Ethnic ChinaLit

The idea of the stealth gloss is that you weave an explanation into the text so that it is part of the story, as opposed to reading a footnote. I think that is a good way to handle cultural information that arrives in passing in stories. If you use a footnote, you’re taking the reader out of the reading experience. That’s good in a scholarly context, but if you’re reading a horror story, I don’t want you to start reading footnotes about quaint, archaic Swiss customs—I want you to concentrate on being scared.

(Susan Bernofsky, speaking with Shaun Randol in Words Without Borders)

Murakami Haruki’s latest novel, his first major release since the 1Q84 trilogy in April 2010, goes on sale in Japan April 12. I haven’t found any hint of its name in English, but according to a report by Shi Chenlu at Chinanews.com (村上春树新长篇) , its (temporary) Chinese title is <没有色彩的多崎造和他的巡礼之年>.

Intriguingly, now the hunt is on for the Chinese translator.  You may recall that the monopoly of long-time Murakami translator Lin Shaohua (林少华) ended abruptly when the contract for rendering What I Talk about When I Talk about Running was handed over to Shi Xiaowei (当我谈跑步时我谈些什么，施小炜译).

But Shi Xiaowei’s time in the spotlight may have been short-lived. Shi Chenlu reports that Mao Danqing (毛丹青) has tweeted that he is being headhunted for this new assignment. Mao is an accomplished writer and translator who actually lives in Japan, so it’s unlikely he’s in the running simply because he might be less costly than his predecessors.

Considering that for more than a decade Lin Shaohua virtually was Murakami Haruki to tens of thousands of Chinese readers, this points to an interesting phenomenon: China publishers are beginning to experiment with new “brands” for translated literature. Could it be that they have (finally) realized that different types of writing—even from the same author—require different types of “packaging”? Read the rest of this entry »

An essay by Nanjing U’s Professor Dan Hansong (但汉松) on the New York Times Chinese-language site (翻译文学也是一场抵达) explores the curious developments in Weltliteratur in the 21st century, long after 1827 when Goethe predicted its eventual emergence due to wider translation of literature:

由美国的一流评论家发表对当代中国文学的英译本书评，其实是姗姗来迟的事情。一个历史性的时刻，是美国作家约翰·厄普代克 (John Updike) 在 2005 年的《纽约客》上发表的对莫言小说《丰乳肥臀》的书评。但与其说厄普代克夸赞了莫言的小说艺术，还不如说他对这个日后将为中国拿到诺贝尔文学奖的高密说书人感到困惑。厄普代克困惑的，是莫言那种魔幻现实主义背后毫无节制的密集修辞，是那些夸张到令人不安的文学譬喻。这不是西方小说（尤其是英美小说）所熟悉的文体风格，以至于厄普代克进一步猜测，“也许是因为中国小说没有像维多利亚时代那样的盛世去学会（小说语言的）得体”。

So much for the invisible translator.  With the launch of his Chinese renditions of classics whose copyrights had expired (新译本), such as The Old Man and the Sea (老人遇害) and The Great Gatsby (了不起的的盖茨比), Li Jihong (李继宏) has managed to infuriate a host of fellow translators, hommes de lettres and even would-be readers.

Partly due to the aggressive advertising campaign accompanying the launch that claims these are “the finest translations to date,” and partly by bringing up the very vulgar, very touchy subject of $ earned for literary translation work.

And the numbers are rather telling: many English-to-Chinese literary translators are paid around 1 US cent per word, while Li Jihong claims to be earning something like 20 US cents per word for his latest much-advertised works. The Shenzhen Shangbao report (报酬标准十几年没变) doesn’t fully explain the discrepancy, but it appears that Li’s figures are based on a fairly generous upfront payment of royalties, while most publishers are not only not offering royalties, they are exploiting translators by paying per official rates set by the copyright authorities . . . back in 1999.

Just the other day I took questions from students in Professor Lucas Klein’s Stylistics & Translation class at HK City U. Given that I’ve translated two Chinese novels by female authors, what did I think about men translating women’s writing, particularly works narrated by a woman in the first person?

I wonder: did anyone put the same query to Shanghai Normal University Professor Zheng Kelu (郑克鲁) when he embarked on his translation of Simone de Beauvoir’s feminist classic, Le Deuxième Sexe (第二性)?

It seems like an even more topical question to pose, now that he’s gone and won the 2012 Fu Lei Award (傅雷奖) for his efforts. Sponsored by the French Embassy, it’s named after Chinese translator and art critic Fu Lei (1908-1966), who is best known for his translations of Voltaire, Balzac and Romain Rolland. The annual awards honor the year’s most outstanding translation works from French to Chinese, and aim to promote the translation and publication of French books in China.

For a list of the other works formerly in the running, see 2012 Fu Lei Shortlist. Another book to be recognized at the same ceremony in Beijing on Dec 14 is <加缪文集>, a translation of Recueil de Camus by Guo Hong’an (郭宏安).

