Translating Alice.

Russian sports not only several excellent translations and adaptations of Alice, but also musical play with songs by Vladimir Vysotsky.

Talking of curious, at least two of the Russian renditions of ‘curiouser’ – страньше и чудесатее – are current in modern usage with people not even realising they come from Alice.

I’ve recently come across an assertion that renditions or adaptations like Nabokov’s or Chukovsky’s would be impossible today because of copyright restrictions. Writers and translators simply have to stick to the original work and translate it as close to the original as possible without deviating or experimenting. Does this sound true?

I don’t think that’s much a legal issue (a copyright holder is allowed to authorize a movie, a musical, an adaptation for tweens, a lunchbox; why not a brilliant yet daringly free translation?) as a cultural one — changing ideas on what it is appropriate for a literary translator to do, generally disfavoring “deviation and experimentation” and other ostentatious interventions. Even if the results are good as literature, if they aren’t an “authentic” representation of the semantic content of the original, they are likely to be deemed inappropriate. (The form of the original is usually considered less vital, in my experience — thus a rhyming poem may be translated into unrhymed verse, but leave out one of the types of fruit listed in line 12 and watch the reviewers pounce.) Nabokov’s review of Arndt’s translation of Eugene Onegin is a good example of this kind of thinking taken to a searing, contemptuous extreme.

That said, I think books like Alice are generally exempted from this to an extent — people might be nervous about “authenticity” but they aren’t unreasonable, they know that puns can’t be translated literally and some adaptation is needed. The Harry Potter books, for example, were translated with spell names, proper nouns, etc. adjusted as considered appropriate to each language, so that for example Voldemort’s full name can be rearranged into a sentence meaning “I AM LORD VOLDEMORT”. (Bathrobe has pages and pages about this.)

Many of the things Alice parodies are now far more obscure than the parody, so that even English-speakers need annotated editions.

Hans, it’s right here on youtube, for one.

It would be interesting to see how successful different translations are in different sections of the story, since one of the unusual things about Alice in Wonderland is that the various chapters have characteristically different kinds of jokes. Most obviously, the tea party is comedy of manners, while the part with the mock turtle is mostly puns.

Some years ago I was able to buy versions of Alice in French, Italian, German and Russian, as well as The Annotated Alice. The Russian version (which was much too hard for me to read) is Nabokov’s. Among other difficulties, it uses an older spelling, for instance the letter which is now written “e”.

I just ordered a copy in OE!

There is a publisher called Evertype that does dozens of (often weird—Gothic anyone???) translations.

http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss_2?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=Evertype

@ D.O. & centralasian – thanks a lot!

The ninth Polish translation came out three years ago. My favourite one (mostly because I was brought up on it) was Alice #4, translated by Maciej Słomczyński (who, despite his 100% Polish first and last names, was of half British and half American descent).

[Posted on the Conlang list back in 1998]

As a translation of this English original from Chapter 6, ‘Pig and Pepper’:

“You see the earth takes twenty-four hours to turn round on its axis —”

“Talking of axes,” said the Duchess, “chop off her head.”

the version by Antonie Zimmermann is fair enough:

“[…] Die Erde braucht doch jetz vier-und-zwanzig Stunden, sich in ihre Achse zu drehen—”

“Was, redest du vom Axt?” fragte die Herzogin. “Hau’ ihr den Kopf ab!”

But Henri Bué’s translation is nothing less than sublime:

“[…] vous voyez bien, la terre met vingt-quatre heures à faire sa révolution.”

“Ah! vous parlez de faire des révolutions!” dit la Duchesse. “Qu’on lui coupe la tête!”

The axe becomes by implication a guillotine.

De revolutionibus orbium cœlestium…

Fisheyed, I believe I read that post and in fact it was an example of exactly the trend I’m talking about – frowning on insufficient fidelity in the translations of even a generation or two ago. (Leaving out some of the poems in a “sequence” I consider more of an editorial matter – the same thing might be done in a same-language “selected works”.)

