06.07.2006, 01:49 PM | #1 |
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In light of our little forum book club and its first novel of discussion, "Dead Souls" by Gogol, I wonder, what are some general thoughts on novels in translation?
I see the merits of reading translated novels for plot or 'entertainment' purposes, but as far as literary criticism/deconstruction/dissection, I consider the aforementioned activities pointless in regards to a novel not being read in its original linguistic context. In my humble opinion, so much of a novel is comprised of its syntactical nuances, its vernacular, its sentence construction, its character dialogue, that its translation is more of a bastardization. While it's presumptuous to think that every writer takes advantage of the aforementioned tools for the purposes of conveyance, it's an affront to disregard such pains, and a majority of the value of the work is lost. What of Hardy's romanticism would remain after translation? Rushdie's cynical verbosity? Salinger's dejected minimalism? Not to mention the influence each's geographical roots have had upon their word choice and expression. To me, translation is a tool of convenience and accessibility. If I don't speak the language a book is written in, it is my loss, and to digest it in any other form in hopes of dissecting it is an insult to myself and the author. Thoughts? Comments? Dissenting opinions? Sidenote: Pompous, high-browed, obscure, anally retentive literary references are wonderful, when they are relevant to discussion. They are not so wonderful when put forth to engorge one's perceived intellectual resume. |
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06.07.2006, 01:53 PM | #2 |
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One need only read the subtitles in any Hong Kong film to affirm the correctness of your position.
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06.07.2006, 01:54 PM | #3 |
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This thread is giving me the horn already but i have to go now.Truncated i salute you for starting one of the kind.
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06.07.2006, 02:11 PM | #4 | |||||||
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here's my first salvo: without translation, most of the world would be reduced to intellectual provincialism. would you have ever read homer, or the bible, or plato & aristotle, or the tao te ching an i ching and the yoga sutra or the kama sutra or the epic of gilgamesh? and that's just antiquity, and it's just for starters... Quote:
for the most part it's true; however, just like a movie can on occasion be better than the original book, there are times when a translation can surpass the original. i'll ofer an example in a moment. Quote:
in that case a translation should be an invitation to learn a language. i set off to learn english in earnest when i started reading ulysses in spanish and i found i didn't like it-- i knew the verbal potency was lost, i bid my time, and when i finally arrived to the source i didn't dip-- i splashed and dove and drank until i was sated. Quote:
yes but your choice of authors is limiting. Quote:
why then not just limit yourself to read midwestern contemporary authors? Quote:
plenty Quote:
ok here is my translation story. i'm waiting for someone & decide to go into a bookstore. browsing though the books in spanish, i find this thing called "por el amor de pedro infante". sonorous, musical, campy little title ("for the love of pedro infante"-- he was a mexican movie star of the... 50s?) so i start reading: it's the most colorful, hilarious, horny, insane book i'v seen in ages. i keep readinng, enthralled. but it's time to go! so i ask the bookstore guy about it; the woman who wrote it gave a reading there, signed books, etc. and then he tells me-- it's a translation! i look, and sure, there's a whole TEAM of people who went into writing it. so of course, fool that i am , i buy the original-- which was selling for $5 while the spanish version was $15 (i had to go the dentist so money was short). when i get home, i open the book, and what do i find? a dissapointment. a chick book. a bland, boring narrative of a single woman in a border town. gone was the lush color of mexican slang, the outrageous expressions, the verbal fireworks. the book was called "loving pedro infante" -- you gringos see any music in that? no... i realized then that the translators were much better writers than the author and had surpassed the original version by light years by injecting it with verve and virtuosity and sheer street poetry. do i want to limit myself to the particular province of my particular time and place? do i want to limit my culture to my place in the calendar, to my genes, to the politics of identity, to my insufficiency in other languages? no! no! no! i am too much of a glutton for that. translation however should be in the hands of poets and poets only, because only they can recreate the peculiar magic of a language, for a different time and place, or create a new sort of magic. and on that note, i will never speak or read russian, but i can say guerney is a bona-fide provider of linguistic delights, even though he wrote his translation in 1942 and this is 2006, and, oh, can you say "horse's twat" these days? ha ha hah... i found that in a chapter yesterday. i wouldn't waste my time in any of the rat's ass translations i've seen elsewhere though. -- im in a meeting. i might have fouled up somewhere but i'll reserve the right to edit later. |
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06.07.2006, 02:13 PM | #5 |
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Pompous.
