Living in a Multilingual World (The One About Translation)

You have laughed or you have cried. You have perhaps indulged in hours of cogitation, your thoughts strongly interosculating and contaminating each other giving birth to random ideas which will only find a logical existence after even more deep reflection. Or maybe you have chosen the easy, accessible text, the one that helps you “unwind” and forget about modern life’s constant demands. Reading is like that, challenging or fun, or challenging and fun. Fiction is the epitome of this process, the semi- or pseudo-real world created for us, readers, whose key we might obtain at the beginning, middle or end of the book, according to the author’s wishes.

What is then, fiction in translation?

It is all of the above, plus an intrinsic search in the writer’s mind. It is the attempt to return to what happened before the first word was typed or handwritten on the page. Translation, and I mean literary ones, is not just a direct transposition from original text to target language. It is rather a more subtle process in which the translator’s own life experience comes into play through her/his interpretation of the work at hand.

The key to the world made for us. Will the translator make our passage easier or harder?

I have never translated a work of fiction officially. I have translated short fiction texts for family and friends, chiefly to throw some light on the subject matter. But, translating a whole book? No, I do not think I have that capacity. I am not selling myself short here; I just think that translating fiction works at a whole different level, almost superhuman level.

Sometimes I read a book in the original language it was written (mainly Spanish and French, although I just bought four novels in German by the same Austrian author, which means I’ll be going back to the Teutonic lexicon soon) and I think of someone who might like it, too. Then, I realise that it is quite likely they will read the book in translation and this poses a problem. What if the translation is not good? Will the book have the same effect on her/him?

The best translations I have read in my life reach all the way back to the pre-written language that gave the book its foundations and core. I have often mentioned here my devotion to the work of the Czech writer, Milan Kundera. It only dawned on me a few years ago when reading his novel Immortality that I have always read Kundera in translation, be it from Czech to Spanish, or Czech to English, or French (he has written a few short novels in that language, the result of living in France for several years) to English. Yet, I know that if I were to read him in the original Czech (impossible, as I know that I will never learn that language) the magical effect Kundera’s always had on me would still manifest itself.

Literary works that are based on a word-for-word translation are poor and rob the reader of the pleasure of reading. Even technical texts must be injected with some oomph every now and then. I remember years ago reading a book by the Chilean author Isabel Allende in the original Spanish and an English translation after and having mixed feelings about the outcome. If the act of writing fiction is the need to tell a story, the impulse to let the world know that this alternative reality must be known, then, if the translator fails to give us a believable version of this story, she or he will be validating the old Italian saying “traduttore, traditore” (translator, traitor). What the translator will be betraying is not just the mere transferral of ideas, syntax and grammar from the original language to the “host” language, but also the author’s life experience.

Whenever we are touched by a novel or a collection of short stories which was originally written in another language and which we are now reading in translation, let us pause for a second and think of the process. Let us place ourselves in the role of that translator and let us travel with her or him all the way back to the moment when the story was first conceived by the author. The feelings, emotions and situations that generated the desire to write those lines. Those lines that might have made us laugh or cry.

© 2015

Next Post: “Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music”, to be published on Sunday 18^th January at 10am (GMT)

Sunday Mornings: Coffee, Reflections and Music

One of the more popular and worshipped Orishas (loosely translated as “deities” from the Yoruba language) in Cuba is Babalú Ayé, usually syncretised with his Catholic counterpart St Lazarus. Babalú is said to “own” smallpox, leprosy and venereal diseases. What this means is that many followers of the religion we call santería (an amalgamation of Catholic and Yoruba deities) call upon the Orisha when their health or that of their relatives is poor. They make promises to him, promises that might include making a pilgrimage every year to a shrine built for St Lazarus just outside Havana. Most of us are familiar with St Lazarus’ own biblical story, how he was miraculously brought back to life by Jesus four days after his death. In the case of Babalú, he is punished by Olofi for disobeying him. Olofi is one of the highest authorities in Yorubaland and he banishes Babalú away. The latter resurfaces in Arará territory and becomes a new deity or "fodú", Dasoyí. This is a story of death and resurrection.

Death and resurrection. Was the inspiration for Obama and Raúl?

