Keeping It In Context

I’m not a big TV watcher.  So, I don’t see a ton of commercials, but one of my favorites is this one from State Farm.  Same exact lines, two very different interpretations based on context.  I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately in relation to translated texts.  As with the commercial, the reader of a translated picture book has the images to clarify the text.  The way the actor delivers the lines gives context and interpretation in the commercial, but that is the job of the reader in picture book format.

Then what happens when the text on the page doesn’t match up with the illustrations?  Or what about when our interpretation is based on our own perception without considering the context?  In today’s post, I want to look closer at what I think may be an example of each of these that could contribute to a book being “lost” in the translation process.  As I’ve noted since the beginning of this category, these are my reactions to each of these texts, what I’ve noticed that I thought was worth diving into a little deeper to see if I could figure out the “why” behind why it didn’t set quite right with me.

Grandma Lives In A Perfume Village

By: Fang Suzhen

Illustrated by: Sonja Danowski

Translated by: Huang Xiumin

When I started researching, this book popped up on my radar pretty quickly as one to check out as it was a 2016 Batchelder Award Honor Book.  For a long time, I considered adding it to my death post in the Controversy category as I thought the story itself was a beautiful depiction of how illness, death, and mourning was viewed through the eyes of a very young child.  The illustrations are beautiful, almost photographic, making me feel as if I was almost part of the story.  The two elements on their own (in spite of a rather clunky, in my opinion, translation, for example, “it had been a long time since he saw her”) were exemplary representations of children’s literature.

But together, I just couldn’t make the whole thing mesh.  I kept getting drawn out of the story because I couldn’t believe the child the narrator was speaking about could be the same child illustrated on the page.  The child spoke in complete, complex sentences that showed advanced thinking such as “Don’t cry!  Your mom has gone to heaven to drink afternoon tea with her mom.  Grandma, do you have wood sorrel in heaven?  Does anybody play games with you?”  In Danowski’s illustrations, this is that child:

In my mind, the child pictured was no older than three, and I’m not sure I can remember ever encountering such an articulate toddler. I found that I kept getting so distracted by trying to suspend my disbelief between text and image that I couldn’t fully enjoy the book.  It was disappointing because, as I said, I really liked the two elements on their own, but as a whole, it didn’t sit right with me.  It bothered me enough that I decided to put it here in “lost in translation” to see if I could make any sense of why.

The first thing that I noticed was the two different nationalities of the author and illustrator.  Suzhen is a Taiwanese author with quite a few other titles to her credit that have not been translated.  Danowski is German, who has authored and illustrated quite a few titles of her own, including a number that have been translated into multiple languages.  It seemed odd to me that the two had been paired together and I wondered why a publishing company had chosen to pair Suzhen’s manuscript with Danowski’s illustrations.

If you’re not as familiar with the world of children’s literature, you may not know that very rarely does an author have any say in who illustrates their work, especially novice authors.  In fact, once a publisher has chosen a manuscript the author has very little input in not only who will illustrate it, but how it will be illustrated and what the end product will look like.  One of my own personal most fascinating children’s literature encounters, was attending a break-out session at a SCBWI conference where Newberry award winning author Linda Sue Park and illustrator Jennifer Black Reinhardt discussed their book, Yaks Yak.  Before that session, they had never been in the same room together and could count the number of times they had spoken to each other directly on one hand.  I was shocked!  Park said she had seen early sketches, made a few suggestions via her agent, and then not seen any further work until much further along in the process.  I still have a hard time wrapping my head around how all this works, but from what I’ve learned, this is a fairly good representation of the author-illustrator relationship during the creation of picture books.

But I wondered, in the case of Grandma Lives In A Perfume Village, if this was an even greater divide as it also spanned language and culture could have contributed to the disconnect I was experiencing.  Further thought also made me realize that Suzhen’s original text would not even be what Danowski would be working from; the source text would have been translated into German for her to create her illustrations.  Additionally, the two different cultures have to be considered and how that may have affected how Danowski drew the realistic images of the people in the story.  It’s worth considering that she was illustrating from outside of the culture she was depicting.

Which then leads me back to the question of why.  Why would a Chinese publisher choose a German illustrator for this text?  It took some digging, but I was able to come up with an answer.  First, it helps to know that the children’s book market in China is a rapidly expanding industry, largely because it went unrecognized until about the past fifteen years.  According to this 2017 article by Publisher’s Weekly looking at China’s current children’s book market, “ Though there were barely 20 dedicated children’s book publishers in the country back in 2003, now more than 580 publishing companies are plying the market. In the past three years, an average of 45,000 children’s titles have been added to China’s book market annually.”  As it relates directly to picture books, “The history of picture books in China is less than 12 years old, making it a baby compared to the American and European markets. The potential for growth is immense.” 

Of course, that means that the next step would be to find a way to make the texts being created marketable outside of China.  Part of this means that they will be appealing to not only Chinese readers, but globally as well.  It seems that Grandma Lives In A Perfume Village was one of  China Children’s Press & Publication Group (CCPPG), the largest children’s publisher in China, attempts to do this.  In a 2015 article on global reciprocity in the form of book rights, CCPPG discussed its “effort to help promote cross-cultural exchange” by “inviting Chinese authors/illustrators to work with international illustrators/authors to create high-quality picture books.”  The publisher noted that the collaboration between Suzhen and Danowski was one of the first books created through this exchange.  The hope then was that Danowski’s international appeal would work to have publisher’s around the world purchase the rights to translate the text, therefore spreading the picture books created by Chinese authors/illustrators globally.

While all this information didn’t solve the problem of the disconnect for me, it did help me understand why Danowski had been chosen to illustrate the text.  Though I found the pairing problematic in this case, I am interested in seeing how it may work in other instances.  The article noted that another early trial of this effort was “Feather,” which I mentioned a few weeks ago has just recently been published in the US.  Hopefully, given the reception of Grandma Lives In A Perfume Village as an award-winning title and starred reviews Feather is already receiving, this may eventually lead to international publishers purchasing the rights for additional children’s books from China so they can be read globally.

That may explain why text and art sometimes don’t connect, but what about when a book is perhaps taken out of context?  What about when it was viewed as “appropriate” in one time or place but may be received in another completely differently?  Does that suddenly make it off-limits or “bad”?  Or perhaps should we as readers should be expected to be a little more conscious of the original context?

