? (8 page)
Read Is That a Fish in Your Ear? Online
Authors: David Bellos
, “locked up”) in Russian. He decided to call themzeks
.
Zeks
is not a possible word of Russian. It is a sound translation of a Russian stem, altered in a way that marks it as an English plural. If translation is just the transfer of meaning from one language to another, then
zeks
is not a translation at all, and it is not English, either. But that clearly will not do. Translation involves many things that don’t fit common definitions. It is much more interesting to expand our understanding of translation than to reject the work of Solzhenitsyn’s translator on the grounds that it is incompatible with the dictionary. That would be to throw out the baby
instead of
the bathwater.
Things People Say About Translation
It’s a well-known fact that a translation is no substitute for the original.
It’s also perfectly obvious that this is wrong. Translations
are
substitutes for original texts. You use them in the place of a work written in a language you cannot read with ease.
are
substitutes for original texts. You use them in the place of a work written in a language you cannot read with ease.
The claim that a translation is no substitute for an original is not the only piece of folk wisdom that isn’t true. We happily utter sayings such as “crime doesn’t pay” or “it never rains but it pours” or “the truth will out” that fly in the face of the evidence—Russian mafiosi basking on the French Riviera, British drizzle, and family secrets that never get out. Adages of this sort don’t have to be true to be useful. Typically, they serve to warn, console, or encourage other people in particular circumstances, not to establish a theory of justice, a weather forecasting system, or forensic science. That’s why saying a translation is no substitute for the original misleads only those who take it to be a well-known fact. It’s truly astounding how many people fall into the trap.
When you say “crime doesn’t pay” to a teenager caught filching a DVD from a market stall, it does not matter whether you believe this to be true or not. You are trying to steer the young person toward acceptance of the eighth commandment and using a conventional phrase in the service of that moral aim.
Similarly, a schoolteacher who has just caught his students reading
The Outsider
in English when they were supposed to be preparing their lessons by reading Camus’s novel in French may well admonish them by saying in an authoritative tone of voice, “A translation is no substitute for the original!” The students know it’s not true because they have just been caught using the translation as a substitute for the original. But they also understand that the teacher used a piece of folk wisdom to say something else that really is true—that only by reading more French will they improve their language skills. The teacher means to spur them into greater assiduity, not to speak the truth about translation.
The Outsider
in English when they were supposed to be preparing their lessons by reading Camus’s novel in French may well admonish them by saying in an authoritative tone of voice, “A translation is no substitute for the original!” The students know it’s not true because they have just been caught using the translation as a substitute for the original. But they also understand that the teacher used a piece of folk wisdom to say something else that really is true—that only by reading more French will they improve their language skills. The teacher means to spur them into greater assiduity, not to speak the truth about translation.
Students eventually graduate and get jobs, and soon enough some of them start writing book reviews. In those circumstances, when they have to write about a work of foreign literature translated into English and are lost for a phrase to use, they may parrot the warning they first heard at school. In common with all things people say and write, however, the force of the saying that “a translation is no substitute for an original” is completely altered when the context of utterance is changed.
In its new context, it means that the writer of the book review possesses sufficient knowledge of some original to be able to make a judgment that its translation is not a substitute for it. Whether or not the reviewer really has read the original work, the assertion that the translation does not constitute a substitute for it puts the reviewer in charge.
Using the adage in this way obviously affects the meaning of the word
substitute
. If, for example, I said, “Instant coffee is no substitute for espresso made from freshly ground beans,” I would be wrong, in the sense that the purpose of instant coffee is to serve as a substitute for more laborious ways of making the drink; but also right, as long as the word
substitute
is understood to mean “the same as,” “as good as,” or “equivalent to.” Instant coffee is clearly not the same as espresso; many people regard it as not as good as espresso; and because preferences in the field of coffee are matters of individual taste, it is not unreasonable to treat powdered coffee as not equivalent to espresso. We do often say all these more explicit things about coffee. But it is not so straightforward when it comes to translation.
substitute
. If, for example, I said, “Instant coffee is no substitute for espresso made from freshly ground beans,” I would be wrong, in the sense that the purpose of instant coffee is to serve as a substitute for more laborious ways of making the drink; but also right, as long as the word
substitute
is understood to mean “the same as,” “as good as,” or “equivalent to.” Instant coffee is clearly not the same as espresso; many people regard it as not as good as espresso; and because preferences in the field of coffee are matters of individual taste, it is not unreasonable to treat powdered coffee as not equivalent to espresso. We do often say all these more explicit things about coffee. But it is not so straightforward when it comes to translation.
People who declare translations to be no substitute for the original imply that they possess the means to recognize and appreciate the real thing, that is to say, original composition as opposed to a translation. Without this ability they could not possibly make the claim that they do. Just as an inability to distinguish two types of coffee would deprive you of any possibility of comparing them, so the ability to discriminate between “a translation” and “an original” is a basic requirement for anyone who wants to claim that one of them is not the same as, equivalent to, or as good as the other.