I guess the question is, have things changed? It may depend on the field. But I can’t, for example, imagine a new translation of the Genji Monogatari that arbitrarily left out poems, paragraphs and chapters on aesthetic grounds the way Waley’s (hugely acclaimed at the time, not so much now) does – perhaps an established author or poet might dare to present “their” version this way, but a translator would not be forgiven such liberties.

Okay, perhaps it is just confirmation bias — but still, that was in 1985. I was barely even aware of my surroundings in 1985, so clearly we are talking about the distant past here. (Seriously, I do think that what I’m talking about became a thing in the 90s along with the fragmentation of mass culture and all that jazz.)

Maybe what I am really trying to describe is less “Everyone is a strict Nabokovian now” and more “Back in the day, everyone was willing to let all kinds of semantic liberties slide; now there is a significant minority of people who vigorously protest even small changes.” But even then, I suppose it’s possible that I just haven’t read closely enough and even in the 1920s there were reviewers objecting strenuously to Waley’s ways.

Nothing, as long as there are unabridged editions to turn to if that’s what you want. If you’re doing the first and for some indefinite time only translation of an important work, it’s dereliction of duty.

Amen, amen. Plus, there is the responsibility to be HONEST about the abridgement in teh introduction. I think it’s the duplicitous silence that is shocking both in the Neruda example I read about and in the Tamil/English ones that I have seen first-hand (e.g. Shobasakthi’s excellent novel, Gorilla).

now there is a significant minority of people who vigorously protest even small changes.

I am happy to hear we are numerous enough to be significant. I sometimes feel like a old man with a long beard shrieking YOU MUST REPENT.

Did you see Chandler’s response? No P & V he.

I’ve read the thesis now. The chapter on Morte D’Arthur and its 1979 YA Finnish translation is particularly interesting, particularly the parts that aren’t specialized to YA of that time (like the general reduction of sex and gore). The thesis makes the general point that English that was not archaic in the 15C should be translated into Finnish that is not archaic in the 20C. More specifically, the original suffers from not being able to tell a story linearly, as in this passage quoted by the writer:

And so when he loved her there was cried in this country a great jousts three days, and all the knights of this country were there and gentlewomen, and who that proved him the best knight should have a passing good sword and a circlet of gold, and the circlet the knight should give it to the fairest lady that was at the jousts. And this knight Sir Pelleas was the best knight that was there, and there were five hundred knights, but there was never man that ever Sir Pelleas met withal but he struck him down, or else from his horse; and every day of three days he struck down twenty knights, therefore they gave him the prize, and forthwithal he went there as the lady Ettard was, and gave her the circlet, and said openly she was the fairest lady that there was, and that would he prove upon any knight that would say nay.

This is reduced in the translation to:

Seudulla pidettiin kolmen päivän turnajaiset, joitten voittaja sai palkkiokseen oivallisen miekan ja kultarivan, joka hänen piti antaa turnajaisten kauneimmalle naiselle. Sir Pelleas voitti kilvan, vaikka paikalla oli viisisataa ritaria. Hän antoi otsarivan Ettardille ja sanoi kuuluvasti, että tämä oli kaikista naisista kaunein.

which is rendered by GT as:

Resort was held three days of jousting among whom the winner received the rewards of a sword and an excellent kultarivan, which he had to give tournament flagships’s most beautiful woman. Sir Pelleas won the race, even though there were five hundred knights. He gave a diadem of Ettardille and said loudly that this was the most beautiful of all women.

This is much closer (ignoring infelicities) to how a 20C writer would put it. Similarly, the translation omits in describing the battles the long lists of who killed or injured who, well-satirized by Twain.

Eh, Verne’s novel The Mysterious Island was published in 1874 and had four abridged English translations before two unabridged ones appeared, both in 2001.

What did they cut?

Thanks!

