I mentioned the other day that translators are often the unsung heroes or villains in determining the success of a translated title from source to target language. Their work, sadly, often goes unrecognized. I cannot tell you the number of titles that I read where I had to dig through the copyright information to find the name of the translator if it was even mentioned at all. While I could speculate on the reasoning behind this, I’d rather focus on just how difficult a challenge they are tasked with and how, in some ways, they can make or break the way a book is received.
Of all the materials I’ve read during my project, this article by translator Sarah Ardizzone, (who you may remember for her work when we talked about Little Red Hood) published by The Guardian in March of 2014, is by far my favorite for its insight. In it she talks about her translation work on another title by French author Marjolaine Leray, April the Red Goldfish. She discusses challenges with word choice, making puns work from one language to another, what is and isn’t “appropriate” for children, and how when translating picture books when the language may not translate easily, she is also able to rely on the images. I highly suggest taking a few minutes to go read it before going any further here to get a direct perspective on the myriad of difficulties placed on the shoulders of a translator.
With all that in mind, before I go any further here, I want to make it clear that I have limitless respect for translators and am so thankful for their skills that allow us as readers to have the opportunity to be exposed to stories from outside our own language. I have no doubt that they approach each project with good intentions and complete it to the best of their abilities. I wish that they were given at least a fraction of that respect within the publishing industry.
But…
It is worth discussing that there is plausibility in the idea that when a translated book doesn’t fare well or earns that “weird” label, it could be just as much because of the translation as it could be the original work. The power of the translator is enormous. In many ways, they could be considered an author in their own right, as the choices they make could drastically impact the way a text is received. Just one word or lack thereof could change a reader’s interpretation. We, as readers, are at their mercy, tasked with believing that they have delivered to us a realistic reflection of the original work.
It is with this in mind that I want to take a closer look at a conundrum that I encountered with a group of texts. I’ve mentioned before that over the course of the last ten months I’ve easily read over 300 translated picture books. Some I’ve liked, some I haven’t liked, and some have left me scratching my head wondering both why anyone ever thought that out of all the books available this one needed to be translated and if maybe I was missing something or making unreasonable judgments of a text. I’ve tried to be objective, remember my disclaimers? But there were four texts that for some reason kept nagging at me. I found myself wanting to slap that “weird” label on them or chalk it up to “it must be me.” Instead, I shared them with others, they had a similar “what the heck?” reactions.
I decided that the group of texts deserved a post in this category to see if I could try to make sense of what could have possibly gotten “lost” along the way. As I started digging into them a little deeper, I began noticing connections.
They all were written in Sweden.
They were all published by the same publisher, R & S Books.
And, they were all translated by the same person, Elisabeth Kallick Dyssegaard.
Before I go jumping to any rash conclusions, it is first worth pointing out that I did read a number of other titles from Sweden. (You yourself can check out some others here as well!) I would not really consider them among my “favorites” and I did not choose any others for deeper insight in any of my posts. Additionally, I did not have the same reaction to any of them that I did to these four. But, it is worth noting that the subject matter of many Swedish picture books is very different than what we often encounter in the United States. We’ve discussed this a few times about other European titles, especially in the controversy category. Death particularly, for some reason, is a subject of many Swedish picture books that are translated into English and it is dealt with much more matter-of-factly that we Americans are probably used to. I will contend that part of my reaction to these titles could be due to the differences in literature for children between the two cultures.
But I think that there’s more to it. I think that there’s something very interesting in the fact that I had such a strong disconnect with all of these books that share a translator. I’m in no way blaming Dyssegaard, and it could completely be just me, but it’s curious. The one additional similarity that I can draw between each of these stories is how disjointed they felt to me. Each time I read a book, I would write a brief synopsis and a list of questions and considerations for myself so that if I couldn’t get my hands on the book again, I would have a good place to start if I decided to use it for a post. Consider my initial reaction to the following:
By: Barbro Lindgren
Illustrated by: Eva Eriksson
Kristi’s Synopsis: Andrei and his friend Vova are wandering the city of St. Petersburg. They appear to be orphans who are searching for Andrei’s mother. Andrei remembers living in her stomach below her heart before he was born and is distressed that he can’t go back to that time or to when he remembers his mother. He convinces Vova to leave the orphanage with him and search the city for her. They find a dog, who Andrei suggests is Vova’s mother so maybe he should climb inside it (no joke!) but Vova thinks the dog is too small for him to fit. The dog follows them and when she drinks water her stomach gets bigger and bigger. They find a house that they go into, which has a staircase and an attic that Andrei says is like his mama’s and from the attic they can see a garden and an apple tree in which is Andrei’s Mother. They all go into the garden, the dog gives birth to a bunch of puppies and they all play with them every day.
Some of my notes:
- There has to have been something lost in the translation of this. It is just too strange, too out there, too contradictory and confusing. I cannot figure out any reason at all that this was ever translated.