In the English-speaking world, the first translation of Beauvoir’s classic was undertaken in 1953 by a man, Howard Parshley. It was widely criticized and Simone de Beauvoir even reportedly (Wikipedia) requested that it be redone. A new version was published in 2009, co-translated by two women, Constance Borde and Sheila Malovany-Chevalier. Check out the New Yorker’s review, The New Adventures of Old Beauvoir.

Writes Dong Fangyu at China Daily in Translators Leave China Lost for Words:

“. . . many Chinese novels that have won top prizes and been well received in China face delays in getting published abroad due to a lack of good translators.

Take the example of the novel Shou Huo (The Joy of Living，[受活]) by Yan Lianke [阎连科]. Although copyright contracts for it were signed with publishers from Japan, France, Italy and the United Kingdom in late 2004, to date none of the four translated novels have been published, as no competent translators are available.”

This is a claim rich in implications:

• The Chinese language is too subtle and complex to be understood by outsiders
• The Chinese-to-foreign-language translation task might best be left to us here in China
•  There would be more than one Chinese Nobel Laureate if our works had been adequately translated.

I use the word “claim” above because Dong Fangyu hasn’t bothered to get her facts straight. As noted in a discussion at Paper Republic, Yan Lianke’s novel has already been translated into French (Bons baisers de Lénine) and English (Lenin’s Kisses).

Underlying the opinions expressed by Dong Fangyu is a concern that China is not sufficiently in control of its literary exports, and something (urgently) needs to be done about this. See Are Foreign Devil Translators Hijacking China’s Debut on the Global Literary Stage? for more commentary on the looming threat to Chinese exceptionalism.

It’s also ironic that Dong Fangyu should choose Yan Lianke’s works as an example of those “well received in China” but that “face delays in getting
published abroad due to a lack of good translators.”  In fact, Yan’s 《为人民服务》(Serve the People) is banned in China, and his 《丁庄之梦》(Dream of Ding Village) was initially banned and then available  in China (briefly) in censored format. Both are available in English and French, and the former is out in German too (Dem Volke Dienen). In an e-mail interview I conducted with him, Yan also wrote me that he decided to publish his recent work, 《四书》 (Four Books) in Taiwan, because he couldn’t find a publisher in the PRC.

Published in 1908, a rare dictionary of the Buyi language—Essai de dictionnaire dioi-français reproduisant la langue parlée par les tribus Thai de la Haute rivière de l’Ouest (布法辞典)—compiled by two French missionaries (Joseph Esquirol & Gustave Williatte) has long been slated for translation into Chinese. Attempts were made to complete the project in the late 1970s and again in 1989, but according to a recent report published on the China Ethnic Literature Network (布依文化百科全书), for “certain reasons” they were not successful.

Propaganda Dep't official checks out the dictionary: will government support speed up or slow down publication?

According to Wikipedia, the Bùyī  “live in semi-tropical, high-altitude forests of Guizhou province, as well as in Yunnan and Sichuan provinces, and speak a Tai language.”

The report doesn’t explicitly state the past or current obstacles to the dictionary’s translation and publication. One reason noted is the fact that it is written in “old French” (古法语), a somewhat bizarre claim given that 19th–century French is still quite understandable to your typical francophone.

Perhaps more insightful, in its own way, is this explanation offered by Guo Tangliang (郭堂亮), head editor at Guizhou Nationalities Publishing House (贵州民族出版社), who is taking part in the latest attempt to prepare this reference work’s first-ever appearance in Chinese (Italics are mine):

. . .publishing the French-Buyi Dictionary is a big project and should be undertaken with a scientific and serious attitude. Since this book was created by French missionaries who had penetrated deeply into ethnic minority regions, the culture and customs of China’s Buyi people are seen through foreign eyes, and therefore evidence a certain bias. If it were directly translated, published and distributed, there would be issues related to matters such as its authorship, copyright and relationships between different ethnic groups.

Put bluntly, it looks like we can expect the final copy to be “edited” to ensure that we get an “unbiased” view of the Buyi and their language.

Interesting. I wonder: has the same sort of “editing” been done on classics like the still widely-consulted Kangxi Dictionary  (康熙字典)—compiled  in 1716 when foreigners (the Manchu), not the Han, ruled China?

Ever since China was named Guest of Honor at the 2009 Frankfurt Int’l Book Fair, overseas publishers have begun to take an interest in contemporary Chinese literature, and the list of works of fiction and poetry slated for translation and publication into English in 2011 and 2012 is growing quickly.

Take a look here for a partial list. They include Zhang Ling’s Gold Mountain Blues (translator: Nicky Harman), Endure: Poems by Bei Dao (Lucas Klein and Clayton Eshleman), Yan Lianke’s Dream of Ding Village (Cindy Carter), Wang Xiaofang’s Notes of a Civil Servant (Eric Abrahamsen), He Jiahong’s Blood Crimes (Duncan Hewitt), and more.

In December the venerable People’s Literature (人民文学) magazine launched an all English quarterly (at left) featuring translations of works by several popular 21^st-century Chinese writers, Pathlight: New Chinese Writing.

