Nordic Research Network

Nordic Research Network
Conference for Postgraduate Students and Early-­‐‑Career Researchers
The University of Edinburgh, 23-­‐‑24 February 2012
Announcement and invitation
Scandinavian Studies at the University of Edinburgh invites participants to the Nordic Research
Network 2012. This two-­‐‑day interdisciplinary conference on 23-­‐‑24 February 2012 will bring together
postgraduate students and early-­‐‑career researchers from Edinburgh and the rest of the UK currently
researching topics relating to the Nordic area. The event will also incorporate a knowledge exchange
workshop on communicating the developing role of lesser-­‐‑taught languages in the university sector.
Following on from the successful first Nordic Research Network symposium held at University
College London in 2010, students and early-­‐‑career researchers will present the objectives or results of
their current research. Through presentations, discussions, socialising activities and workshops, the
conference will offer an ideal platform for the sharing of ideas and for dialogue with like-­‐‑minded
peers, as well as an opportunity to explore the significance of studying the Nordic area in the UK
research environment.
Call for papers
We are now inviting proposals from postgraduate students and early-­‐‑career researchers (with three
years or less of postdoctoral experience) for papers discussing their current research aims or findings.
Participation is not limited to those working within departments of Scandinavian Studies, and
proposals are welcome on Nordic research in all areas of the humanities and social sciences.
Presentations will be followed by discussion and feedback in a supportive atmosphere.
If you wish to present a paper at this conference, please send a title, abstract (up to 200 words) and a
short biographical description to nordicedinburgh@gmail.com by 9 December 2011. These will be
reviewed by the conference committee, and you will be notified of the outcome shortly thereafter.
Social events
In addition to the conference and knowledge exchange workshop, there will be ample opportunities
for social interaction, including an informal dinner. Further programme details will be available soon.
The organising committee
Ersev Ersoy – Dominic Hinde – Guy Puzey
Contact details
E-­‐‑mail: nordicedinburgh@gmail.com
Follow us on Twitter @NordicEdinburgh

Call for Papers

Call for Contributions for issue 20 of Norwich Papers:
“The Next Big Thing: Current Trends in Translation”

The editorial board of Norwich Papers 2012 is pleased to announce its call for contributions for issue 20, focusing on trends in translation studies. We encourage academics and practicing translators, irrespective of experience, to contribute and are looking for an interesting, innovative and international engagement with many possible interpretations of this theme. Possible questions addressed could include, but are by no means limited to:

• Trends in translation theory
• Trends in the process and practice of translation
• Market trends
• Translation and digital and new media
• From local to global – the creation of global trends
• The impact of politics on trends in translation

We are confident that many who work in the field of translation will find something within this theme that is of interest to them, and we look forward to reading your submission, which should be received no later than Friday 30 March 2012. Before sending us your submission, please refer to our style notes and practical guidelines. We are pleased to offer a free copy of issue 20 to all whose contributions we are able to publish.
You can find more information about our back issues and how to purchase them from our website and blog. Please do not hesitate to contact us if you have any queries. We hope that this issue of Norwich Papers will inspire you in some way and we look forward to receiving your contributions.

You can contact the editorial team at norwichpapers@uea.ac.uk and visit our blog - norwichpapers.wordpress.com

With best wishes,
The Editorial Team

Gobblefunking around with words!

The intent of this is not to write my essay. Let me be clear on that.

The intent of this is to write something fun on a fun subject, which until now had remained in the backstage of existence. At least as far as my literary mind was concerned. Then it hit me.
It’s just a load of nonsense! Not only can I write on nonsense, I can actually write nonsense! I could make a living out of it!
Lewis Carroll made it, Edward Lear made it, Roald Dahl made it, Christian Morgenstern made it. Come on, the DADAists, Futurists and Surrealists made it! Ish.
Maybe I should start by looking at what they did. Maybe I should translate what they did! Yeah, that’s a good plan!
…
Oh, there’s already five versions of an Italian Jabberwocky out there? Do we need more vorpal swords? And what do you mean French cows don’t jump over moons; if they can laugh, they can jump. They can train, they’re disciplined. Like dancers.
…
Cut to week 3, we are actually assigned the Jabberwocky, as a translation exercise. O frabjous day!
Calloo! Callay! Ok, now how do I translate brillig…?