I’ve mentioned before that over time what has been considered children’s literature has evolved, as has the intention of that literature.  Without diving too deeply into the history, we’ve traveled from texts that were strictly educational to those more didactic, with a clear lesson/moral often meant to induce fear in a child reader, to an era that is more pleasure-filled, meant to be more entertaining and engaging.  (Wow is that boiled down!  Know that there is much more in there to consider, but for sake of brevity…)  With that in mind, expecting a text from a one hundred seventy-five years ago to “pass muster” by today’s standards is completely unrealistic.  Case in point, I give you….

Struwwelpeter

By: Heinrich Hoffmann

In “Standard English” translation

Written and illustrated in 1844 by Hoffmann, a German doctor, as a Christmas gift for his three-year-old son, Struwwelpeter, or “Shock-Headed Peter” as it is known in English, is a book of “cautionary tales.”  Each of the ten illustrated tales in rhyming-verse are presented in a way to provide a clear moral, depicted by showing what disaster befalls those who do not behave accordingly.  The lessons vary from the titular Peter being unpopular because he lacks proper grooming, to Pauline being burned to death when she plays with matches, to death by starvation of Augustus who refuses to eat his soup. 

Did I mention that this is a children’s book?

The most well-known of the stories, though, is probably The Story Of Little Suck-A-Thumb, in which Hoffman introduces a bogeyman like character, known as The Tailor.  When Conrad, after being repeatedly warned by his mother, fails to stop sucking his thumb, the “great, long, red-legg’d scissor-man” springs from out of no-where to “Snip! Snap! Snip” off both his thumbs.  

The story has found itself crossing into American culture even more recently.  Fans of The Office may remember when Dwight shared the tale on the show’s "Take Your Daughter to Work Day" episode in Season 2, and Family Guy did its own abbreviated version, calling it a “German bedtime story.”  I wonder how many people believed that either of those depictions came from a REAL book actually intended for children.  I would venture to guess that the horrified reactions of the adults in The Office may closely mirror how many would react to the text if they fail to consider when and where it came from and what was considered children’s literature at that time.

It’s also one of those books that I think requires the ability to see the humor in the gross exaggeration of the situations.  Take Augustus –the pudgy boy in the first picture is not going to turn into the stick figure seen by the fourth day because he didn’t eat.  

These are not stories that are meant to be read literally, and I think that many young readers, even today, will grasp that and see the humor in how outlandish the stories are.  It’s important to remember that this book was penned near the same time as the Grimm Brothers were collecting German versions of oral folktales, many of which contain similar instances of violence (and worse!).  Those original tales have been “cleaned up” quite a bit since then. As we discussed back in the fairytale category, what we “know” as a specific version of a fairy tale isn’t often the original tale.   I know I may be considered more liberal than many by what I “allow” my kids to read, but they both love Struwwelpeter.  In fact, Mikayla was furious with me last year when I suggested that it was perhaps not the best book for me to share as a guest reader in her first-grade classroom.  While I did not put it past her classmates to react similarly to how she had by being able to recognize the extremes and find humor in it, I also know that there are kids out there (and were in Hoffmann’s time as well) that may not separate the two.  It goes back to the original point of what I think can often be “lost” with these types of text when we, as the reader, fail to understand the context under which it is being presented.

While the disconnect between author-illustrator interpretation and that of context is not restricted to translated texts, both are possible reasons why readers react unfavorably to a translated book and earn it that “weird” or “bad” label.  What it does mean, though, is that we as readers have to look beyond the “weird because it’s translated” label to what else is going on.  We have as much of a role in making sure a book doesn’t get “lost” in translation as does the author, illustrator, translator and publisher.

On Friday I’ll be back with the last post in this category where I want to take a closer look at one of those specific roles – that of the translator.  They are, in my opinion, too often the unsung hero or villain in the way a translated text is received, and I think it’s worth further consideration and discussion as to why.  See you back here then!

Proceeding Cautiously To Avoid Getting "Lost"

I’ve been struggling the past few days to come up with a way to explain why I’m grouping this first set of books together.  In my head, I know why.  It makes complete sense to me.  But when I’ve tried to translate it from my head onto paper it’s gotten, well… lost.

As I mentioned the other day I do not want to slap a “bad” label on these books as that’s unfair.  These are my thoughts and impressions only.  But I want to present them as examples of how and why translated texts sometimes end up getting a bad rap and to discuss why there may be more than it just being a “bad” book.  I am not by any means suggesting that these books should not be read.  But one phrase kept popping into my head when I thought how best to explain it:

This isn’t a STOP!  Or even “Danger Ahead.”  It’s more about recognizing that certain elements of these books have the potential to be problematic.  They are in no way limited to these titles but these are the ones I chose to discuss some of these elements that can lead to a greater misunderstanding about many translated titles.  By pointing out a few examples, my hope is that we can “proceed with caution” around those potential pitfalls instead of mislabeling the entire genre.

Speaking of genres, let’s start with a book that tackles a specific genre, one considered the trickiest for translators to tackle – poetry.   If a poem is “translatable” is a hot-button issue in the world of translation.  Translator Sungeng Hariyanto wrote, “literary translation is the most difficult task a translator can face and translating poetry is the most complicated genre in terms of translation since both the form and the meaning of a poem has to be taken into consideration.” 

So what does all this mean to us when we pick up a translated text that contains poetic elements?  Should we question the merits of translating poetry?  That depends, I suppose.  If you want a replica of the original poem, you’re out of luck.  But in all honesty, as I noted on Friday, no translation is an exact replica from source to target language.  Poetry, perhaps even more so as there is no possible way to directly translate the nuances of poetry such as musicality, rhyme scheme, alliteration, and assonance, to name just a few poetic techniques.  Instead, we are dependent on the translator to not give us a replica, but in many ways, a brand new poem inspired by the original.  

When you consider the importance of poetry in children’s literature, specifically in forms such as lullabies, nursery rhymes, and nonsense verse or rhyme scheme within a work, the problem becomes even more complicated.  In her 2016 book Translating Children’s Literature, scholar Gillian Lathey notes that because of the complexity of translating poetry, it is often children’s poets who translate children’s verse.  She points out that “an accomplished poet as translator has the expertise and experience to create a new and aesthetically satisfying poem in the target language” (101).  