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06.07.2006, 02:15 PM | #6 | |
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it's not my fault i'm perpetually engorged |
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06.07.2006, 02:15 PM | #7 | |
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dubbing too, I can't count how many times i've seen the guy on screen still talking after the dub has finished and instead of just leaving it silent you get some stupid "AHAHAHAHAHAHA" manic laugh or a "eh?" I'd love to see a Wong Kar Wai movie dubbed like that |
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06.07.2006, 02:16 PM | #8 | |
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Yeah, testicular elephantiasis'll do that to you. |
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06.07.2006, 02:17 PM | #9 |
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I read l'étranger as part of French Literature class at A level in both english and french. It was definately better in french
I also read quite a few Haruki Murakami books in english, since I can't read in japanese I don't know what I'm missing. the books are entertaining anyway |
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06.07.2006, 02:18 PM | #10 | |
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He's giving a look like "So what? Haven't you ever seen elephantiasis of the cock before?" |
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06.07.2006, 02:22 PM | #11 | |
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if you continue to hide your ignorance of the written arts by derailing a genuinely interesting discussion with pictures of my nutsac, then i'll teabag you to death |
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06.07.2006, 02:32 PM | #12 |
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It really depends on the style of the writer. Salinger is lost on some people without even being translated.
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06.07.2006, 02:34 PM | #13 | |
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you better be careful, he might call you a ninny. |
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06.07.2006, 02:38 PM | #14 | ||||||
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I'm certainly not averse to reading works in translation in general; my point, which seems to have been lost here, is that while they can be 'enlightening' in a fashion, they are misrepresentative of the original intention of the author. While I may enjoy Guerney's talents of composition, they are entirely independent of the novel's 'value' in its original, unadulterated form. Quote:
See above. I maintain that the translation and the original work exist, while perhaps in tandem and with their own respective merits, separately from one another. Quote:
My point exactly. Quote:
They're examples, geek-boy. If you want to list every author in existence from 1000 B.C. on, have yourself a party. Quote:
Again, you're missing the point. I do not summarily shun works in translation; I do, however, acknowledge that my 'interpretation,' whatever its worth, will be flawed, and traitorous to the original intent. Quote:
To reiterate my point, while I can appreciate the capabilities of a good translator, I won't read a translated novel with the same PURPOSE in mind. To restrict my example to the current issue at hand, Gogol, I feel it fruitless and, to a point, detrimental, to deconstruct the technicalities of his writing, because it is not Gogol's writing I am deconstructing. This does not preclude my enjoyment of his translated works on other, more superficial levels, but it does mean that I am ingesting a literary regurgitation, which, in the best of circumstances, is a diluted and presumptuous caricature of the essence of novel. |
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06.07.2006, 02:38 PM | #15 |
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ok but what about the books. are we talking books or what? books!!!!!
--- oh, sorry-- i missed truncated's response-- my apologies answer forthcoming. |
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06.07.2006, 02:43 PM | #16 |
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Oh fuck it!I'll stay on for an extra hour.
Right,in regard to the subject we are meant to be discussing(teabagging?That deserves its own thread surely.),i just wanted to say that as a polyglot of sort bad translation irritates me more than pigeons in groups of more than ten.I've pretty much learnt(to an extent)to speak english by reading and reading alone while pondering about the meaning of any given word till i feel that i get the sense of it accurately right.Hundreads of subtitled movies later,i find myself the victim of many a nail on the face at the hands of bad translators of any sort.Good ones surely understand that words are more than mere things that come out of a person's mouth? Like an entire psychological apparatus that has its roots and its life within a human being or an artist's life experience for instance. |
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06.07.2006, 02:48 PM | #17 |
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Also, English has SO MANY MORE words than any other language that the translator can choose many different synonyms and possibly twist the meaning in unintended ways.
Of course I have enjoyed translated works, but there are questions for sure. |
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06.07.2006, 02:49 PM | #18 |
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porkie-- it kills me to no end when i see almodovar's verbal pyrotechnics turned into dull, informative one-liners in english. no puns, no joy, no hysterical playfulness. in kika, for example, paul bazzo's name was lost on most english speakers: polvo = sex act, polvazo = (azo = augmentative, therefore) "huge fuck"-- polvazo & paul bazzo are pronounced more or less the same... there are endless instances in every movie.
but on the subject of books: i have to write my reply to the internet temptress that started this thread. |
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06.07.2006, 02:51 PM | #19 |
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Indeed Mr Savage Clone!
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06.07.2006, 02:58 PM | #20 | |
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Which is precisely why a translation is, even at its best, doing a disservice to original. The best writing takes pains to develop its own vocabulary, its own vernacular, its own textual cadence, its own VOICE. Faulkner, for example, employs stream of consciousness, and that, in conjunction with his typically Southern dialect, defines him as a writer, and imbues his tales with individualism. How can you translate Vardaman's nonsensical spewings of guilt, Jewel's stoicism, Dewey Dell's pathetic ignorance? One can create a linguistic reproduction, but such will serve only as informational, and is simply incapable of embodying the original in concentrate. Some translations are poor, and some are exceptional; regardless, a translation simply, as the movie title so aptly states, loses something in the process. |
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