- I’m not sure if this is supposed to be real, take place in a dream - it is so confusing! I suppose maybe a kid would read it and just accept it? But that seems so dangerous given the chain of events
- There are too many things wrong with this and confusing to list here, but I definitely want to use this one for an example as why translated books get a bad rap
I had similar reactions in my notes regarding becoming lost and how disjointed the story for Julia Wants A Pet, also by Barbro Lindgren and illustrated by Eva Eriksson felt to me and I summarized it as follows:
Julia who lives in a rather run-down apartment building complex has always wanted a pet. Her mother tells her no, but she tries to find a pet anyway. Any kind would do. She meets a kid who thinks he’s a locomotive (Engine) and they go in search of a pet. Julia “finds” a dog and tries to take it home but it actually belonged to someone else. She then puts Engine in her baby carriage but he doesn’t like it. She finds a beetle who later flies off but she gets a cat for her eighth birthday.
I could set aside many of the “odd” elements in both stories and chalk them up as potential cultural differences, but the sequencing of the story in both cases was very difficult to follow. I noted that many of the sentences started with “And” or “But” and were short and choppy. The tenses weren’t consistent and the role of the narrator changed from third person omniscient to limited to back again. From my understanding, those are much more likely to be due to the translation than on the source material.
The same challenges I was noticing extended to works by other authors as well. After reading Bertil and the Bathroom Elephants by Inger Lindahl and illustrated by Eva Lindstrom I noted: “A lot of the story didn’t seem to flow very well or make much sense. And I couldn’t tell if the parents were really in on it or believed the story. Sometimes in American stories, I feel like you understand that they know it is just the child’s imagination but there is no indication of this from any of the adults in the story, that they are just “playing along” another reason I think that some kids might be upset by this one.” I also wrote that while I thought it was comical, there seemed to be real terror on the part of the main character, who is supposed to be three years old. It may wise to consider your audience before sharing this one with very young readers.
Story structure and flow was my primary complaint with The Grandma Hunt by Nina Matthis and illustrated by Gunilla Kvarnstrom as well. Given the title, I was somewhat confused when I noted “I think there has to be something lost or missing in this. There is so much build-up (3 pages) about Jacob spending time with Grandpa, then Linnea arriving that is over half-way through the book that they even mention the need for a Grandma. There doesn’t seem to be a real need even for the first half of the book.” I also had difficulties with the way the book presented itself, noting “There isn’t much flow to the story. Almost every page is an abrupt ending that re-starts with a different idea/day/plan on the next page.” Interestingly, specific word choice also was one of my concerns, specifically a statement about how the market owner providing “two tons of hot dogs” for the BBQ seemed like an out of place exaggeration in context.
So the question becomes then what is my point in all of this? What does it all mean? Do I think that Elisabeth Kallick Dyssegaard is a crummy translator?
No, let me very clear on that. I am not suggesting that my impressions regarding each of these four titles lies squarely on the shoulders of the translator. But, I can point to clear examples in each of the four books that I believe are more reflective of her choices as the translator than how the text read in the source language. Can I prove that? No. But I feel that we already know that translation is not a word for word swap and must be restructured and organized to make sense in the target language, it is fair to argue that this is a strong possibility.
If nothing else, I think that it’s more than mere coincidence that out of all the books that I read, four that I strictly took issue with because of them being “confusing” or that “something was missing” or that they were disjointed and that it felt like something had been “lost” were all translated by the same person. If we tend to read books by an author because we like the style of their writing, do we not also sometimes limit reading books by another author if we do not like their style? Is it possible that I don’t like Dyssegaard’s style?
I’m not sure that’s completely the case, as I think the subject matter, at least in the two books by Lindgren would keep those strongly in the “not my favorite” category anyway. While I think Dyssegaard’s style contributed, I’ve read other books by Barbro Lindgren (who to be fair is the 2014 Astrid Lindgren Award Winner) translated by others, that I also don’t enjoy very much. There is something to be said in all of this about personal taste, as well as consideration to be given to the differences in the audience Lindgren is primarily writing for in Sweden versus what we American readers are being exposed to.
My point is that the role of the translator is so very important. We need to be just as critical of how our reaction to a book may be reactive to their choices as it is the original work. As you pick up a translated title, find the name of the translator. Are they being credited? Where? If they’re not, what does that suggest? When you react unfavorably to a book, could it possibly be due to what was “lost” in the actual written translation process due to the translator’s interpretation? Why is it that just how important a translator is often gets “lost” as well?
I’m honestly not sure that in the last four posts that made up the “Lost in Translation” category I’ve answered more questions than I’ve raised. The more I think about it, though, that’s OK. I think that these are the questions we NEED to be asking about every translated book we pick up. We need to be aware of the subtle details that can affect how we react and not jump to conclusions that “it must be because it’s translated” or that it’s “just weird.” If we’re able to ask these questions, we can be more conscientious in trying to figure out the why that leads to our reactions. Yes, that in itself may turn up more questions, trust me, I can relate to that. But we don’t need to have the answers to understand the relevance and importance of the questions.
So we’ve officially made it to the first of December and the end of the category. It’s smooth sailing from here on out, right? Well, at least for the next few posts it will be for me! I’m going to share some of my absolute favorites from around the globe over the next three posts. On Tuesday I’ve got four stand-outs for me due to their illustrations. See you back here then!
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