I could easily spend numerous posts engaging in the finer details and debates surrounding translating poetry, but I honestly think that’s a waste of time.  Instead, I offer it up with that idea to “proceed with caution” when picking up a translated title featuring poetry.  That is not to say don’t read it, but it’s instead, to mindful of the fact that what you are reading may be vastly different than the author wrote it in its original form.  It doesn’t take away from the poem in its translated state, but if you fall for the rhyme scheme or alliteration of a translated poem, consider that to more likely be at the hands of the translator than the author.

Doggy Slippers

By: Jorge Lujan

Illustrated by: Isol

Translated by: Elisa Amado

I did read quite a few poetry based picture books when I was originally sorting through my extensive list of translated titles, but it was Argentinian poet Jorge Lujan’s Doggy Slippers, that stuck out at me as one that deserved some attention.  While Lujan is credited as the author, it seems he had a little help with his creative process.  As is further explained on the jacket flap and an endnote in the book, children from across Latin America were invited to share information about their pets.  (11 of them are specifically named in the endnote.)  Lujan took those letters and crafted Doggy Slippers, a poetic picture book with twelve poems featuring dogs, cats, hamsters, turtles and even a monkey!  The poems are off-set by the somewhat abstract and whimsical work of Argentine author and illustrator, Isol, some of which are reminiscent of drawings that could have been created by the children that collaborated on the poetry.  I also want to point out that Elisa Amado, who is credited with the translation, is a child’s author in her own right.

I can’t claim that I was jumping up and down over this book (my animal-loving son, though, claims it’s near the top of his list), but the combination of the original author is an award-winning poet, the collaborative effort, the illustration and the noted skills of the translator make it plausible for me to suggest that this may be a “good” representation of translated poetry in picture book form.  I have no idea how close it is to its original, Pantulflas de Perrito, in terms of poetic form.  It honestly may not matter as long as we, as readers, are aware of the complexities of translating poetry.  Perhaps it’s worth considering, when coming across a translated poetry book that doesn’t quite hit the mark, that it could be just as likely due to how it got from Point A to Point B than the original work itself.

I mentioned the other day that one of the other concerns I think it’s important that we as readers are aware of is authenticity and accuracy, not only in the words but it what is being portrayed.  As awareness for diversity in children’s literature increases, it is imperative that portrayals of diverse characters are authentic is creation and accurate in representation.  This is necessary for any book we read, especially those meant for younger audiences, translated or not.  Let me give a few examples of what I mean and why they may be potentially problematic.

The First Teddy Bear in Africa!

My Father’s Shop

Written, Illustrated and Translated by Satomi Ichikawa

Japanese born author, Satomi Ichikawa has lived in France since she was in her early 20’s, where she has written, illustrated and published a vast number of children’s books, featuring many different settings (in addition to Africa and Morocco from the two titles above, she also has works set in France, Puerto Rico and Guatemala) and cultures.  On the surface, I can understand the many positive reviews noting the diversity in Ichikawa’s creation, but it’s when organizations praise the “setting and the believable African characters” of The First Teddy Bear in Africa! or the note that “tourists wear attire appropriate for their country of origin” in My Father’s Shop that I think warrants further conversation.

While I am sure that Ichikawa’s attempts to represent diversity to young readers is well-intentioned, they tend to rely heavily on stereotypes to represent cultures Ichikawa is unfamiliar with.  Like this blogger noted about Teddy Bear, the problem lies in “ the aptness with which it mirrors the post-colonial relationship of the developed world to Africa: wealthy outsiders come, have their fun and leave when they want to, doing little to improve the lives of the people they gawk at and take pictures of...”  A New York Times review called it a “vestige of cultural incorrectness,” and also notes that while Swahili is used in the text, the setting is “Africa,” not one specific country, which furthers the “mistaken idea that Africa is one big Lion King-style monolith rather than a distinct mix of countries.”

I’m sure to some this comes across as hyper-critical and that it’s “just a children’s book.” As I said, I believe Ichikawa’s intentions are good but is hers the best voice to tell the story of a young African boy or depict the going-ons in a Moroccan market? Especially as we are dealing with texts in translation, would it not be a more accurate representation of someone who has lived these actual experiences? If nothing, we need to be aware stereotypical depictions and be aware against simply accepting those depictions as fact. While I’m noting it here as it relates to translated texts, I suggest it’s an area you “proceed with caution” in with all your reading.

Caution is necessary when considering not only the culture being represented in the story, but when we consider the culture that it emanated from versus our own.  While some translated texts provide a window to another world, that opacity we’ve previously discussed sometimes fogs up the glass to the point of misunderstanding.  When we try to make sense of the unfamiliarity the big picture often gets lost in translation.

Meena

By: Sine van Mol

Illustrated by Carianne Wijffels

Translated by: Foreign Publisher (see explanation below)

Fair warning, I had a very strong reaction to this book, and I will readily admit it was not a positive one.  But it can all be traced to one word and my own personal context of it as opposed to what I felt was depicted in the story.  I’m getting ahead of myself, but I wanted to note from the start that this was MY take on the book and I strongly encourage you to check it out and form your own opinions and interpretations.  In all effort to be fair, the book did land on the United States Board on Books for Young People (USBBY) Outstanding International Books List for 2012.

When I pick up a book, I start at the beginning.  No, not on the first page, but with the cover (I always take the dust cover off to see if there are any hidden surprises on the case cover!) and then the inside jacket flap.  Here’s what I found when I opened Meena:

“The children of Fly Street are convinced that Meena is a witch.  After all, she eats toads and drinks blood, doesn’t she?  One day she even imprisons a girl inside her house!  But has she really?  Will Klaas, Christa, and Thomas be able to rise above their fears and find a new friend?  This humorous book about overcoming misunderstandings and finding new friends in unlikely places shows that things are not always what they seem.”

Let’s be honest, we’ve all been that kid (or adult!) that has seen someone and for some reason, our imagination kicks into overdrive and we are convinced they have some sinister persona or intention.  The set-up for the book rang true, especially three kids hanging out and dreaming up possibilities that the elderly lady down the street just may be a witch!  I was fully prepared for the “humorous” take on these children being able to learn from their misunderstanding and potentially befriend Meena.

Instead, I found no humor in how quickly the actions of the three children escalated from gossiping amongst themselves to chanting “Fat Meena” outside her door, scrawling WITCH on her sidewalk, to discussing poisoning her so that she will die.  They decide death may be extreme and send her a letter starting “GO AWAY OR ELSE!!!!”

