Chief Writing Wolf

Back in February, I wrote about the challenge of translating German-language literature into English.  There are a couple of reasons why foreign language literature has to be treated with caution: translating something doesn’t necessarily mean success in the receiving market, and not every colloquialism and verbal nuance translates perfectly.  It’s bad enough some Americans are too arrogant to even attempt to learn a foreign language, and that only about 3% of foreign language books are translated into English for their convenience.  But, there seems to be a general belief among average readers that a book translated into their native language must be worth the effort since it takes a great deal of time and energy to complete the translation.  Journalist Michael Stein dubs this “literary broccoli.”  Yes, broccoli may be good for you, but not everyone wants it, much less likes it.

Stein divides the clichés about translations into 2 groups:

1. It’s always good for you.

He mentions a debate that arose last year among New York Times film critics (so you know it was serious) about the “merits of watching long, self-styled art films.”  One critic supposedly affirmed that he was no longer willing to eat his “cultural vegetables.”  I feel this is in line with the claim by some that foreign-language or art house movies are always good because they have some underlying message of Earth-shattering significance.  The same, therefore, can be applied to literature.  As with cinema, why can’t we just read a book – even if it’s a translation – just for the fun of it?  Why does a warning for all humanity have to lie within its pages to be worth the time?  Surely, African and Latin American writers, for example, don’t all bemoan the plight of their respective war-torn nations and loathe their European colonial pasts.  Doesn’t Nigeria or Uruguay have a Maeve Binchy or Anne Rice in their midst?  Stein points to the works of William Shakespeare and how his dramas “take on the effect of tranquilizers in the mouths of uninspired high school teachers.”  I can vouch for that phenomenon. 

2. Reading a translated work is one way of experiencing another country.

This is like saying that watching a Mexican telenovela is the best way to learn all about México’s culture.  Stein highlights the late Swedish writer Stieg Larsson whose Millennium series have turned into literal blockbusters, both in book and movie form.  If you’ve visited Sweden, were you “attacked by rightwing lunatics and tortured?  Did you get caught up in tangled, historical conspiracies and eat immense amounts of fast food while sitting on IKEA furniture?”  If you did, then you have your own true-life story to tell and could become even more famous.  You can’t learn everything about another culture just by reading a travel brochure or watching the National Geographic Channel, although no one will blame you for trying.  Ernest Hemingway, for example, wrote about foreign places because he lived there and understood the local cultures.  That’s why writing instructors advise people to write only what they know.  Although California is on my list of places to visit before I die, and I have friends who live out there, I wouldn’t dare to write a novel based in the Golden State because I’m not personally familiar with it.  Don’t look at a novel as emblematic of the location where it takes place.  It’s one thing not to visit México because of U.S. State Department travel advisories.  It’s another not to visit because you learned everything about the place from watching “Born in East L.A.”

Reading a foreign novel is one way to become familiar with another culture, which in turn, is a good thing.  People – Americans in particular – need to realize there’s a whole wide world of extraordinary individuals out there.  We all can learn from meeting new people and experiencing different cultures.  Whether a novel is about internal political strife, or a wedding gone awry, I think we’ll all find that people across the globe have much in common.