The old bad translation is still on Project Gutenberg, but fortunately so is F. P. Walter’s 2002 translation by permission of the translator. It is unabridged, and its corrections begin with the title: Twenty Thousand Leagues Under The Seas, rather than Sea, which gives the impression that Verne thought the ocean was 80,000 km deep instead of (at most) 11,000! The translation also keeps the metric system (which is appropriate for an English science fiction novel of today), with a handy table of equivalents up front.

I haven’t yet read this translation, but here are the openings. Old:

The year 1866 was signalised by a remarkable incident, a mysterious and puzzling phenomenon, which doubtless no one has yet forgotten. Not to mention rumours which agitated the maritime population and excited the public mind, even in the interior of continents, seafaring men were particularly excited. Merchants, common sailors, captains of vessels, skippers, both of Europe and America, naval officers of all countries, and the Governments of several States on the two continents, were deeply interested in the matter.

For some time past vessels had been met by “an enormous thing,” a long object, spindle-shaped, occasionally phosphorescent, and infinitely larger and more rapid in its movements than a whale.

The facts relating to this apparition (entered in various log-books) agreed in most respects as to the shape of the object or creature in question, the untiring rapidity of its movements, its surprising power of locomotion, and the peculiar life with which it seemed endowed. If it was a whale, it surpassed in size all those hitherto classified in science. Taking into consideration the mean of observations made at divers times—rejecting the timid estimate of those who assigned to this object a length of two hundred feet, equally with the exaggerated opinions which set it down as a mile in width and three in length—we might fairly conclude that this mysterious being surpassed greatly all dimensions admitted by the learned ones of the day, if it existed at all. And that it did exist was an undeniable fact; and, with that tendency which disposes the human mind in favour of the marvellous, we can understand the excitement produced in the entire world by this supernatural apparition. As to classing it in the list of fables, the idea was out of the question.

New:

The year 1866 was marked by a bizarre development, an unexplained and downright inexplicable phenomenon that surely no one has forgotten. Without getting into those rumors that upset civilians in the seaports and deranged the public mind even far inland, it must be said that professional seamen were especially alarmed. Traders, shipowners, captains of vessels, skippers, and master mariners from Europe and America, naval officers from every country, and at their heels the various national governments on these two continents, were all extremely disturbed by the business.

In essence, over a period of time several ships had encountered “an enormous thing” at sea, a long spindle–shaped object, sometimes giving off a phosphorescent glow, infinitely bigger and faster than any whale.

The relevant data on this apparition, as recorded in various logbooks, agreed pretty closely as to the structure of the object or creature in question, its unprecedented speed of movement, its startling locomotive power, and the unique vitality with which it seemed to be gifted. If it was a cetacean, it exceeded in bulk any whale previously classified by science. No naturalist, neither Cuvier nor Lacépède, neither Professor Dumeril nor Professor de Quatrefages, would have accepted the existence of such a monster sight unseen—specifically, unseen by their own scientific eyes.

Striking an average of observations taken at different times—rejecting those timid estimates that gave the object a length of 200 feet, and ignoring those exaggerated views that saw it as a mile wide and three long—you could still assert that this phenomenal creature greatly exceeded the dimensions of anything then known to ichthyologists, if it existed at all.

Now then, it did exist, this was an undeniable fact; and since the human mind dotes on objects of wonder, you can understand the worldwide excitement caused by this unearthly apparition. As for relegating it to the realm of fiction, that charge had to be dropped.

Original:

L’année 1866 fut marquée par un événement bizarre, un phénomène inexpliqué et inexplicable que personne n’a sans doute oublié. Sans parler des rumeurs qui agitaient les populations des ports et surexcitaient l’esprit public à l’intérieur des continents les gens de mer furent particulièrement émus. Les négociants, armateurs, capitaines de navires, skippers et masters de l’Europe et de l’Amérique, officiers des marines militaires de tous pays, et, après eux, les gouvernements des divers États des deux continents, se préoccupèrent de ce fait au plus haut point.
En effet, depuis quelque temps, plusieurs navires s’étaient rencontrés sur mer avec « une chose énorme » un objet long, fusiforme, parfois phosphorescent, infiniment plus vaste et plus rapide qu’une baleine.