My dismay continued at the abrupt ending to the story, whereupon tasting a cherry pie she’s baked and not dying, the kids do a complete 180 and are off to visit “Grandma Meena.”  There’s no regret for their actions, no apologies for the way they treated her, no admission that they were mistaken – just delicious pie means she is wonderful.  I understand that a text doesn’t need to be didactic and heavy-handed, but these kids went from plotting her death to calling her Grandma!

I was baffled and convinced I must have missed something or that potentially something major went lost in translation.  I admit that my reading was probably skewed by my “adult goggles” in terms of my reaction to the kid’s behavior, but could my idea of humor really have missed the mark by that much?  As I noted above, there was no translator listed in the book, so I contacted Eerdmans Books for Young Readers, the US publisher, to ask for the name of the translator.  I received the following response:

“Thanks for reaching out to us with your question! Unfortunately, we didn’t have a particular translator for Meena. The foreign publisher we bought the English rights from created a translation for us, which we then edited.”

I decided to do a little more digging and was able to find the website of the Belgian publisher of the original text Mina Lieverd.  Through the magic of google translation (suggesting that this all should be taken with a grain of salt…), I learned that Lieverd translates to “my sweetheart.”  The character in the source title is actually named “Mina,” so the title would be closer to “Sweetheart Mina.”  Where did Meena in English come from?  Why not just leave the character’s name Mina since we already have Klaas?  If there was no domestication with one name why the other?  Personally, I was already thinking Meena might be a "hint" at the title character's personality, which was backed-up by the children's calling her a "witch," but it seems that was not the original intent at all.  Why not just leave it "Mina" which would possibly not draw readers to make that connection?  And what happened to ‘sweetheart’?  We’ve already discussed that translation is not a word for word replication, but it seems some liberties were taken with this particular translation.  Or perhaps, as it was created by a foreign publisher, something went missing before it even made to Eerdmans, or even was misconstrued by them during the editing process.  It’s all worth keeping in mind.

I also did not find any reference to humor on the Belgian publisher’s website.  Well, with one exception.  There was a blurb from the website Biblion, calling it a “humorous story about fear and prejudice” (because those things go together…).  It turns out Biblion is sourced through the New York Public Library, though, suggesting that their information was based on the translated version I had read which has the “humorous” note on the jacket flap.

As I said, my reading of the book was heavily clouded by my own expectations of what was labeled as a humorous story.  I still contend that the abrupt resolution would have still left me feeling flummoxed, though.  My intention behind sharing this particular book is to note how as readers we have to be aware of how our own personal perspective and interpretation shape our reaction to a work.  We need to be cautious about what may not have translated correctly between the source and target to form those impressions.  A review of the book by Worlds of Words, sourced by the University of Arizona to promote reading across cultures, has a very different interpretation of Meena than my own.  I found it to be one of the most comprehensive takes of how the culture Meena was created in and for can be received worldwide.  I’ve offered up my take and if you’re interested, I suggest checking out theirs as well.

Hopefully, you’re not “losing” interest in all this discussion about the potential pitfalls existing between taking a book from source to target.  I saved this category until the end so that in my research I would hopefully be able to better learn what they were and how we can combat the preconceived notions about translated texts they tend to exacerbate.  There will be no post this Friday (Happy Thanksgiving on Thursday to my American readers!) but I’ll be back here next Tuesday with a closer look at two more books that present problematic issues facing translated materials, one in which illustration might not match up with text and one that if read out of context may cause major concern.  See you then!

Why We Get Lost In Translation

Months ago, when I first started figuring out how to sort through the plethora of books I had collected, I wrote the following about the category I later dubbed “Lost in Translation”

I wanted to fall in love with every translated book I read, I honestly did.  But there were some that well, left me scratching my head a bit.  A few left me frustrated trying to figure out why this particular story was ever what a publisher chose to use as an example of translated literature.  It was those stories that I felt are most often held up as examples of why we don’t have more translated literature because it’s not up to American standards or quality, or that it’s just weird.  (And yes, a few of these were just weird.)  Some of them I found a disconnect between the pictures and the story, something just didn’t match up.  (As a side note, this isn’t unique to translated picture books, on a regular basis an author of the story has little or no contact or interaction with the person tasked with illustrating the book.)  A few of them may have been appropriate at the time and location they were first published but not be the best for a modern audience.  A few may simply be a cultural disconnect – something that was acceptable and understandable where it originated but does not “read” the same here.  I want to clearly state that I don’t think any of these books are “bad” I just think that something was lost or is missing from their original publication to their translated form.

Since then I’ve done a lot of reading and research, not just about the books, but about some of the common practices surrounding the world of translation.  Some of it has proven useful.  Some of it has made me really angry.  Some of it has made me think, traipsing down rabbit holes right and left.  Some of it has left me wondering how different the book in its source (original) language was from the copy in the target (translated to) language copy I had just read.  All of it left me asking more questions; mostly surrounding “does it matter?” and then “Why or why not?”

So I thought before taking the next few posts to examine some books that for some reason or other seem to have gotten lost along the way, I’d share some of those common practices here.  My hope is that it will not only prove enlightening (and in some cases, maddening) but also perhaps shed some light on those two big questions as it relates to some of these titles.

Let’s start with the obvious – translation is a tricky process.  As children’s literature scholar, Maria Nikolajeva writes:

“Since words in any language are polysemantic (have several different meanings or shades of meaning), the process of translation does not simply imply substitution of one word for another – which is what some people not involved in translation occasionally believe.  A translator is faced with the necessity of choosing between several meanings of a word in the source language (the language of the original text) and finding the adequate word in the target language (the language of the translated text).  Further, translation implies not only conveying denotation (the literal, diction meaning of words), but also connotation that is, contextual meaning that may change from text to text.”

What Do We Do When We Translate Children's Literature?, Maria Nikolajeva, 2006

What strikes me as most important here is “the necessity of choosing.”  We, as readers in the target language, have to rely on blind faith that the choices the translator made truly represent the author’s intention.  They are, in many respects, writing their own version of the original story.  Translation requires mastery of two languages, in denotation and connotation, which is a pretty tall order.  Heck, I have problems crafting my own thoughts into words in my native language.  I can’t imagine trying to fully grasp someone else’s words and the intentions behind those words in one language and then try to make them not only make sense but flow and convey that same meaning in another.  This is one reason that I become so frustrated when I cannot find the name of the translator anywhere in the book.  They deserve to be credited and recognized for their work.  It is also a means of holding them culpable.  It’s possible that some of what turns people off of translated material, or earns it a “weird” label is not the fault of the author, but rather an inadequate translation. 