The Jabberwocky is a part of any English student’s cultural baggage, especially ones with some Drama in them too. The Jabberwocky is part of a loved children’s classic, by real people and academics alike. The Jabberwocky is a big ugly beast who never actually shows up in the story. It is as ugly as it is hard to translate (see picture).

First things first: the metre. Why did Carroll choose a three-tetrameter/one-trimeter pattern? Why is the rhyme scheme ABAB? Does it mean something? Look at other nursery rhymes. Is it a recurring feature? Not exactly. The rhymes are though. Good, let’s work on that. It must rhyme. ABAB if possible.

Next thing: read-aloud qualities. This is a brilliant excuse to watch the Disney animated version. And Johnny ‘Mad Hatter’ Depp reciting fragments of it in a creepy Scottish accent. That’s how it should be. Mocking, menacing, mischievous and mildly confusing.

Ok. What to do with the actual words? Transliterate, adapt, replace, or just write some plain Italian nonsense? Hang on, wasn’t there a chapter that explained some of them..? Re-read Humpty Dumpty.

“And ‘the wabe’ is the grass plot round a sun-dial, I suppose?” said Alice, surprised at her own ingenuity.
“Of course it is. It’s called ‘wabe’, you know, because it goes a long way before it, and a long way behind it—”
“And a long way beyond it on each side”, Alice added.
(Lewis Carroll, Through the Looking Glass)

Now that is a brilliant word. Ok, I am going to do this translation following the egg-head’s directions. I’d like it to feel as though it belongs in its book.
So far I have: it must rhyme, the words must be explainable, albeit nonsensically, the sounds must be creepy at moments, soothing at others. Good. Tell you what, I’ll keep the names more or less as they are. A bit of familiarity with previous works, and some casual foreignisation. That’ll keep the academics at bay.

I think I’ve got it. The tenses are the same, the metre is there (with a couple of necessary slips), the rhymes work, not forced or clunky. And the Jabberwocky remains the Jabberwocky.
Now, for the real test: what does my eight-year-old brother think of it?

I guess I failed in my original mission. I might use this in an essay after all.




Alex Valente translates Italian and French into English, and English into Italian. He claims he also works with Old English and Latin. In the little spare time his MA in Literary Translation leaves him, he dumps some poetic reflections onto http://angolopolveroso.wordpress.com (where the Jabberwocky now resides, too). If you really feel the urge to talk to him, you can find him at alex.valente@uea.ac.uk.

Multiple Translations of One Text

One thing people who are not familiar with the field of translation often cannot understand is how people can come up with different translations of the same source text. Surely ‘table’ means ‘table’ in any language, so why is translation so hard? Surely there’s a right and a wrong answer, and how on earth could people spend time discussing translation? Just last night, my husband – and he knows more about translation than most digital analysts, by dint of being married to me! – was exasperated to hear another of my flights of translation fancy, and blurted out: ‘You should just translate what’s there!!’

How is it, then, that if you go into Amazon and type in Madame Bovary, you can choose from Geoffrey Wall’s version, Margaret Mauldon’s version, Eleanor Marx-Aveling’s version, Lydia Davis’ version, Adam Thorpe’s hot-of-the-press version etc etc …. Indeed, in researching my Translation Theory module, I came upon a website that had 23 versions of Baudelaire’s poem Le Balcon. As I grappled with the subject – often highly philosophical, and not easy for someone who still remembers re-sitting French Philosophy in the Hall of Shame back at university – I was persuaded that the notion of ‘mind style’, an idea from the field of cognitive stylistics, might be used to explain the existence of vastly different and yet equally valid translations of a single source text.

Mind style can be defined as a linguistic style that reflects a cognitive state. Clues to the mind style of a text are to be found in its implicit information, which in turn can be worked out by looking at the stylistic devices present in a text. Stylistic devices can include such things as alliteration, ambiguity, the repetition of words, complex metaphor, or the use of different registers or of specific syntactic constructions.

I find it plausible that multiple translations of a single source text can exist because translators read the mind style of an author in different ways, influenced as they are by their own individual past experiences and worldviews. In addition to this, the translation goes through a further stage when it reaches the reader, since she or he is also going to filter the translation through her or his own experiences and worldviews.