That might or might not have been the reason why both US president Barack Obama and his Cuban counterpart, Raúl Castro Ruz chose the 17^th December to bury the hatchet and announce to the world that they would start working towards an improvement of the diplomatic relations between both countries. 17^th December is the day when both St Lazarus and Babalú Ayé are celebrated in Cuba. It is also the day when many people decide to make the pilgrimage to El Rincón, the shrine to St Lazarus just outside Havana. Death and resurrection. US and Cuba, “besties” again. Did you, reader, remember to place you bets on this one? If you did, whatever odds you had, you must have had a nice windfall to spend on your Christmas shopping.

Since the news came out I have been asked constantly for my opinion. I don’t mind that, after all I am usually the only Cuban in the room whenever I go to a dinner party or friend's birthday celebration. But as I said to a reporter from The Guardian when they interviewed me a day after Obama and Raúl made their announcement, you can put twenty Cubans in a room to discuss these latest developments and you will have twenty different opinions, probably shouted out at the top of our lungs.

The embargo and the consequent “Cold War” treatment towards Cuba was, is and will continue to be self-defeating. It served no purpose in the 60s and it has no place in our modern, globalised world, in the 2010s. Instead of undermining Fidel’s rule and later on that of his brother’s, the blockade strengthened it as it provided an easy excuse for the dictatorship’s shortcomings. The embargo isolated Cuba, the consequence of which was the development of a siege mentality under which politics became black and white and any type of nuance was frowned upon and harshly dealt with.  Because of its illegal and unjust nature the blockade also put the US government at odds with some of its own allies. The message to the rest of the world was clear: we can do this to this small country for the simple reason that they have dared, dared! to make a decision on their own fate. I have no truck with Fidel and company, and readers of this blog know how critical I am of the regime, but you don’t go around wanting to bump off leaders of other nations and expect people to like you.

However, even a partial lifting of the restrictions that have existed for so many years is welcome news. I feel cautiously optimistic, though. The key word here is “cautiously”. To me this piece of good news ought to be accompanied by practical steps towards the creation of a democratic state in Cuba. How could this come about? There will have to be several factors involved; I’ll just focus on a few.

First, I would dissolve the Cuban Parliament as it is now and call for a general election within eight to ten months, even a year. That would give time to people to organise themselves and think of the better ways to move forward. That would mean that a multi-party system would need to be formally introduced and allowed, a feature of democracy that is conspicuous by its absence in Cuba. Second, the press would have to gain a greater degree of independence so as to be able to conduct a fair reporting on the election process and other matters. Third, the judiciary, a strong tool of the Castro regime, would have to become as impartial a body as possible. Parties participating in the general election would have to present realistic, achievable and evidence-backed solutions to the challenges faced by my fellow compatriots. Amongst the solutions there should be an economic plan for the continuous growth of small and medium social enterprises with the proviso that profits generated by these businesses must not end up in the pockets of greedy shareholders but rather be pumped back into the system through taxation.

Of course, these factors mean nothing as they will not become reality. At least not in the near future. Cuba is far too precious for the regime to let go of so easily. Also, we should not dismiss the role of the US government. As long as they keep meddling in our affairs, they will continue to provide ammunition for (younger brother) Castro and co. Furthermore, the US is in no position to teach other countries lessons on democracy or foreign policy. For evidence of this look no further than the recent report on the CIA operations following the invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq and the role that torture played in obtaining intelligence. When it comes to its domestic affairs, it appears that the social and political system have failed a huge chunk of the population. When people talk to me about the two planes the Cuban government shot down back in the nineties when they illegally entered our territory my current response is: how would you feel if the Cuban government sent two planes to New York with a huge sign reading “I can’t breathe”? Fair? Quid pro quo? I thought so.

As I mentioned before, according to lore Babalú Ayé winds up in another land, the land of the Ararás. Whereas the way to perform his dance when he is an Orisha in Yorubaland is by pretending to be a very old man with gnarled hands, foaming at the mouth and saliva running his face, once he becomes Dasyí his dance is more upbeat with a more celebratory tone. Let us hope that this is the reason why both Obama and Raúl chose the 17^th of December to announce their new love-in. And since this is my first column of the New Near and we are discussing openings, here’s Cuban quartet Sexto Sentido singing for Elegguá, another Orisha, the one who holds the keys to fate, the one who opens and closes roads. Here’s to a better 2015!



© 2015

Next Post: “Living in a Multilingual World”, to be published on Wednesday 14^th January at 11:59pm (GMT)