Les faits relatifs à cette apparition, consignés aux divers livres de bord, s’accordaient assez exactement sur la structure de l’objet ou de l’être en question, la vitesse inouïe de ses mouvements, la puissance surprenante de sa locomotion, la vie particulière dont il semblait doué. Si c’était un cétacé, il surpassait en volume tous ceux que la science avait classés jusqu’alors. Ni Cuvier, ni Lacépède, ni M. Dumeril, ni M. de Quatrefages n’eussent admis l’existence d’un tel monstre — à moins de l’avoir vu, ce qui s’appelle vu de leurs propres yeux de savants.

A prendre la moyenne des observations faites à diverses reprises — en rejetant les évaluations timides qui assignaient à cet objet une longueur de deux cents pieds et en repoussant les opinions exagérées qui le disaient large d’un mille et long de trois — on pouvait affirmer, cependant, que cet être phénoménal dépassait de beaucoup toutes les dimensions admises jusqu’à ce jour par les ichtyologistes — s’il existait toutefois.

Or, il existait, le fait en lui-même n’était plus niable, et, avec ce penchant qui pousse au merveilleux la cervelle humaine, on comprendra l’émotion produite dans le monde entier par cette surnaturelle apparition. Quant à la rejeter au rang des fables, il fallait y renoncer.

Note that the dates in 20,000 Leagues and the lesser-known interquel The Children of Captain Grant are hopelessly incompatible with those in The Mysterious Island, and should be resolutely ignored.

The one good thing about the “bad old translation” is that it helps you get a good feel for French!

I have not analyzed the two translations, only read through rather fast, but it seemed to me that the older one was more repetitive as concerns vocabulary. You may be right for the rest.

Is “in essence” stylistically appropriate here?

En effet, it isn’t.

I feel that “larger” is a better choice than “bigger”, as in the old translation.

But on the other hand, “faster” is superior to “more rapid”. Why has neither translator thought of “infinitely larger and faster than any whale”? To be sure, it would be still better (also in terms of rhythm and general euphony) without “infinitely”, but here the exaggeration is Verne’s own.

I actually prefer has neither translator thought: it is more vivid.

I defer to the native speakers’ Sprachgefühl.

Verne’s first translator was Lewis Mercier, under the name of Mercier Lewis.

Much of his fault is a misunderstanding of the science. One of the more famous howlers is « acier dont la densité par rapport à l’eau est de sept huit dixièmes » becoming “steel whose density is from .7 to .8 that of water,” rather than “steel whose relative density is 7.8 times that of water.”

Who knows, perhaps Mercier didn’t quite understand that .7 or .8 means less than 1. Or did it escape him that the Nautilus was a submarine and had to dive?

But he also simply left out quite a lot of the science, apparently because he had no idea how to translate it.

Yes, Mercier is the lentil man. But I think it was Ned Land, not Paganel, who held the “lentil” up to the sun. Professor Paganel is a character in Les Enfants.

Mercier was a clergyman, with a Master’s degree in Divinity, which may account for his scientific illiteracy. What accounts for his notorious skipping of the more technical parts of Verne’s text, I can only speculate. Probably a combination of incompetence and determination to meet the publisher’s deadlines (to be paid on time).

As a boy, I read 20,000 Leagues in an anonymous pre-war translation into Polish. Having re-read a few fragments, I now realise it was a very good, professional job on the unknown translator’s part. I wish I knew who he (or she?) was.

Verne had a knack for coming up with fictional names which always seem unsettlingly odd. Paganel above; the Icelander Arne Saknussemm (Journey to the Center of the Earth); The Californian J. R. Taskinar (Godfrey Morgan, a.k.a. The School for Robinsons). I could never figure it out.

Y: “odd names” : I don’t know about the others, but I don’t see anything odd about Paganel as a French name. It sounds Southern (Occitan-derived), but that is all.