To illustrate this point: in spring 2011, I produced a (very fine!) sample of a German novel for a literature-promoting organisation. Taken out of the context of the rest of the book, I read the German text quite positively – the scene was Rome in the summer in the 1970s, and as nothing explicitly bad happens in the short section in question, my mind was instantly transported to my own (pleasant) experiences of Rome in the summer. I gave my translation to my sister to read, who said she thought the translation adequately reflected the claustrophobia of the main character … where did claustrophobia come from, I thought? Finally, when I read my sample out at a public reading event, one of the audience’s reactions was to laugh. This is a common reaction in a group setting since it releases tension and conveys approval, but it also showed the translation going through an additional stage, that of being filtered through the mind of the reader (or, in this case, the minds of the listeners).

So the next time we pick up a translated work, we might want to remember that we’re not only getting an insight into the mind of the author, but also into the mind of the translator, and indeed into the way our own minds work, as they interact with the words on the page …

Rebekah Wilson is a freelance translator working from French, German and Dutch into English: www.oxfordtranslations.net.

Rereading Myself

We’re four weeks into the MALT programme now, and I’ve been reading all manner of fascinating books and articles, most of which have lead me to the realisation that there are a hell of a lot of ways to mess up a translation if you don’t take a very long list of things into consideration. I thought I knew how to translate, but no: my job has just got a lot more complicated. This is a terrifying yet exhilarating realisation. As an undergraduate I was taught that I must be sensitive to register, cultural specificities and tone, for example, but now I have to deal with the texts worlds and ideal readers and the wide-ranging implications of cognitive poetics. How am I supposed to know what goes on in other readers’ heads and imagine the responses that they might have to a text when I’m in Norwich and they’re in New York, for example? And how on Earth do I go about translating poetry, when so much of the meaning is between the words rather than in them? My mission, should I choose to accept it, seems to be just that.

And yet, I have to remind myself that I am still a translator (and quite a good one, I must tell myself so as not to be discouraged). I may be getting back into the murky world of theory, but my goal is still to make a career from translation. Rosalind Harvey’s workshop last week was a welcome reminder of that: she spoke about her journey from graduate working in a bookshop to literary translator and what has made the difference for her along the way, certainly made the point that taking part in the BCLT summer school should be top of our lists of priorities, and presented us with a passage to translate. This was taken from Down the Rabbit Hole, Mexican author Juan Pablo Villalobos’ brilliant first novel, which Rosalind translated and which has just been published by & Other Stories. I relished the challenge of translating the troublesomely Mexican term ‘la chingada’ into English, felt the excitement of finding what seemed to be a viable solution in that context and made a mental note to translate more, rather than get bogged down thinking about essays too much. I was encouraged by Rosalind’s advice to ‘be stubborn and friendly’ faced with the daunting task of networking (I’m with her in being horrified by the term alone) and to meet a real-life person who is has come through the MALT programme and is doing just what I hope to do: making a living from literary translation.

On that note I shall return to the books, to reading as an academic, a lover of literature, and a translator. Perhaps these readers that coexist in me could get together and discuss where exactly it is that they overlap, then let me know their findings?

Lucy Greaves translates from Spanish, French and Portuguese into English. She is currently studying the MA in Literary Translation at UEA, and is particularly interested in Latin American literature. Contact: lucygreaves@gmail.com.

More International Fiction Reading Group

B.J. Epstein, who teaches in the MALT programme, helps to run an international fiction reading group at the Norwich Library. It meets once a month, on the second Wednesday of the month at 1.30 – 2.30 pm.

The next meeting is on 9 November and we will be reading Banana Yoshimoto’s Kitchen.

Everyone is welcome.

International Fiction Reading Group

B.J. Epstein, who teaches in the MALT programme, helps to run an international fiction reading group at the Norwich Library. It meets once a month, on the second Wednesday of the month at 1.30 – 2.30 pm. The group is relaunching for the new academic year on 12 October. Everyone is welcome.

You can read more about it on the library’s blog.

Is the author dead or alive?