In practice, we look at the title page, jacket copy, or copyright page of a book or the byline at the bottom of an article to find out whether or not we are reading a translation. But in the absence of such giveaways, are readers in fact able to distinguish, by the taste on their linguistic and literary tongues, whether a text is “original” or “translated”? Absolutely not. Countless writers have packaged originals as translations and translations as originals and gotten away with it for weeks, months, years, even centuries.
Fingal, an Ancient Epic Poem in Six Books
appeared to great acclaim in 1762. For many decades, it was held to give precious insight into the ancient culture of the original inhabitants of Europe’s northwestern fringe. Figures as eminent as Napoleon and as learned as the German philosopher Johann Gottfried von Herder were entranced by the authentic folk poetry of the “Gaelic Bard.” But they were wrong. The story of Ossian hadn’t been invented by Celtic poets at all. It was written in English by a minor poet called James Macpherson.
appeared to great acclaim in 1762. For many decades, it was held to give precious insight into the ancient culture of the original inhabitants of Europe’s northwestern fringe. Figures as eminent as Napoleon and as learned as the German philosopher Johann Gottfried von Herder were entranced by the authentic folk poetry of the “Gaelic Bard.” But they were wrong. The story of Ossian hadn’t been invented by Celtic poets at all. It was written in English by a minor poet called James Macpherson.
Horace Walpole had a shorter run. In the introduction to the first edition of
The Castle of Otranto
(1764) he claimed his novel was but a translation of an Italian work first published in 1529, and he promised to make it available if his work met with any success. It did—in fact, it was a bestseller and spawned a whole genre of writing called “Gothic horror.” A second edition was needed, and so the author had to eat humble pie. He could not produce the Italian original, for there was none. He, too, had written his “translation” in English.
The Castle of Otranto
(1764) he claimed his novel was but a translation of an Italian work first published in 1529, and he promised to make it available if his work met with any success. It did—in fact, it was a bestseller and spawned a whole genre of writing called “Gothic horror.” A second edition was needed, and so the author had to eat humble pie. He could not produce the Italian original, for there was none. He, too, had written his “translation” in English.
Even grander deceptions speckle the history of many literatures.
The Letters of a Portuguese Nun
, first published in French in 1669, purports to be a translation, even though the original was never produced. This exquisite spiritual text fascinated readers for three centuries and was translated from French into many other languages—one version was done into German by the poet Rainer Maria Rilke, who never even suspected that he had been taken for a ride. The letters had in fact been written in French by Guilleragues, a friend of Jean Racine. The hoax was not unraveled until 1954.
1
The Letters of a Portuguese Nun
, first published in French in 1669, purports to be a translation, even though the original was never produced. This exquisite spiritual text fascinated readers for three centuries and was translated from French into many other languages—one version was done into German by the poet Rainer Maria Rilke, who never even suspected that he had been taken for a ride. The letters had in fact been written in French by Guilleragues, a friend of Jean Racine. The hoax was not unraveled until 1954.
1
A more recent example of pseudo-translation in French is provided by Andreï Makine, whose first three novels, published between 1990 and 1995, were presented as works translated from Russian by the fictional Françoise Bour. In 1995
Le Monde
revealed that they were French originals and thus cleared the way for Makine’s fourth novel,
Le Testament français
, to win the Prix Goncourt, which is awarded only to writers of French.
Le Monde
revealed that they were French originals and thus cleared the way for Makine’s fourth novel,
Le Testament français
, to win the Prix Goncourt, which is awarded only to writers of French.
Pseudo-translations can be hard to kill off once they have come to life. In Soviet Russia, the poet Emmanuel Lifshitz felt he could express himself more fully by writing as if he were someone else—as James Clifford, an Englishman who did not exist. Originally printed in
The Batum Worker
, the twenty-three poems purportedly translated from English were reprinted in Moscow with a short biography of the poet, which tried to give the game away in its closing sentence: “Such could have been the biography of this English poet, who grew up in my imagination and who has materialized in the poems whose translation I ask you to consider.”
2
But even clues as big as that can be missed by readers who really want to believe they can tell the difference between originals and translations. Lifshitz did not include the Clifford poems in collections of his own verse, and that is perhaps why James Clifford lived on in literary circles as a well-known English poet for many years. In conversation with Lifshitz, Yevgeny Yevtushenko mentioned how well he remembered the melancholic Englishman—a true eccentric.
3
The Batum Worker
, the twenty-three poems purportedly translated from English were reprinted in Moscow with a short biography of the poet, which tried to give the game away in its closing sentence: “Such could have been the biography of this English poet, who grew up in my imagination and who has materialized in the poems whose translation I ask you to consider.”
2
But even clues as big as that can be missed by readers who really want to believe they can tell the difference between originals and translations. Lifshitz did not include the Clifford poems in collections of his own verse, and that is perhaps why James Clifford lived on in literary circles as a well-known English poet for many years. In conversation with Lifshitz, Yevgeny Yevtushenko mentioned how well he remembered the melancholic Englishman—a true eccentric.