We’re going to spend an entire post looking at a number of titles I had flagged for this category only to discover that they were all translated by the same individual.  Different authors, different types of stories, setting and characters but all the same translator.  Could it be me?  Absolutely!  As I said in my original writing and still maintain – these are not “bad” books, they just left me scratching my head for some reason.  I closed them feeling as if I had just played a game of Telephone with fifty of my closest friends and I was the last one in line knowing there was little likelihood that “your Grandma eats shorts on Mount Kilimanjaro” was the original message…

I’ve also been wondering (and I see the rabbit hole here and am casually side-stepping it) if part of the reason I have struggled to find translators, or even been flat out told by a few publishing company’s when I’ve written to try to get a specific name that they “use in-house translators,” is because of the genre of translated lit I’m looking at.  Are picture books getting a bum rap?  Is it because there are so few words that publishers do not feel the need to credit the translator?  Or does it have something to do with not wanting to clearly label a book as a translation as that already places a certain stigma on it for some readers?

Without diving too deeply into the rhetoric, there are two (extremely different) approaches to translating literature, specifically as it relates to children’s literature; equivalence which is considered a “faithful” translation with no liberties taken and dialogical which mostly means that the target audience is taken into consideration.  Nikolajeva suggests equivalence seeks to ask “What?” while dialogical focuses on “For whom?”  Similar to my feelings on the debate over polygenesis vs. monogenesis, I am not going to cross swords with the more learned scholars about what is “right.”  Honestly, I’m still learning and don’t feel qualified enough to firmly settle in one camp, though I do have some gut feelings about the matter.  I simply offer it up here as what truly goes into taking a text from one language to another.

There are then a number of “tweaks” that sometimes happen…

One is adaptation, where “a text is adjusted to what the translator believes to be the needs of the target audience, and it can include deletions, additions, explanation, purification, simplification, modernization and a number of other interventions.”  Texts are also sometimes “purified,” or altered for political, cultural or religious reasons.  Simplification also occurs.  For example, if a specific type of food from the source language is noted it is simply referred to as “the food” in the target language.  Text can also be reworded if a translator feels a joke or a pun will not be understood in a target language.  Modernization is also common, including removal of references that could be perceived as offensive.   Settings that are deemed “unfamiliar” are sometimes changed through localization.  Domestication occurs when a reference to something specific from the source culture, such as a piece of music or art, is exchanged for something that is deemed equivalent in the target language.  (Another common example of this is currency being changed to dollars.)  It’s opposite, foreignization occurs when certain words are left in the source language to maintain the “foreignness” of the text.  I mentioned previously when we were talking about Where’s Waldo? that names are also often changed.  There are more, and I could easily give specific examples of each, but…

My literature-loving heart aches at the thought of all these practices, and I would personally contend that they are a form of censorship.   Without pontificating on why I feel it’s so wrong, though, perhaps the better question is why are any of these practices, as it relates to literature for children, deemed necessary in the first place?

Basically, it all goes back to those darn adults!  Well-intentioned (at least I’m sure they think they’re well-intentioned) gatekeepers contend that children just won’t understand.  In her 1978 article, “How Emil becomes Michel : on the translation of children's books” Swedish linguist Birgit Stolt contends that this stems from a lack of respect for children, children’s books and their authors, and it is a “result of the preconceived opinion of adults about what children want to read, value and understand, in other words, an underestimation of the child reader.”

Not only does it show a lack of respect for the choice and ability of a reader, it’s detrimental.  But is there more at play?  In a 2002 essay by Akiko Yamazaki, she discusses these deliberate changes being categorized as “cultural context adaptation.”  She notes that these practices “reflect intercultural power balances.  Translated texts not only reveal what kind of relationship the target culture has with the source culture but also affect that relationship by presenting a certain image of the source culture.”  Her article specifically analyzes names being changed in texts, based on arguments that they can be ‘distracting or confusing’ for a child reader or that the reader must know about that culture in order to accept it.  She (as many others) contends that these are impressions formed by those gatekeepers, not children readers themselves.  How or why would they think that way unless it was suggested to them?

Much of this goes back to a lot of what we discussed with the controversy category.  Kids are so much smarter than we (and yes, this is a collective we, I cannot exclude myself) give them credit for.  If they read something they don’t understand, they’ll ask!  Why take that away from them without giving them that opportunity?

I’m feeling the call of my soapbox, so before I give in to that temptation, let me offer up a bigger picture relevance.  Could it be that some of these practices, along with the abilities of the translator, could play at least a small part in the reason that translated literature is often labeled as “weird, strange, and different.”  Is it possible, after jumping through all the hoops from source to target, that the way it’s been altered no longer is a true representation of the original?  Are we truly getting an opportunity to experience another culture through a translated text if it’s been changed in these ways, even in such subtleties as word choice?

These are some of the questions that I’ve been pondering this entire semester.  I don’t have any solid answers for them.  In fact, I’d venture to guess that there is no one correct answer to any of them, but they are all worth considering every time we evaluate a translated text.  It’s not beneficial to slap a “weird” label on the entire genre without a better understanding of some of what it takes to get any of these stories from Point A to Point B.  Similar to my metaphor of a game of telephone, I’d venture to guess that while we receive a message, it may not always be THE message.  That does not take away from the experience that reading across languages offers, but it is worth factoring into the equation before passing judgment.

Speaking of passing judgment, let me say one more time before we dive any more deeply into this category – I do not think any of these books are “bad.”  The questions I have about them are formed from my own personal reading experience.  I respect (and encourage!) other opinions and thoughts, perhaps even to point out errors in my own notions about them.  Keeping in mind some of the ideas I have pointed out in this post may also serve to help clarify what seems to have gotten “lost” along the way.

Thanks for traipsing through this rather wordy and often discouraging closer look at some of what goes on behind the scenes during translation.  We’ll be back to books on Tuesday!  I’ll be back with a few titles I struggled with the authenticity of and a look at a book of poetry and some of the questions surrounding translating poems.  Don’t get ‘lost’ along the way, I’ll see you then!