The translator’s job is a lonely one, just as the writer’s. You are alone with the words. Yes, of course, there will be times when the translator will be stuck and will look for help, but usually such help comes from research, a friend or a native speaker that may clarify something that might be unclear for the translator. At least that is what I always thought about translation. I never expected that any substantial help can some from another person, let alone from the writer. That is why my answer to the title question has always been: DEAD.
After all, even if the author is actually alive, you can’t always expect her/him to be open to questions and willing to help. From the beginning of the MA we have been hearing stories about authors refusing to collaborate with translators. One example is J.K. Rowling who gave no instructions to translators even though it was certain that the translations would reach large audiences. Then, there are authors who are willing to help but simply cannot due to language limitations or because a part of the creative process just cannot be explained, so no matter how much they want to help the translator they cannot. Finally, there are the ones who are eager to help but perhaps are too eager and have overestimated themselves thinking that they know best no matter their target language proficiency. So again, all things considered, my answer remained: DEAD. I really saw no reason why a translator would want to complicate her/his life by contacting the author. And then, when I started working on my own translations again the answer was the same because I chose to translate work by Cavafy, Leivaditis, Bishop, Kariotakis and Gogou, all of them indeed dead.
But then, for an essay I decided to include my translations of some poems by a poet who is alive and kicking and though I was not particularly stuck or anything, I had access to his email address and thought I’d use it. So, I sent an email saying who I was and what I was doing. The reply came soon and read ‘Of course, ask me questions’. It was unexpected in a very pleasant way. The answers to my questions took some time to come, but they meant I could fully support my choices and even quote the original author in my essay. The poet had his doubts about the poems I had chosen and was not sure I was going to be able to render them in English but in the end, the feedback I got for my translations from my tutors suggested that contacting the author had helped the quality of my work. So, perhaps, I thought after that, the author is not-always-dead?
And finally, the summer came which, for MALT-students means one thing; dissertation period and again, I decided to translate an author that is alive and kicking. Again, I was able to get the author’s email address and thought there was nothing to lose, I could use it. And I did. Again, the reply came very soon and was very friendly and encouraging. I went on to send a long email with many questions and the author got back to me giving me answers and –perhaps more importantly- giving me freedom and telling me not to worry too much about translating the original names and puns as such, but to be creative instead. What works in one language does not necessarily work in another. He also offered to look at my translations –he is very fluent in English and has been living in the UK since the early 1970’s- but kept stressing to me that I should not worry too much and should be creative, always politely answering any questions I had.
The above experiences have helped me reach one conclusion in the search of an answer to the title question, that is that the translator should try to see whether the author is alive or dead because there is no fixed answer. Sometimes the author is alive and kicking, but, kicking you away and thus, should be considered dead, and others the author is there to make the translator’s job just a little bit easier.

Avgi Daferera is a translator of English and Spanish into Greek, and Greek and Spanish into English. She just finished an MA in Writing at Warwick and is currently doing an MA in literary translation at UEA. She is interested in the translation of poetry and children’s fiction.
Contact: daferera.avgi@gmail.com

Translators should remain invisible

Domestication; Foreignisation; Venuti: some of the most bandied about words in translation theory. Particularly in the case of the first two, extensive usage , along with their evolving meanings over the course of Venuti’s publications, has led to their suffering from a certain erosion in their precision of meaning. It seems all too simple to identify certain features in a translation – the inclusion of ‘foreign’ words in the translation, the presence of non-standard spellings - and to jump to the conclusion that the translator was foreignising.
Much of this conjecture focuses on what lays within the body of a translated text when what lies a step away can be of equal interest. Metatextual content, for example, is barely touched upon by translation theoreticians. How it integrates with the notion of invisibility is, I feel, a fascinating subject.
At its most fundamental, invisibility is an affliction affecting a given entity’s visual existence within the space of a limited environment . Any attempts to address and alter the level of the entity’s visibility will question not only the ecology, but also the finite nature of the environment.
Most commonly, the provision for footnotes, translator’s forewords and prefaces enables the reader to be more more aware of translatorial decisions and, as a consequence, of the translator. As translators (hopefully) become more inclined to incorporate such features into their published translations, or at least clamour for their inclusion, existing literary conventions will be broken for the better.
As long as this quest for visibility is kept strictly textual, the translator will, in theory, be able to use his or her ability with the written word, the skill which comes most naturally, to address this invisibility. The problem arises when translators follow the lead of the publishing world as a whole, and seeking to appropriate the space on the cover of a dust jacket.
The dreaded photo of the author alongside that of the translator. I say ‘dreaded because I feel that the practice, in both translated and untranslated literatures, is aesthetically unfortunate. It detracts from the power of the written word by placing more emphasis on the visual image of the translator. Perhaps mimicry is understandable as the translator vies for the same rights as that of the source author. Yet it reduces the book, translated or otherwise, to little more than an item for consumption as opposed to a work of art.
While there may well be something endearing about seeing a kindly face on the front of book, it will more likely than not attract the consumer to consume, firs t and foremost, and to read as an after- thought. In the same way that a pop band’s image is arguably more important than the music it produces, the written text becomes secondary to the image of the author.
Respect must therefore be reserved for those faceless authors and translators who consciously choose the path of invisibility ( and a certain pity put aside for those, such as the dead translators, who have no control over it). Or rather, Dust jackets should be allowed to gather dust without the dust having sleepless nights about the toothy mugs, often times two, that may be gasping for attention and breath.

