Next in Translation (And What's Missing)

Congratulations to translator Anne O. Fisher (and past Isak contributor) for winning a literature translation fellowship from the National Endowment for the Arts! She's got a fascinating project in the works, with funds going to support...

... the translation from the Russian of The Joyous Science: The Selected Poetry of Maxim Amelin. Born in 1970, Amelin is considered one of the defining voices of the “Thirty-Year-Olds,” the last generation to grow up under Soviet power. He has helped run two of Russia’s most successful and respected post-1991 publishing houses. His poetry has been called “archaic-innovative,” offering a nod toward the classics while using slang and contemporary references.

In truth, it's a thrilling cast of translators that received fellowships. I'm particularly finding myself a fan of Esther Allen's brilliant projects, both on the page and off. Allen won NEA support for for...

... the translation from the Spanish of Zama, a novel published in 1956 by Argentine writer Antonio Di Benedetto. Zama is the second of Di Benedetto’s 10 novels, none of which have been translated into English. Part historical, part allegory, the novel is written in a precise, jarring style that contrasts with the prevalent flowing prose of magical realism associated with works from Latin America. A quarter of a century after it was published, it won the prestigious Italia América Latina prize.

I am a little down, however, about a ratio that finds only three of the twenty funded projects will be translations of literature written by female authors. That's about fifteen percent. (One of the twenty is an anthology of Korean stories and presumably won't have all male authors ... will it?) Lest this be an egregious fluke, I looked back at the last round of NEA translation fellowships. The gender ratio of fellowships for translated fiction and poetry in 2010? 3:13. And the year before that? 1:12.

In total, in the past three rounds of fellowships from the NEA, seven supported projects that brought literature by female authors into English, and forty-two went to support translations of books by male authors. (It's worth noting that the people funded for these projects--the translators--have a much more balanced representation.)

When numbers like this come forth, it often slides into a game of finger-pointing. Some claim there's institutional fault (in this case, the NEA) for cultivating a translated literature that diminishes the perspectives of half of the human population. Others will blame translators for not taking as seriously fiction and poetry by women when they select their next project, and others still will say that the skewed numbers are a mere reflection of the lack of equal representation in what's published in other countries, and indeed all over the world -- especially considering that many funded projects are older texts when, seriously, truly, there simply wasn't much work by women published at all. And finally, others will ask who gives a shit -- literature in translation is already a dangerously endangered species, comprising less than three percent of everything that's published in the United States. Surely, these folks will say, let's treasure our global voices where they may fall, choose our battles, and get on with it.

At different times, I am capable of arguing passionately on every side of this puzzle. Today, I find myself not particularly provoked by any one of the claims, and yet still aware that summing it all up in a pat "everyone's a little responsible! let's all be more aware!" manner that carries a whiff of panel discussion wrap-up effectively neuters the whole conversation -- even if the shared responsibility bit is true.

So right now, I feel my excitement about this current round of fascinating translation projects tempered simply by sadness for what's missing. I love literature in translation because of the wildly varying vantages it offers me of this world, and this life. So many ways of making art! So many different and potent voices! Given that we can all agree that an individual has a substantially different experience of this world because of what gender they are, I'm sad that such a huge range of perspectives are simply missing -- even in translated literature, a category that theoretically hinges on the value of diverse perspectives. Et tu?

Awhile back, I wrote an article about the skewed voices that are finding their way into the very narrow space allotted for translation into English these days, and, shucks, I got to interview Esther Allen for it in her role as the executive director of the Center for Literary Translation at Columbia University. (It's not the only time I've gotten all fangirl for translators.) The bad news: it doesn't look like much has changed since I wrote that piece in 2007. The worse news: it doesn't look like much is changing.

Yet.

Comments

[gina]

I love that you are a fangirl of translators! I listened to the Reading the World podcast with Esther Allen, which inspired me to read books in translations deliberately.

I admit that I didn't even notice the gender ratio, but you make a good point. I'm of two minds: yes, there's a dearth of translated fiction by female authors and oh man, there's a dearth of translated fiction period.

I don't remember who tweeted it but someone proposed, rather cheekily, that he/she'd prefer to say that a book had been Englished, rather than translated. I had a good laugh.

[Anna Clark]

Yeah, I loved that Reading the World podcast! I'd love your recommendations of favorite books in translations.

Englished is a fun word. I like that it makes the point that a book is translated into English specifically, rather than letting the word "translated" just be PRESUMED to mean "translated into English"--when the book could've been translated into 20 other languages before it ever made its way to English.

[gina]

So far, I've enjoyed Brodeck by Philippe Claudel, tr by John Cullen. One one hand, it's a novel about WWII but what was most interesting and horrifying was the negative effects of group think and rejection of outsiders/other.

Another is I Saw Ramallah by Mourid Barghouthi, tr by Edward Said. I haven't finished it but what I've read has been eye-opening about Palestine (although I have to remind myself that this is just one man's view, that I really don't know much about the Israeli/Palestinian tensions). Taking politics out of the equation, Barghouthi jumps back and forth, comparing memories of his childhood in Palestine to the city he's walking through as an adult after having been exiled for 30 years. His thoughts on homecoming vs memory are compelling. Hope to finish this sooner rather than later.

Do you have any recommendations?

[gina]

Ugh, Barghouti not Barghouthi.

[Anna Clark]

Ooo, I'm especially interested in "I Saw Ramallah" -- there's so much I have to learn about Palestine and Israel, and I feel a little overwhelmed by how much text there is about it. It's great to be pointed directly to the good stuff. Thank you!

Translation I've like recently:

"Broken Glass Park" by Alina Bronsky, translated from German by Tim Mohr. (Europa Editions) It's in the voice of a super-smart 17 year old Russian immigrant living in Germany. She's just months beyond witness her mother murdered by her stepfather. Very sharp book, very strong characters; I swallowed it whole.

"The Golden Calf" by Ilya Ilf & Evgeny Petrov, translated by Konstantin Gourevitch and Nancy Anderson. (Open Letter Books) It's a comic novel from 1928-1930 in the Soviet Union and features Ostap Bender, a con man who's become a classic figure in Russian culture. The humor really holds up, and it's an unusual vantage into a strange time and place. Lots of fun. Russian Life also published a new version of this book as "The Little Golden Book" with Anne C. Fisher translating.