(Kristi’s “giving credit where credit it due” note:  During the semester I have read a number of books and articles on the items I’ve referenced above.   I’ve already credited the work of Nikolajeva, Stolt, and Yamazaki, but would additionally like to mention Gillian Lathey’s, Translating Children’s Literature (2016) and Global Perspectives in Children’s Literature by Evelyn B. Freeman and Barbara A. Lehman (2000), for ideas expressed in this post.)

Wondering About Wimmelbilderbuchs

When I was in second grade I clearly remember one very specific writing assignment: fortunately/unfortunately stories.  I remember writing about fortunately going to the beach but found that unfortunately, there were sharks in the water.  Funny how some things stick with you.

I was having a fortunately/unfortunately kind of day when I sat down to start my research on this last post for the Wordless category.  Fortunately, I am so stinkin’ proud of this little project of mine and am learning so much more with every post I dive into.  Unfortunately, it can be a little overwhelming at times – 2500 word posts twice a week would be enough, but I’ve got 3 other classes and “real life” to mix in there as well.  Fortunately, I’m a planner.  I have been strategically mapping out my categories, book choices, post content, etc. for months.  Unfortunately, sometimes I screw up.  Like when I sit down to research for this post only to remember that Playground by Mies Van Hout (translated by Ineke Lenting) is NOT a wordless book. 

Hmm, that could be problematic given that this is my Wordless category and all…  (But in my defense, the text is really secondary given its interactive format which is why I had grouped it here.  I honestly loved playing with the book so much when I had read it that it completely slipped my mind that there were words, too.)  Fortunately, when I continued researching another book I had chosen, Anno’s Journey by Mitsumasa Anno, I stumbled across a brand new (to me) word that helped me get my post back on track by taking it down a slightly different path. 

Unfortunately, that meant scrapping a book that I had really been looking forward to writing about because it didn’t quite fit anymore.  Fortunately, for you, I’m still going to include a brief mention and some more information about it a little bit later.  Unfortunately, for you, it means you’ll have to venture with me down this new rabbit hole I discovered for a little bit first.  Fortunately, for all of us, it’s worth the trip.  

I hope somewhere Ms. Hasmeier is smiling knowing that nearly thirty years later her lesson stuck with me.  But enough of that, back to this word that I stumbled across and how it’s related to international wordless texts.  I was reading through this review of Anno’s Journey, the 1978 winner of the Boston Globe-Horn Book Award in the Picture Book category when I came across a comment asking the writer if it could be considered a “wimmelbook.”  The writer responds with an enthusiastic, “Yes, it’s very much a wimmelbilderbuch!”

My next thought was “what the heck is a wimmelbilderbuch???”  I had never come across the term before and had no idea how it might be related to the wordless book by Anno.  Thank goodness for Google!

A quick search turned up some important facts and articles and I knew my post had suddenly taken a new direction.  Not only did wimmelbilderbuch relate directly to wordless picture books but it also had international origins.  You may have guessed wimmelbilderbuch is German, translated into English it means “teeming picture book.”  To teem means to be filled with or for it to be plentiful, so it’s a picture book filled with pictures!  They are usually larger in size than most picture books and feature full-size spreads (usually two-page spreads) of one scene that is filled with objects, humans and animals.   They are often wordless, but do not have to be.  The genre in book form dates back to Germany in the 1960’s, and Ali Mitgutsch is often credited as the father of wimmelbilderbuch (commonly referred to in in English as wimmelbook).

But the style itself existed in another art form long before the 1960’s.  While Mitgutsch, along with Hans Jurgen Press, may be credited with the genre, Dutch painters Heironymus Bosch and Pieter Bruegel the Elder are responsible for the creation of the style through their works of art.  A March 2017 article on the website Atlas Obscura examines a few of the works by these two Dutch masters as the background for the recent trend in hidden picture books, aka wimmelbooks.  (I highly suggest reading the article, it goes much deeper into the origins than I can here.  I think it’s fascinating to be able to connect 15th-century art from the Netherlands to trends in children’s books five hundred years later!)

I do want to clarify though, that this is one important difference to note, a wimmelbook is not considered to be directive in nature.  They do not tell readers to find specific objects on a page, they invite them to explore an image on their own and find what might be considered hidden.  Some suggest what a reader may be able to find if they search, but that is not the true intention of the book.  In her 2010 article titled “Reading as Playing: The Cognitive Challenge of the Wimmelbook”, German Literature Professor Dr. Cornelia Remi states that “In contrast to puzzle or search books, wimmelbooks rely on their readers to find their own way through the rich material they contain and do not direct their attention by phrasing explicit search tasks.”  In other words, like the books at the other day, each reader tells their own version of the story!

As I continued down this rabbit hole, I was intrigued to find so many positive promotions for wimmelbooks and even more so, given that the genre dates back to the 60’s, how recent they were.  There doesn’t seem to be much scholarship at all prior to Remi’s article, something she noted.   Most of the research and articles I found are dated within the last five years, in fact.  That made me wonder though – could there be more information out there, just not in English?  And why now?  Could it be connected to recent publications of wimmelbooks geared towards adults?  Or even interactive games for adults in wimmelbook style?

I honestly don’t have any answers, but I decided to track down a few other wimmelbooks to share because, in many ways, they do seem to be a unique import from overseas.  The only American equivalent that quickly popped into my brain (and they’re not wordless) are some of the books by Richard Scarry. 

As a kid, and again as an adult with my kids, I spent hours finding goldbug in Cars and Trucks and Things That Go.  Though they do have words, these books invite the reader to explore beyond the text to find the hidden gems (like goldbug!) in the picture.  Interestingly, I think that the book could be “read” without the text by following the journey of one character from page to page, similar to what we saw with Welcome to Mamoko in my “Outside the Box” category.

The other one that I can hear you practically yelling at me from here to mention is (believe it or not!) an import!  While we Americans know the beloved series as Where’s Waldo? it’s actually a British series created by illustrator Martin Handford.  (Interesting note, Wally’s name has been “localized” in other publications of the book around the world as well.  (He’s Charlie in France!) This is a subject we’ll get back to again in our next category “Lost in Translation.”) 