-- Andrew Nimmo is a translator working from Spanish, Portuguese and French into English. His areas of interest include music, journalism, fiction and film. You can contact him at this.means.nimmo@gmail.com.

Subject: Unprofessional interviewers make me sad

Well, I sent off a job application for a subtitling company about a month ago, and actually managed to get an interview with them a few weeks later. Not too bad, one would think. Except that they weren't exactly professional about it.

First, they never confirmed when the interview would actually be, so when the phone call came, I wasn't really prepared. One would think that if you've given a company 4 or 5 different times when you're available that they would confirm it, but no, not this company.

Second, the woman who interviewed me (we'll call her RN, short for Ridiculous Name, because her name, was, in fact, ridiculous) seemed to think that I knew nothing at all about anything to do with the British TV industry. RN's tone of voice also reminded me of the way I've heard some British people speak to non-native English speakers – loud, slow, and incredibly condescending.

Thirdly (is that even a word? If not, it is now), when the interview was about to end, I asked RN if she had any other suggestions for similar jobs (I could tell by this point that the interview wasn't going well, and I thought it made sense to ask her if she knew if anyone else might be hiring in that field). Perfectly reasonable question, I thought. Not to RN, apparently. She gave me a really snide answer – something like "use your university degree and look it up yourself."

That's it for now. I'm sure karma will bite RN in the face some day.

Sabrina Steiner is a Spanish to English translator and Beatles fanatic. You can contact her at beatles4life@gmail.com.

Meanwhile, up in Manchester…

I’m currently writing my dissertation on the translation of comics. In the name of research, last week (5th-8th July), I attended the Joint International Conference of Graphic Novels and Comics and The International Bande Dessinée Society, at Manchester Metropolitan University. Over 4 days, academics, students, artists, authors, and other interested parties variously presented, discussed and generally delighted in the evidently active international comics community. Over 4 days, these same academics, students, artists, authors, and other interested parties deliberated over a multitude of issues pertaining to comics on an international scale. By definition, the discussion centred on both comics in a source-language, and comics in translation (to and from English). Yet not one paper over the 4 days focussed on the translation of comics as a process. Granted, I couldn’t attend all presentations on all days, but from all the abstracts given in the conference programme, I still couldn’t find anything about translation. I was rather surprised by this and, to be honest, a bit disappointed. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been. It’s just that it highlighted once again the invisible nature of our beloved craft at what seemed to me to be a prime opportunity to make some translation noise.

Still, to view the glass half full, it was encouraging to find tangible evidence of a community who not only read translated material, but are aware that it is translated and want to discuss the translated product (even if they’re not discussing the act of translation!) And of course, I ought to remember that this was not a translation conference and that there is more than just that one important aspect of international comics.

Highlights, for me, included Frank Bramlett’s enlightening paper on ‘Conversation Analysis and the Representation of Time in Comics’, in which he discussed how the study of sequentiality in conversation may shed light on how temporal duration is shown in comics; via the linguistic content of the speaker’s turn, rather than the spatial distribution of those turns. Joan Ormrod’s paper ‘Teenage Dream Tonight: UK Girls’ Romance Comics 1957-64’ provided a fascinating investigation into the construction of pop-stardom through the medium of comics, with comics playing the dual role of fanzine and media machine in the days before Beatlemania. And Rikke Platz Cortsen’s detailed paper ‘And the Dog got its Bone – Asterix as an Example of the Chronotope in the European Album’ focussed on the nature of how formal elements of a comic can affect narrative space and time as perceived by the reader, both within one album and over an whole series.

