Selling books in translation to the British market has long been an uphill struggle. Of all titles published in the UK each year only 3% are translated. That is compared with 13% in Germany, 27% in France, 28% in Spain, 40% in Turkey and 70% in Slovenia. This is a ‘monstrosity’ according to Christopher MacLehose, who ran Harvill, a pre-eminent publisher of translated fiction, for 21 years. He describes Britain’s performance in this area as ‘at the bottom of the league, a laughing stock and a tragedy’.
So why are translated books so unpopular in this country? The problem seems to begin with writers. Talking about the experience of having his first novel translated into German David Baddiel explains: ‘Language in novels is not simply about the conveyance of meaning. It’s also about the resonance of the words, the rhythm and flow of sentence structure, wordplay’.
These subtleties are lost, he claims, in the process of moving between one lexicon and another. This is particularly the case if a translator, as Baddiel suggests, believes he or she can improve on the original. And discerning readers often also cite this reason to avoid reading a work in translation. The text, after all, has been passed through another consciousness before it reaches the reader.
No doubt the best translators strive to emulate the style of the author they are rendering. However, the process of decision-making undergone in any translation leaves a certain mark on the text. So Lee Rourke discovered when he first encountered Michael Hoffman’s translation of Kafka’s complete works. Although Rourke praises the ‘Kafkaesque’ nature of Hoffman’s work, the strength of the latest translation draws attention to the weakness of previous attempts. Rourke questions: ‘if Hoffman can do it, and do it so well, why do so many translators these days ruin contemporary work? Stifling the writers’ intentions with their egos or, as with recent Michel Houellebecq translations, expending no effort at all?’
Sensitive authors and less than brilliant translations, however, are not the only reasons why our translation levels are so abysmally low. It is also due to the wide dissemination and understanding of English that so few works are imported from foreign languages.
Not only do we benefit from the prevalence of first-language speakers of English, we are also beginning to profit by those who speak English as a second language. This year’s winner of the independent foreign fiction prize, for example, Paul Verhaeghen, translated his work from Dutch into English himself.
And he is not alone. Richard Lea reports that foreign writers, already published in their own languages are enrolling in creative writing courses in the US and UK and writing in English. The pull of the English language market could mean these writers leave their own language and communities culturally impoverished.
With such a wealth of English language works at our fingertips, it would be easy for English speakers to become complacent about the value of reading works in translation. To do so would be to overlook the insight into foreign cultures offered by works written in native languages. After all, a work of literature has more to offer than its linguistic subtleties alone.
We need only look at countries in which foreign books are subject to strict censorship to understand the privilege of being able to read books from abroad. According to the Middle East Times, more books are translated into Spanish each year than have been translated into Arabic over the last eight centuries. The Middle East Times stresses the prominence given to Arab publishers and writers at this year’s London Book Fair. It cites moves by the British Council, The Abu Dhabi Authority for Culture and Penguin to bring more books written in Arabic to an English audience. The politics of the region, however, means that Arabic readers do not profit from the same wealth of choice.
Last year Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s Memories of My Melancholy Whores became the most high profile work to fall foul of tightened censorship laws introduced by Iran’s president Mahmoud Ahmadinejad. The work received particular coverage because it was originally authorised for publication after local publishers sanitised its title, making it Memories of My Melancholy Sweethearts. Marquez is popular in Iran and recognised as a literary icon by the authorities. The censorship of his works reflects the fact that many previously available books have been removed from circulation.
Ironically, banning books abroad increases their chances for publication in this country. Chinese publications are an example of this. Yan Lianke’s book, Serve the People, Aida Edemariam notes, is ‘furiously unsubtle’ and ‘would probably not have been published in English on literary merit alone, except for the fact that it … was banned’. The title has been chosen by Peter Florence, Director of the Hay-on-Wye literary festival, as part of his Hay 21, a list of 21 authors the organisers believe are ‘ones to watch’. The list includes six books in translation, according to Edermariam an ‘unusual and brave’ move.
Edermariam’s surprise contributes to what Peter Ayrton, the founder of Serpent’s Tail, believes to be a vicious circle of negativity surrounding books in translation. ‘There’s a general perception in the trade that these books can be difficult to sell,’ he says, ‘and as long as that persists it’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.’
It is important to promote and support foreign titles, as Peter Florence is doing. At least this ‘unusual and brave’ move will bring a diversity of international literature to our attention. It will improve our understanding of cultures, even if only to appreciate the restrictions they suffer, and highlight to us the privilege of being free from those limitations.
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