As with Scarry’s work, the books are not wordless.  Each two-page spread features a short paragraph on the scene itself and some details as to what the reader may want to search for.  The text on the page is even less directive, in my opinion than Scarry’s though.  The most important text in the book is the explanation of Waldo, his friends and what other items appear in every spread that serves as the introduction to the book.  Once a reader is armed with that information, they can proceed as they wish.  Since being published for the first time thirty years ago, Wally has been lost in not only books but comic strips, video games, and even a TV series.  And just think, next time someone asks “Where’s Waldo?” you can tell them he’s in a wimmelbilderbuch!

Trying to stay true to my category though, I tracked down a few more titles that are both wimmelbook and wordless.  I mentioned that it was Anno who started me off on this journey.  Before I was aware of the wimmelbook connection, I had been wanting to take a closer look at the idea of the Hans Christian Andersen award winning Japanese author’s depiction of northern Europe.  The story is of Anno himself, on horseback, traveling through various scenes of villages, towns, and cities in northern Europe. 

According to the author’s note at the end, the work is based on Anno’s own journeys through Europe in 1963 and 1975.  As he wandered, he learned about the history of the area, painted, sketched and interacted with the people.  Anno also weaves characters from children’s fairy tales, paintings from European masters, depictions of children playing games (perhaps a subtle nod to Bruegel’s Children’s Games) and even characters from Sesame Street!  This is not Anno’s only wimmelbook style offering, (you can find some of them here), he even has a journey style books about the United States, Britain, and Spain.

                                                                                               

The author’s note, I will admit, is very helpful to discern these subtle details and given examples of what readers may be interested in noting.  But the book is otherwise wordless and could be enjoyed without the endnotes as well.  Just tracking Anno on his horse from spread to spread allows a reader to tell their own version of his story.  Additionally, something I hadn’t considered before (though it now strikes me as “duh!”) is part of the appeal of wordless books is that they work in all languages.  They’re translated not be a writer, but the reader into words that work for them. 

Another author that is often credited with being a large part of the wimmelbook movement is Rotraut Susanne Berner.  Another Hans Christian Andersen award winner (2016), this German illustrator and graphic designer has over 80 books to her credit, many of them in wimmelbook style.

                                                                           

I was able to get my hands on a copy of her book In the Town All Year ‘Round, published her in the US in 2008.  Giving credit where it’s due, there is minimal text and  Neeltje Konings and Nick Elliot are given credit for the translation.  Interestingly, I learned that the 2003 German edition was actually four volumes, and some scenes were condensed when it arrived on American shores a few years later.  The book begins in Winter and follows a town and its people through each season.  As I noted, there is text, but not on every page.  Each season begins with a page full of characters with a short sentence with information or a question about the pictured object that can be searched for within the pages about that season.  (Again, it brought to mind Mamoko in a lot of ways.)

In true wimmelbook style, the text is not directive, but a suggestion on paths a reader may wish to explore.  Upon closer inspection, it does have a distinctly European feel with the style of the characters clothes, the cars they drive and even the actions they take (extra points if you can find the man smoking!).  Berner also has other wimmelbook options if you’re interested.

Given that I was trying to track down books as I went, I, unfortunately, wasn’t able to get my hands on copies of everything that I wanted to be able to take a closer look at.  But if you’re interested in wimmelbook style, I did mention German illustrator Ali Mitgutsch.  You can read more about his work here.  I wasn’t able to request a copy of any of his wimmel-style titles soon enough to share, but my library did have a copy of one of his other books, From Grain to Bread.  The book, also known as a “Start to Finish Book” is another style popularized by Mitgutsch.  Goodreads has 56 titles attributed to Mitgutsch and I’m looking forward to a few of his wimmelbooks showing up at my house via interlibrary loan here soon.  Another international author whose work features wimmelbooks is illustrator Thé Tjong-Khing.  Born in Indonesia where he attended the Seni Rupa Arts Institute, Thé has lived in the Netherlands since he was twenty-three and his books are written in Dutch.  His most well-received book is wordless and in wimmelbook style, Where Is The Cake?  which was followed by Where Is The Cake Now? and The Birthday Cake Mystery.  I’m sure there are plenty of other examples out there, and if you know of any, I’d love to hear about them!  As I noted, there’s really not a lot of information and research (at least in English) about this genre and I’m always interested in learning more from anyone who has insight!

Unfortunately, I seem to have exhausted my current knowledge about wimmelbooks.  Fortunately, hopefully I’ve shed a little light on another option to consider when seeking out translated texts.   Unfortunately, as I noted earlier my topsy-turvy decision to switch up this post meant scrapping me getting to dive deeper into one of my favorite wordless titles.  Fortunately, you can check it out for yourself!

Pool

By: JiHyeon Lee

Also, if you’d like some additional insight from Lee herself about this book that made its way to America from South Korea in 2015, I highly recommend this article she wrote for the PIctureBook Makers blog.  There are even pencil sketches from her early work on the book’s creation!

That (and I’m not sure by now if you’re thinking fortunately or unfortunately) brings us to the end of our Wordless category. Thanks for spending the time traveling down the wimmelbook rabbit hole with me in this last post.  It’s always fun for me to get to explore something brand new even when it’s slightly off the course I had so precisely mapped out.  I will be back here Friday to launch my next category, “Lost in Translation” where we’ll take a closer look at some of the arguments often raised against translated texts and why the sometimes get a bad rap in the process.  Fortunately, I think every reader that stumbles across this blog of mine finds that idea challenged a little bit with some of what I’m able to share!

A Comic Approach to Storytelling Without Words

If you’ve been paying attention to the current trends in children’s literature, you’re probably well aware of the number of graphic novels that are being published and devoured by eager readers.  Sneak a peek at Amazon’s Hot Release List and consider how many fall under that umbrella or this prediction by Scholastic Books for trends in 2017, specifically noting the “continual growth and demand for graphic novels.”

This isn’t anything new.  In fact, as I dug into my research for this post, I came across this article form 2007 discussing the growing trend in the popularity of graphic novels.  Interestingly, it used one of the books I had planned on including in this post as an example.  Kudos to this blogger who ten years ago predicted: “I expect we will see more and more of this in the kids’ market.”

I’m not sure if the wordless books I have today technically fall into the graphic novel category but I think it’s difficult (and probably a moot point) to come up with an exact definition for what exactly a graphic novel is.  If we depend on my friend Noah again from the other day, a graphic novel is “a story that is presented in comic-strip format and published as a book.” 