Surely these names just mean ‘countryman-DIM’. There is also Spanish Pagano and English Payne.

Fisheyed, the closest I could find to evidence for Mary Jo Bang not speaking Italian is an admission that she is “no Italian scholar proper,” which obviously isn’t the same thing as not speaking Italian — could you elaborate on that one? (“Translations” made by people who don’t really understand the original is a topic that interests me a great deal.)

That said, even if as you say Bang can’t actually read Dante in the original, I don’t think her case deserves censure as such — she’s quite upfront about her work being an aggressive modernization (South Park characters, etc.) and given that I think even her use of the word “translation” is best interpreted as a provocation.

That said, even if as you say Bang can’t actually read Dante in the original, I don’t think her case deserves censure as such — she’s quite upfront about her work being an aggressive modernization (South Park characters, etc.) and given that I think even her use of the word “translation” is best interpreted as a provocation.

Here, Bang runs smack dab into the conflicting urges of her performance art. (We can’t call it a “translation” – can we? – since she doesn’t know Italian, and merely glosses her favorite English texts.)

I would not censure her if she and her publisher did not use the word translation. Or maybe “translation” is a word whose meaning has shifted while I was not looking, and we need another word for actually reading a text in one language and writing it down in another. Bang is one example, Coleman Barks, Sean O’Brien (and I consider him a genius), I don’t think Pinsky reads Italian either…. on and on it goes.

Saknussemm is not even a plausible Icelandic name. It’s a corrupt version of the name of Árni Magnússon, a real manuscript collector from the 17th/18th centuries.

It looks like for ‘exotic’ languages, Verne made up names, and not very well: ‘Isaac Hakhabut’ is a pretty poor imitation of a Jewish name. For languages he was more familiar with, or had better sources for, he merely chose obscure ones, like Paganel, Fix, or Strogoff.

In Russia, inability by some immigrants from Central Asia to pronounce sounds like “f” or “ts” is a cause of endless jokes.

Most common features Central Asian immigrant utterly failing to pronounce “Rossiyskaya Federatsia” (Russian Federation)

Surely these names just mean ‘countryman-DIM’. There is also Spanish Pagano and English Payne.

And of course German – Haydn.

Haydn? (looks it up)

Oh, heathen. Sure.

I never thought of “Arne Saknussemm” as an unusual name, since my father read me Journey to the Center of the Earth when I was five or six. It was exactly as odd to me as the name “Axel” at the time. A few years later, I also got a two hour record set of Tom Baker reading an (obviously heavily abridged) version of the novel, which was really well done.

The strangeness of “Saknussemm” did finally hit me when I saw Kathy Ireland as Wanda Saknussemm in Alien From L.A. It’s a good MST3K episode though.

I would not say Jules Verne was a “stylist”, but a good writer nevertheless.

-You mean they substitute /p/ for /f/ and /st/ for /ʦ/, and… oh dear, Mr President isn’t going to like it!

just plain /s/ for /ts/

Effect is the same – Reseiski Pederasia!

don’t know anything about anthro grad students, but I’m willing to stipulate

That wasn’t my point at all, but obviously further interaction is pointless.

Matt: in most respects the youth of today fall far short of the golden standard set by my generation in our salad days, curiously reversing the generally progressive trend which saw my generation outshine its well-meaning but benighted predecessors

As a retired person, I have to agree! (just kidding of course)

There’s a Vonda McIntyre novel in which one of the secondary characters is an artist who manufactures faked fossils, shows them, and then buries them. Unfortunately, when some of them are dug up, neither the artist herself nor anyone else can convince the “discoverer” that these aren’t scientific proof that the original animals actually existed in the timeframe corresponding to the layer where they are buried.

Well, sure. But what use a modern reader has for tournaments of 15th century or so? The only reason to read them IMHO is a guilty pleasure of amusement by sex and gore and enjoying a text from which one’s head spins.