3
Examples of the reverse process, passing off translations as original works, are probably just as numerous. Three novels by the multilingual writer-diplomat Romain Gary that were purportedly composed in French (
Lady L
., 1963;
Les Mangeurs d’étoiles
, 1966; and
Adieu Gary Cooper
, 1969) had actually been written and published in English (as
Lady L
, 1958;
The Talent Scout
, 1961; and
The Ski Bum
, 1965, respectively) then secretly translated by a senior editor at Gary’s French publishing house. How many translations have been misrepresented as originals and never rumbled? It can’t be the case that every deception of the kind has already been unmasked.
Lady L
., 1963;
Les Mangeurs d’étoiles
, 1966; and
Adieu Gary Cooper
, 1969) had actually been written and published in English (as
Lady L
, 1958;
The Talent Scout
, 1961; and
The Ski Bum
, 1965, respectively) then secretly translated by a senior editor at Gary’s French publishing house. How many translations have been misrepresented as originals and never rumbled? It can’t be the case that every deception of the kind has already been unmasked.
Authors have many reasons for wanting to pass off original work as a translation and a translation as an original. Sometimes it helps to get through censorship, sometimes it is to try out a new identity. It can serve individual or collective fantasies about national or linguistic authenticity, and it can be done just to pander to a public taste for the exotic. What all such deceptions underscore is that reading alone simply does not tell you whether a work was originally written in the language you are reading it in. The difference between a translation and an original is not of the same order as the difference between powdered and steamed coffee. It’s more than just an idea. But it is not at all easy to demonstrate.
The idea that a translation is not a substitute for an original work must also be subjected to another critique. If the adage were true, then what would users of a translation get from reading a translation? Not the real thing, obviously. But they would not even get a substitute for it—not even the literary equivalent of powdered coffee. Asserting the irreplaceable nature of a literary original condemns those who cannot read the language in question to the consumption not of Nescafé but of dishwater. No opinions would be worth holding except by those who read works in the original.
Yet the examples of Cervantes (
Don Quixote
claims to be translated from the Arabic), Walpole, Macpherson, Gary, Guilleragues, Makine, Clifford, and countless others demonstrate that nobody can be certain that what he has read
is
an original.
Don Quixote
claims to be translated from the Arabic), Walpole, Macpherson, Gary, Guilleragues, Makine, Clifford, and countless others demonstrate that nobody can be certain that what he has read
is
an original.
Ismail Kadare tells another story about the indistinction of original and translated texts in his memoir-novel,
Chronicle in Stone
. As a ten-year-old, he was entranced by a book he’d been given by an uncle. With its story of ghosts, castles, murder, and betrayal, it appealed to him immensely, especially as it seemed to explain some of what had been going on around him in the fortress city of Gjirokastër over the preceding years of war and civil strife. The book’s title?
Macbeth
, by William Shakespeare. Young Ismail could see Lady Macbeth down the street, wringing her hands on the balcony, washing away the terrible things that had happened in her home. He had no idea that the play had originally been written in English. In childish fascination with a text he reread many times, Kadare copied out the unsuspected translation by hand, and nowadays, when asked by interviewers which was the first book he ever wrote, he always answers, with only half a smile,
Macbeth
. To this day, Kadare has not learned to speak English, but he counts
Macbeth
as the founding experience of his own life in literature. Whatever the quality of the translation that so inspired him, it clearly did not have the effect of dishwater. It was more like an elixir.
Chronicle in Stone
. As a ten-year-old, he was entranced by a book he’d been given by an uncle. With its story of ghosts, castles, murder, and betrayal, it appealed to him immensely, especially as it seemed to explain some of what had been going on around him in the fortress city of Gjirokastër over the preceding years of war and civil strife. The book’s title?
Macbeth
, by William Shakespeare. Young Ismail could see Lady Macbeth down the street, wringing her hands on the balcony, washing away the terrible things that had happened in her home. He had no idea that the play had originally been written in English. In childish fascination with a text he reread many times, Kadare copied out the unsuspected translation by hand, and nowadays, when asked by interviewers which was the first book he ever wrote, he always answers, with only half a smile,
Macbeth
. To this day, Kadare has not learned to speak English, but he counts
Macbeth
as the founding experience of his own life in literature. Whatever the quality of the translation that so inspired him, it clearly did not have the effect of dishwater. It was more like an elixir.
Why then do people still say that a translation is no substitute for an original? The adage might conceivably be of use to people who consciously avoid reading anything in translation, as it would justify and explain their practice. But since there is no reliable way of distinguishing a translation from an original by internal criteria alone, such purists could never be sure they were sticking to their guns. And even if by some stroke of luck they did manage to keep clear of all but original work in their reading, they would end up with a decidedly peculiar view of the world—if they were English readers, they would have no knowledge of the Bible, Tolstoy, or
Planet of the Apes
. All the adage really does is provide spurious cover for the view that translation is a second-rate kind of thing. That’s what people really mean to say when they assert that a translation is no substitute for original work.
Planet of the Apes
. All the adage really does is provide spurious cover for the view that translation is a second-rate kind of thing. That’s what people really mean to say when they assert that a translation is no substitute for original work.
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