This is where it gets dicey because the logical next question is “OK, so what’s the difference between a comic book and a graphic novel?”  I am in no way qualified (or brave enough) to jump into that debate but it’s mostly agreed upon that the biggest difference is that a graphic novel is often a single book and a comic book is serial in nature.  Even that comparison doesn’t always hold water so I’m going to slowly back away from the potential bomb I may have detonated and leave that up to “another blog, another day.”  Instead, let’s focus on the major commonality; illustration.

It seems like a fairly obvious thing to say that illustration is key to a graphic novel and more specifically to our discussion here, the two wordless picture books that I’ve chosen to highlight here that are stylized much like a graphic novel.  They contain both full page and paneled images, allowing them to be “read” much like a very long comic strip.  What I find interesting about these wordless versions though is twofold; first, how the reader tells the story and second, what the author “hides” within the illustration that adds layers to the story without words.

When I was looking back over the wordless titles I had read, attempting to decide which to include and how to organize my posts for the category, the Polo stories by French author Regis Faller and the set of three works by Australian author Gregory Rogers featuring a boy, a bear and the Bard stood apart for their comic strip paneling.  Unlike other wordless books, I felt as if this led to a more linear version of how the story was to be read.  Action became sequential and directive.  The story was still left open to reader interpretation, but in a more limited sense as to what is actually seen on the page.  But, what about we don’t see on the page?

I will readily admit that my knowledge of the finer points of comics is extremely limited, so I pulled out my handy copy of Understanding Comics by Scout McCloud for help.  To clarify my ‘what the reader does not see on the page’ is the space between the panels, also referred to as the “gutter.”  As McCloud explains “Here in the limbo of the gutter, human imagination takes two separate images and transforms them into a single idea.  Nothing is seen between the two panels, but experience tells you something must be there!”

It’s possible then, that even though the images progress is a much more direct fashion, many different readings of these wordless books may occur by not only how the reader interprets the picture but also how they fill the gutter.  In essence, these books flex even more imagination muscle than other wordless text because they make it vital for the reader to create their own story of what happens not only on the page, but off it as well.  To me, this is interesting because when we read a comic we do this without even realizing it, sometimes guided by the images and sometimes the text.  With the absence of text entirely each reader follows the same path but may tell a completely different story.

Acknowledging this “gap” in the storytelling, I took a closer look at The Adventures of Polo by Faller.  

The first of six titles that now have been published in the United States introduces readers to The World of Polo, the little dog who travels the world and beyond, equipped with only his backpack of supplies.  Polo is resourceful, showing his ingenuity throughout the story by using the tools he has at hand.  The colors are bright and bold, and I would liken the style more to a cartoon than a comic and my first thoughts included that this combination of color and style would more likely appeal to a younger reader. 

Upon closer inspection, I realized that the gutters were reflective of this as well.  The time lapse the reader created in them from panel to panel was minimal, easily inferred by any age reader.  This is not to say that the story would not be enjoyed by older readers or that they would not employ the same storytelling techniques that we discussed with other wordless texts.  What I am suggesting is that this may be an ideal story to explore those ideas and introduce conventions of comics with younger readers.   I haven’t had a chance to read all of the Polo books, but I would highly suggest Polo and the Runaway Book as well.

Similar to Polo, the titular Hero of Little Street uses ingenuity to navigate an unknown world, that of Little Street, Delft in seventeenth-century Holland.  He arrives there after escaping from bullies who chased him into a museum.  Exploring the museum, he’s joined by a dog, who leaps from a painting he’s passing by.  The twosome then enters a different painting of a young girl seated at a piano.  She plays, they dance and then she shows them a door that leads them to Little Street.

Let me stop before I go any further.  What I’ve outlined above follows the first half of the book fairly closely and would probably be similar to how it would be recalled by most readers.  There is nothing incorrect in this description, but a closer look at clues left in the illustrations by Rogers add a richer meaning to the overall tale.

First, it’s worth noting that this is the second book of Rogers featuring The Boy.  The first, The Boy, The Bear, The Baron, The Bard, ends where this one begins, with The Boy wandering the streets of London.  This knowledge isn’t imperative, but a perceptive reader may then note that opening scenes of the story actually take place in Trafalgar Square, right in front of a very specific museum, The National Gallery in London.  As The Boy wanders the museum, those familiar with Rogers work may notice The Bear and The Bard in a few of the paintings.  The little dog that joins the boy is first seen in a full image of a painting, an accurate representation of the Arnolfini Portrait by Jan van Eyck.  

Van Eyck’s work dates back to the 14th century and he is often considered one of the founders of the Early Netherlandish painting school.  This is important to keep in mind when considering that the painting the duo then enters is by another Dutch master, Johannes Vermeer.  This painting, Lady Seated at a Virginal is another accurate depiction (except for The Bear and The Bard hiding in the painting inside the painting!) of a piece of art that is actually housed at The National Gallery.  

The door The Lady escorts The Boy and his dog through opens to a full-page depiction of one more of Vermeer’s works, The Little Street.

You can see that this second paragraph is much richer in information and detail that my first telling.  For the sake of transparency, let me perfectly honest when I say that I did not pick up the majority of those connections on my initial reading.  My art history knowledge is similar to my knowledge of comics – minimal at best.  It wasn’t until I read the text on the jacket flap which indicates “the two slip into a Vermeer painting” that I went back and did a little more digging and turned up all those finely crafted details woven in by Rogers.  I was delighted, amazed and educated, but in all honesty, it doesn’t really change the way the basic nature of the story.  This presents a unique opportunity then for the reader to experience the text on an initial reading one way and then a completely different way subsequent to realization of the subtext Rogers created.  I would argue that these books could be enjoyed and “read” by any age reader but that enjoyment is enriched and perhaps better appreciated with the understanding of the layers built into the illustrations.  I haven’t had the chance to read it, but the third in Rogers’ series is Midsummer Knight.

The blending of styles, wordless book with comic formatting is what makes these series unique in the big picture sense.  Each then uses different conventions to reach their audience without words, allowing the reader to follow the story in a linear fashion but tell it in their own way.  On Tuesday I’ll be back with the last post in our Wordless category.  These books take the direct opposite approach of these – they feature wide open spreads that could be “read” from left to right, up to down or diagonal depending on what appeals to the reader, but still manage to convey a sense of forward momentum with each flip of the page.  See you back here then!