Cortsen’s presentation was memorable for a further reason: she mentioned translation! In passing. But it was there. In album 5 of the Asterix series, the story features a trek around Gaule in order to gather items for a banquet. Cortsen said that the English translation puts emphasis on the dinner, whereas the French emphasises the gathering of goods for the dinner. Eager to pick up on this thread, I asked her in what way the English text had shown this emphasis and she answered that it was in the title. The French title is Le Tour de Gaule d’Astérix [the tour of Gaule of Asterix] which is a clear reference to the Tour de France cycle race and highlights the enormity of the task the characters are faced with in the story. The English title is Asterix and the Banquet, which does indeed focus more on the end result and loses the Tour de France reference. Cortsen is Danish and also read the Asterix comics in her native language. Interestingly, the Danish title of this album (in English) is ‘Going around Gaule’, which, although it doesn’t retain the Tour de France reference either, does emphasise the gathering rather than the banquet.

Needless to say, this got me thinking…!

Samantha Christie is a translator from French and Spanish into English and is currently pursuing the MA in Literary Translation at UEA. Special interests include translation in the areas of detective fiction and music, and the relationship between author and translator.
Contact: info@samanthachristie.co.uk

Surviv(a)ing…

Dear future MALT students,
Although everyone who is, or will be, teaching you in the programme, will probably provide you with all the information you need in order to pass your viva, I think that a student’s point of view is essential as well. Especially when, in my case, the viva was the most intimidating moment I had as a MALTeser. So here is a survival guide to get you through the viva:
First of all, the first question is usually about your dissertation topic and after that, the discussion revolves around it. You would probably already have submitted an abstract or an outline regarding your dissertation topic, so probably you have already figured out what you will be working on. However, things change. And topics change. And probably what seemed interesting 3 weeks ago might seem extremely boring now, or a better idea might have occurred to you but you hadn’t had time to develop it yet, anyway, you are not so sure of what you want to do now. When entering the room for your viva, you must, however, if not be sure of what this little thing called your dissertation is, at least appear to be sure. And I do not mean lie to the examiners, I mean make sure that the moment you get in there you have a specific topic in your mind, and even if you hate it or want to change it, find a way to stand up for it. Otherwise you will not be able to convince them that you actually know what you are doing. Personally, I can’t really remember how many times I heard the phrase “I am not convinced” coming out of the mouth of the external examiner.
But I did not cry. As other people did in previous years. And this brings us to the second point.
Rumor has it that people cried during the viva. The truth is that yes, they cried, but not because of the viva. They cried because they were stressed, because of the tension that every form of examination- even if it is an informal procedure- includes. Some people relax that way; they burst into tears and feel much better afterwards. It does not have to do with the viva or the examiners. In fact, the examiners were very helpful. An extremely helpful fact was that my supervisor was in the room as well, supporting my idea, even when it wasn’t clear in my mind, to be honest. And I felt that she believed in me, and that gave me confidence. And I think that’s what helped me surviv(a)ing in general.
Moving on: be prepared to talk about all the beautiful things you learned- trust me, you will learn some wonderful things, and the most important amongst them is how to combine things you’ve learnt. The discussion will eventually come to what you think of the program, what have you obtained as a translator and what your future plans are. This is- or at least feels- quite casual as a matter of fact, and it usually signifies that your torture is over. It is possible that when you get up to leave the room, you will feel that you haven’t said everything you wanted to. Personal advice: Get out. If they wanted to learn more, they would ask for more. Smile, thank them and go meet the others.
Point number 4: Go meet the others. I have been lucky enough to make friends apart from having fellow MALTesers while in Norwich. Talking to and with them, not only about what happened in the viva, after which I thought that the end of the world had come, but about everything, had proved to be one of the best experiences I had this year. Discussions and arguments about theories and essays and outlines and choices and the future and their plans and your plans, viva simulations and meetings to discuss our outlines, informal workshops where you get to see and show everyone’s work, all these are also part of the programme and the knowledge you obtain, in my opinion.
So yes, the viva is something quite simple, yet quite scary, as all unknown things ahead of us are. The key is to remain calm, feel confident and seem confident, be prepared, remember that it is not an exam; it is a way of showing what you’ve done so far and what you will be doing in the future. Talk about yourself in general. You can do that, can’t you?
And once this is all over, and you get the e-mail that informs you that you have all passed, go out with your friends and drink. And keep talking about theories and rhythm and rhyme. Trust me, you will. It’s inevitable after you have become a MALT student…

