Translation Throwdown

I just read The Golden Calf by Ilya Ilf & Evgeny Petrov, the new translation of a classic comic novel from the former Soviet Union. My video review of it is coming in about a week for The Collagist, but in the meantime, I'm at the edge of my seat for the strange and amusing throwdown between Open Letter--the publisher whose version I read--and Russian Life, which published a different translation of the same book (calling it The Little Golden Calf) at the exact same time as Open Letter.

Which is weird, given that it took eighty years for any complete English edition of the iconic Russian novel to appear at all.

Russian Life took the first swing in an unattributed post on its website by listing its "points of divergence" with Open Letter's version; that is, why it thinks its version is better. Among them:

7. DESIGN. In keeping with the original publication (as well as later editions of the Bender novels designed and illustrated by, for example, the Constructivist Solomon Telingater or the trio of graphic artists known as Kukryniksy), our version uses bold typography to single out the novel’s quotations, slogans, signs, advertisements, memos, announcements, and posters, using the opportunities of the book form to recreate, as much as possible, the early Soviet experience of being bombarded with New Soviet Culture (in the form of said quotations, slogans, etc.) from all sides, at all times of the night and day.

Chad W. Post from Open Letter hits back on the blog, Three Percent:

So when Russian Life brought out a new translation of Ilf & Petrov’s The Golden Calf (or rather, The Little Golden Calf in Anne O. Fisher’s translation) at the exact same moment that we did, I totally ignored it. Sure, based on our contract it’s a violation of copyright, but shit, we all know how Russians deal with copyright issues (“the more the merrier!”), and really? Russian Life‘s entire distribution system seems to consist of their website and Amazon.com. Fine, cool, whatever. Open Letter’s not afraid of a little competition—the new translation we commissioned from Helen Anderson and Konstantin Gurevich is brilliant, and has received outstanding praise from places like the L.A. Times and PRI’s World Books. I know it’s great. And if more people end up reading Ilf & Petrov’s hysterical masterpiece because there are two brand-new translations, then so much the better. The point is getting people to pick this up; no one’s going to make an Koreiko-like fortune off of the sales of this book. At least not for a hundred or so years.

So we didn’t send the cease and desist letter to Russian Life that we could have. And I never even bitched up a storm here on the blog. Why draw attention? ...
I’m not going to defend our book, or go through their list point by point rebutting each of their claims—it’s clear that Russian Life is bitter and jealous about the reviews we’ve been getting and this is their cry for attention—but in addition to having the collective back of our translators/editors/designers, I just can’t help myself ...
... I’m going to let their typeface bit just go, ‘cause really? WTF is this, high school? You’re bragging about your font choice? Ain’t nothing quite like judging a book by its Courier.

Russian Life takes the punch, and offers another one of its own: this time in the form of a toned-down open letter to Chad Post from the publisher, Paul Richardson.

While some parts of our analysis may have struck the wrong tone, nowhere did we attack you or your edition, and we are surprised that you chose to respond with a tirade rather than with a thoughtful, professional analysis, since that would have been more interesting to readers genuinely interested in translation (versus, say, scandal lampreys who are interested in seeking out controversy for its own sake).
... We apologize for any remarks in our comparisons that may have struck you as offensive. That was not our intent. Therefore, we have reviewed these web pages and reworded any comments that might possibly be misread.

::whew::

I watch this bout with fascination because at its best, it reveals the thousands of choices made when translating fiction. How, after all, do you convey the iconic comedy of a serialized story from the early 1930s in the Soviet Union to English-readers in 2010? How might readers make their choices among different translations? What is the purpose of a book like The Golden Calf being introduced to new readers anyway?

These are meaningful questions: at stake is our ability to interact with the imagination of another time and place, the empathy culled through storytelling, the joy of reading, and the truth that cannot be contained in true stories.

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