Chinese novelist Han Haoyue (韩浩月) praises the magazine’s publication as a“good thing” (好事), but in his article of December 12 (烂苹果) he calls attention to the fact that “all the translators for the first issue are native English speakers of foreign nationality.” Without stating whether he has read the first issue of Pathlight or compared its renditions against the Chinese originals, he then trots out the tired argument that given the profundity of Chinese literary expression, “it stands to reason that it would be more appropriate for Chinese translators to complete the task of translation.”

Of course, Han isn’t the only one concerned about the fact that the officially funded campaign to “export” Chinese literature—seen as an extension of China’s soft power—seems to be largely dependent on foreign brains for the moment. But the problem with Han’s patriotic vision is that Made-in-China, Chinese-to-English literary translators are regrettably thin on the ground.

“Besides the limitations posed by the differences between Chinese and Western culture,” says Huang You-Yi (黄友义), Deputy Head of the China Translators Association in an article in China Youth Newspaper (文学 “走出去” 最大的瓶颈), “the deeper reason for the poor performance of Chinese literature on the international market is the issue of manpower, particularly the lack of highly skilled Chinese-to-English translators.”

The author of the China Youth Newspaper article, Meng Xiaoguang (孟晓光), cites some interesting factoids: as of 2007, only 15 universities in China had M.A. programs in translation, and they have produced under 400 graduates.

Underlying the opinions expressed by Han Haoyue, Huang Youyi and Meng Xiaoguang is a concern that somehow China is not sufficiently in control of its literary exports, and something needs to be done about this.

To shed a bit of light on this debate, I’d like to point out a few things:

• It’s about money, stupid: Talented Chinese aren’t in the Chinese-to-English literary translation market primarily because the pay is miserable. If you’re paid by a Chinese publisher, you generally get a terribly low one-time fee and none of the royalties. If you’re paid by a foreign publisher, you’re lucky if you average US$1,000 monthly.

• Outside of China’s inward-looking environment, it is widely recognized that when rendering a literary work—unlike technical or commercial translation—the translator ideally translates into his or her mother tongue. That’s because literary translation is not really about accuracy; it’s about things like maintaining register, setting rhythm and employing an appropriate tone, all of which are more easily mastered by a native speaker.

• The idea that just because a non-Chinese surname appears in the “Translated by” section of the title page doesn’t mean that native Chinese speakers didn’t play an active part in proofreading or translating a given novel. And there are plenty of pairs of English and Chinese speakers who work together to translate fiction. They include Howard Goldblatt and Sylvia Li-chun Lin, and Jane Weizhen Pan and Martin Merz.

Zülfü Livaneli, the Turkish writer, musician, singer, journalist and member of parliament, recently toured China to promote the launch of the mainland Chinese translation of his popular novel, Bliss (Mutluluk), or 伊斯坦布尔的幸福.

Now a movie as well, Bliss is a melodramatic tale of a young village woman who is raped by an elder relative. When she doesn’t hang herself out of shame, as is expected, the task of restoring honor to the family (by ending her life) is assigned to another male relative. The novel takes us from Van in the southeast to Istanbul, touching on most every controversial aspect of “Turkishness,” from honor killing to the Asia-Europe divide represented by schizophrenic Istanbul, and the guerrilla war waged by the Kurds against the Turkish state.

But how many Chinese readers will notice that this quintessentially Turkish novel has been translated from the . . . English?

Not many, I’d wager. The spine of the book features “Turkey” in brackets above the author’s name, implying that the book and its author originated in that country, and cites the translator (贾文浩). The credits page gives the same information without identifying the source language. It should be noted that this is standard procedure in the People’s Republic. Thus the only reference to the fact that this Chinese edition is a translation of the English translation is in the last line of the translator’s Foreword.

I interviewed Shen Zhixing (沈志兴), the Chinese translator of Orhan Pamuk’s My Name is Red, several years ago. He studied in Ankara in the 1980s and worked from the Turkish. The earlier Taiwan edition of the book was based on the American, and Pamuk—apparently very displeased with this approach—insisted that Shen translate from the Turkish original. Read the rest of this entry »

A literary agent on selling Israeli fiction overseas:

I can tell you there is no market more challenging than America’s. I sell more books in China and Japan than in America…

Could be, and perhaps it’s the quality of the translations into the Chinese. My girlfriend read Roman Russi (蓝山) by Meir Shalev several times, and she’s on her third read of Hatsotsrah ba-Wadi (瓦地的小号) by Sami Michael right now.

Ironically, it could well be that both these novels were translated based on English renditions (Blue Mountain and A Trumpet in the Wadi, respectively), not the original Hebrew. Crafty publishers in China often don’t list the language of the original work; instead, they identify the author by nationality, leaving you to guess which language the Chinese edition is based on. A quick look on the web shows that the translators of Roman Russi (于海江，张颖) and Hatsotsrah-ba-wadi (李慧娟) translate almost exclusively English books, so it’s unlikely that any of the three knows Hebrew well enough to translate it.