Thei Sorotou is a translator working with Greek, English and French. She graduated from the Department of foreign languages, translation and interpreting, Ionian University, Corfu, Greece, and is currently a MALT student in the University of East Anglia. She is really interested in the field of drama translation.
Contact: theisrt@yahoo.gr

Job at UEA

We are looking for a new lecturer in literature and translation at UEA. See this website for more details. Apply to come work with us!

Reading at The Book Hive

If any readers are located near Norfolk (England), feel free to come along to a reading I’ve organized. It will take place at the wonderful independent bookstore The Book Hive in Norwich on 23 June at 7 pm.

Our MA students in literary translation at the University of East Anglia will be reading from their translations. This is a chance to hear books/authors that have not yet been translated to English. And there’ll be drinks as well, which always appeals to literary crowds.

Hope to see some of you there.

Translating etymology and philology

When word choice is influenced by etymology or philology rather than surface meaning, it can be challenging for a target readership to decipher. For the translator, these underlying layers of meaning can be difficult to render to a target audience, further removed from these initial cultural references.
Etymology and philology are inextricably weighed down by the unique social, political and historical contexts of a given language community. The word is, in effect, a suitcase which we - the reader, translator, the critic – tend to view from a far. Rarely will we venture close enough to unpack a word. When we do, we realise that baggage inspection can be a risky business.
For example, one suggestion regarding the derivation of posh relates to India under British colonial rule. Pale-skinned expatriates would avoid the sun by standing on one side of the boat in the morning, and on the other at sunset, leading to the acronym Port Out Starboard Home. Is this a reliable story? The OED refutes this explanation but concedes it is part of ‘folk etymology’. In other words, although it may be erroneous, the explanation is widely believed.
Opening a suitcase suddenly becomes complicated when we can’t agree on its contents. Yet if a translator perceives that a source author is trying to convey these complicated meanings, can they be brought over to a target language?
Translation (from Latin translat- 'carried across') implies the notion of journey, yet often a word’s etymology will be lost along the way. Possible word-for-word translations of posh into other languages run the risk of losing these etymological meanings: pijo in Iberian Spanish (of uncertain origin according to the Real Academia Española) and alinhado in European Portuguese (from Old French lignage, from Latin linea 'a line’ according to the latest Dicionário Onomástico Etimológico da Língua Portuguesa ).
In “What is a Relevant Translation?” Dérrida is preoccupied with the transfer of a word’s cultural baggage from one language to another, going as far as to question whether it can leave the ‘airport’ at all. But is it therefore viable to ignore these meanings altogether? Venuti bemoans the tendency to domesticate when translating into English, and this could certainly be seen as an extension of this process.
At the end of “La reivindicación del Conde don Julián” (The Revenge of don Count Julián) Juan Goytisolo presents the Spanish reader with clusters of Spanish words of Arabic origin such as “algodón, algarrobo, alfalfa” (cotton, carob, lucerne). The stylistic effect here attempts to undermine the then Francoist claims of Spanish’s linguistic and ethnic purity. Approaching the translation of this cluster into English, I feel that two strategies are feasible. One would be to maintain the words as they are in Spanish, thus maintaining the Arabic overtones suggested by the prefix al- (Arabic: the) of which many English speakers would be aware . Essentially, the English text is foreignised. The second would be to introduce a Francophone element into the target text, leading to coton, caroube and lucerne. The English text is once more foreignised. Or is it? While this replicates the philology of English, or the influence of French in English, the cultural baggage of these words is transferred to a target setting. As a means of preserving the baggage of the source language, the first strategy is most successful.

-- Andrew Nimmo is a translator working from Spanish, Portuguese and French into English. His areas of interest include music, journalism, fiction and film. You can contact him at this.means.nimmo@gmail.com.