translate this!

This is a thank you letter to Ewald Osers, Ivan Sanders, Willa and Edwin Muir, Angus Davison, Bill Johnston, Chris Andrews, Richard Pevear and Larissa Volokhonsky.  I owe these people big time; they have brought nearly unquantifiable joy, stimulation, and provocation into my life.  And until five minutes ago I didn’t know most of their names.

Here are some other names, many of which I have known for years, some of which are quite new to me: Ivan Klima, Milan Fust, Hermann Broch, Alberto Moravia, Witold Gombrowicz, Roberto Bolano, and Nikolai Gogol.  These are the authors of some of my favorite books and they were introduced (or in some cases, reintroduced) to little, English-speaking me by their translators—the fine men and women listed above.  So now would be the time, gang, to tip your hats to the droves of translators working behind the scenes to bring us extraordinary works of literature from around the world.  ‘Cause without them we’d simply be going without.

Make no mistake, though, translators are in for a rough ride.  Often they get little credit, and all of the flak.  Or, put another way,   
Translators are, for eternity, sent up, put down, nitpicked, and, finally, overturned. The objects of their attentions dread their ministrations. Cervantes complained that reading a translation was "like looking at the Flanders tapestries from behind: you can see the basic shapes but they are so filled with threads that you cannot fathom their original lustre." (Remnick, The Translation Wars)

And for better or worse they are the filters through which we read many a classic, or should-be-classic.  In ninth grade, for instance, I read a collection of Nikolai Gogol’s stories translated by a Victorian woman named Constance Garnett, and was unimpressed.  It was fine but nothing to write home about.  When much later I read a newer translation by the Pevear and Volokhonsky duo I was floored.  I laughed so hard I cried, tears streaming down my cheeks in public places like coffee shops, and subways.  I attracted all sorts of unwanted attention talking to myself—well to the book, really—making comments of awe and disbelief aloud.  It was then that the man (and woman) behind the curtain were revealed to me, forever changing the way I thought about translations.

While translators are the lens through which we see an author’s original work they are, too, the gatekeepers.  Oftentimes, before a first translation is made and published we know little to nothing of a given author at all.  We may hear whispers here and there, but until the work is made available in English all we have is the knowledge that we’re seriously missing something.

Take Roberto Bolano, for instance, a Chilean writer who has long been considered one of the great talents of his generation in the Spanish-speaking world, and who, until just a few years ago, was virtually unknown in the states.  Thanks almost entirely to New Directions publishing house and the fabulous Chris Andrews and Natasha Wimmer his books are all slowly being translated into English.

And let me just say, right now, so there is no confusion, he is as fabulous as the reputation that preceded him suggested.  If I were you I’d start with Last Evenings on Earth, his exquisite collection of short stories.  Basically, if you read this book you will read everything he’s written that’s available; you won’t be able to stop yourself.  He is the most addicting author I’ve read in a long time.  His prose fizzes and crackles like neon, and his devotion to and mastery of the form is clear.  When you’re ready for more, try Amulet, The Savage Detectives, Distant Star, and By Night in Chile.  And keep your eyes peeled for more because the translations are still coming.
While we’re talking translations we need to talk about Archipelago Books, “a not-for-profit press committed to bringing works of classic and contemporary literature from all corners of the world to our shores.”  Just in case you missed that, these guys are non-profit.  On purpose.  I look to them for new authors and new works by authors I know and I am never disappointed.  These are the people who brought us Bacacay by Witold Gombrowicz, an insanely brilliant, absurd, unbeatably funny collection of short stories; A Dream in Polar Fog by Yuri Rytkheu; and Telegrams of the Soul by Peter Altenberg, just to name a few.

The NYRB Classics series is another great source for new translated works, or works that had gone out of print in English.  For instance, they’re reprinting Tatyana Tolstaya’s work, a modern Russian author who has an unparalleled take on contemporary Russia.  She writes like an enchantress.

They published the first full collection of Eileen Chang’s haunting novellas, Love in a Fallen City, translated from Chinese.  And reissued Alberto Moravia’s masterpieces, Boredom and Contempt.  They’ve brought us new translations of Stefan Zweig and Jules Valles.  And introduced a whole new generation of Americans to The Late Mattia Pascal, an brilliantly philosophical comic novel by Luigi Pirandello.  The list goes on and on.

I will close this article with two things.  The first is an encouragement to you, the reader, to get your feet wet in the seas of translated literature.  This is an exciting time for translations, with so many talented translators bringing so many incredible authors into English, and more and more publishing houses actively seeking to print these more-than-worthy books. To quote Archipelago Books one more time, “Multiculturalism and multi-lingualism are inseparable.”

And finally, I will close the way I started, with a thank you to the countless translators who have, in subtle and not-so-subtle ways, changed my life.  My bookshelves and my mind would be significantly impoverished without you.