Asymptote Fall 2018

Image courtesy Asymptote Journal

I usually like to take my time and savor each and every piece in Asymptote before I link to my favorites here, but between NaNoWriMo and work that is simply not going to happen. I made time for cursory reading, at least, and my work did not go unrewarded!

I love Antoinette Fawcett’s essay on Translating Bird Cottage. I don’t have the luxury of spending days, weeks, months to find the right word, to research women’s undergarments in the early 20th century, to do field studies—but I understand the drive to do so. There is always the attendant obsession with finding just the right word, but there is also (if you are translating a piece you love, for the sheer love of it and in the hope that you can bring a thing you love to people who wouldn’t experience it otherwise) the desire to connect with the writer, to walk in their footsteps, to live in the story, to be their companion (or maybe be them). It’s the same reason I had to visit Walden Pond last year, and the reason I carried America Day by Day with me while I was in New York in 2016.

Ana Amaral’s “The Odyssey” (translated from Portuguese by Margaret Costa) is sweet and charming, and a welcome respite from our trash fire world.

Abdelleh Taïa’s reflections on language and multilingualism as an escape (translated by Hodna Nuernberg) are brief but compelling, or they at least touch on things I’ve been thinking about recently.

For Swedish speakers interested in English, or English speakers interested in Swedish, you can listen to Ann Jäderlund read some of her poetry in Swedish while you read Joel Duncan’s translations.

In Other Words: A Coursebook on Translation

In Other Words: A Coursebook on Translation is the third entry on my list of DipTrans-recommended texts on translation.

The 1992 edition of In Other Words: A Coursebook in Translation
Image courtesy Routledge

Despite its publication 26 years ago, even the first edition of In Other Words remains fairly relevant. Unlike Becoming a Translator or Culture Bumps, there’s not much time-sensitive material in here that needs updating, so even the first edition from 1992 still feels fresh and relevant.

As a self-taught translator, Baker’s theoretical framework was a helpful grounding for me, and there more were than a few moments where her commentary caused me to reflect not only on my translation work but also my editing work. Perhaps there are other, better textbooks out there on the subject, but you could certainly do much worse.

On Swimming in Language

I will confess to having a fondness for astrology. Stars, Greek mythology, and the leftover trappings of the New Age movement captured my imagination at a young age, so that’s hardly surprising. I know enough about the topic to know not only my Sun sign, but all the rest of them. And perhaps—because my horoscope contains a good deal of Pisces, the dual fishes swimming in opposite directions, and I’ve consequently steeped myself in fishy lore—that’s why I think about editing and translating as swimming. Or maybe more like deep-sea diving.

(Not teaching, as much. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say that the interactive and interpersonal nature of teaching means that I don’t have to imagine myself into someone else’s thoughts quite as often. They’re right there to interact with me, in the full spectrum of in-person communication.)

One of the psychology rockstars of the last forty years or so is Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi and his “flow” model. If “flow” is a new concept for you in this context, you might better know it as “being in the zone.” Unsurprisingly, since I enjoy my work and am competent at it, I find myself “in the zone” quite regularly. It would be easy enough to simply describe this “swimming” state of being as flow, as being in the zone. It wouldn’t be entirely accurate, though. Swimming in language isn’t like getting lost in my own writing, or working on a new piece of jewelry. Swimming in language is something above and beyond “the zone.”

In any writing-related work that I do, there comes a point where I reach out to original writer, or speaker, or whoever generated the text I’m working on, and connect with them in my own head. I’m sure everyone in the field has their own personal metaphor for that connection; the arbitrary one that my consciousness and my physiology has lit upon is swimming. It’s like diving into an ocean with various currents that can carry you different places.

One current is the author: what did they mean? what tone are they trying to convey here? is there a better word to express what they’re getting at?

Another current is the reader: is this construction clear enough? will they get the author’s intention here? will this word disrupt their reading in any negative way?

Translating has a few more currents: the source language and all of its history and metaphors and idioms, as well as the target language. The tension between the two is yet another third stream that can catch me and send me circling for hours without going anywhere.

And beneath all of them is always my own curiosity, a nefarious undertow. A quick check on a given word’s etymology can, if I’m not careful, lead to a half-hour trip down the Google black hole: if these two are related, how about this third term? is there a Swedish equivalent of this idiom? what’s the name for this kind of grammatical construction?

(By now, anyone else familiar with Pisces as a metaphor for the dissolved ego and the collective unconscious can read a deeper meaning into all of this. But without the woo, the metaphor still holds.)

Conversely, if I can’t dive into the language and swim in the words, then work gets much, much harder. Not that editing or translating is all about inspiration and muses, of course, but when I’m properly swimming, the right word or phrase, the right comma or recasting, comes almost effortlessly. When I have to sit and consciously chop things up or look up word after word in the dictionary, the result is always noticeably worse (in my opinion). Most of the time, that belabored solution just gets replaced by something that comes to me, out of nowhere, hours later.

Like deep sea diving, some adjustment is needed to avoid getting the bends. “The bends,” in this case, being unable to communicate and express myself. Trying to think about something other than words, and trying to articulate what I’m thinking and what I want, is a little challenging after a long stretch of language work. It gets even weirder when I’ve been translating; that’s when I switch to an incomprehensible pidgin full of “non-standard” (that is, awful) pronunciation and rookie false friend mistakes I would never make in my professional work. I have to remember who I am, remember how to be myself.

Editors, translators, and other language professionals, I’m curious: what does your work feel like to you?

Becoming a Translator: An Introduction to the Theory and Practice of Translation

I’ve decided to adjust how I go about my book posts. Nothing much will change, except that I’m documenting what I term “continuing professional development” reading separately from the fun reading, or the reading I might recommend to English students. My purpose here is not to review anything as such, but rather to publicly document my own reading and my commitment to professional improvement. Hence these will be rather brief and say-nothing.

Becoming a Translator: An Accelerated Course is one of a number of books recommended by the IoL Educational Trust in their DipTrans Handbook for Candidates. It’s a companion book to Becoming a Translator: An Introduction to the Theory and Practice of Translation. I was able to borrow the second as well as third editions of the latter from Stockholm University Library in March of 2018, though I’m still looking for An Accelerated Course.

There is a lot of useful material in both editions of An Introduction, including thought-provoking translation exercises. However, the second edition is from 2003, making it fairly out of date; the third edition has a tighter and more updated focus. Specifically, it excises what is very much an over-reliance on appealing to learning styles from the early chapters of the second edition and includes a section on machine translation and its impact on the profession. The appendix at the end of the book has also been jettisoned in favor of “recommended reading” lists at the end of each chapter, making finding further research on a particular topic much easier. Academia is notorious for an endless churn of new editions that have nothing new in them (the textbook racket is very much a racket); this is a case where the new edition is a measurable improvement over the last one.