Identity and Translation Trouble 1443879061, 9781443879064

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Copyright © 2017. Cambridge Scholars Publisher. All rights reserved.

Identity and Translation Trouble

Copyright © 2017. Cambridge Scholars Publisher. All rights reserved.

Copyright © 2017. Cambridge Scholars Publisher. All rights reserved.

Identity and Translation Trouble

Edited by

Ivana Hostová

Identity and Translation Trouble Edited by Ivana Hostová This book first published 2017 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2017 by Ivana Hostová and contributors All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owner.

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ISBN (10): 1-4438-7906-1 ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-7906-4

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements ................................................................................... vii Introduction ................................................................................................. 1 Translation and Identity Ivana Hostová Chapter One ............................................................................................... 19 Translation and Post-National Identity in the Digital Age Michael Cronin

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Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 35 Identifying Shifts in the Allusiveness of a Source Text through Post-Soviet Translation as Deconstruction of the Target-Language Audience’s Soviet Identity Lada Kolomiyets Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 59 From Periphery to Centre (and Back?): On the Reception of Hispanic American Fiction in Slovakia Eva Palkoviþová (translated by Lenka PoĐaková) Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 79 From the Intercultural to the Transcultural Approach to Translation: Pélagie-la-Charrette in Slovak: A Case Study Zuzana Malinovská (translated by Barbora Olejárová) Chapter Five ............................................................................................ 101 (My) Identity–Normality–Translation Martin Djovþoš Chapter Six .............................................................................................. 111 Translated Self: Identity of Early Slovak Immigrants in the United States Reflected in Thomas Bell’s Novel Out of This Furnace Miroslava Gavurová

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Table of Contents

Chapter Seven.......................................................................................... 133 To Translate Aspazija…?: Identity and the Translation of Poetry Astra SkrƗbane Chapter Eight ........................................................................................... 147 French Canadian Identities Lost in Translations of Gabrielle Roy’s Novel Bonheur d’occasion Barbora Olejárová Appendix A ............................................................................................. 163 Bibliography of Slovak Translations of Hispanic American Fiction (1948–2016) Appendix B.............................................................................................. 173 Selected Bibliography of Translations of Aspazija’s Works Contributors ............................................................................................. 177

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Index ........................................................................................................ 181

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First of all, I would like to express my sincere gratitude to the contributors for sharing their excellent work with me and for their collaboration and patience throughout the process of editing. Since Identity and Translation Trouble grew in part from the papers presented at the conference Mirrors of Translation Studies II: T & I Shifts: Identity Shifts, I would like to thank all the participants for their presentations, fruitful debates, and critical comments. My special thanks goes to the keynote speaker Michael Cronin whose stimulating work inspired the topic of the conference. I am extremely grateful to Zuzana Jettmarová, Martin Djovþoš, and my colleagues from the Faculty of Arts of University of Prešov, Slovakia for their advice and critical comments provided during various stages of the preparation of the book. I would also like to thank Lenka PoĐaková and Barbora Olejárová for translating two of the book’s chapters and Richard David Jonathan Gresty and Jonathan Eddy for their help with proofreading. I am also thankful to Tsudoi Masuda for the picture on the cover. The work on the book was supported by the research project GaPU 7/2017. On a personal note, I wish to thank my partner Róbert and my family and friends for their unceasing emotional support. Ivana Hostová University of Prešov, Slovakia

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INTRODUCTION TRANSLATION AND IDENTITY IVANA HOSTOVÁ UNIVERSITY OF PREŠOV

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1 This Grey Language of Translation Studies A glimpse at the frequency of the concept of identity in a few international Translation Studies (TS) journals with a long publication history, namely Babel, Meta, and Target shows a rise in its popularity since the late 1990s. Searches in bibliographic databases Web of Science and Scopus show that in the articles published since 1992, the first entries mentioning “identity” in their abstracts, titles or cited references appear in 1996. A more or less steady rise in the percentage of such papers can be observed since 1998 and in the past few years, since 2013, nearly fifteen per cent of articles have been explicitly dealing in one way or another with identity. This sudden and rapid advance might seem surprising at first, but when we consider that to a certain extent, translation is always an act of renaming and renaming is–in return–bestowing identity, it is almost natural. When it comes to names of people(s), geopolitical units, social strata, historical periods, and similar entities, power relationships manifested through the transformation of the viewpoint in translation become markedly visible. This direct connection of identity and translation is surely one of the underlying reasons why, in the last two decades and a half, the interest of TS in the issue of identity has been on the rise. Another one is the popularity of the concept of identity in social life and humanities and social sciences in general. A deeper consideration of these international (or transnational) position-takings by TS and other disciplines would not have been possible without investigations into language and power and the gap between the sign and the world that allowed thinkers to move away from essentialism and positivism. Overcoming essentialism and structuralism is a prerequisite in creating the present conceptualisations of translation between languages or different media.

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Introduction

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And the proper name . . . is merely an artifice: it gives us a finger to point with, in other words, to pass surreptitiously from the space where one speaks to the space where one looks; in other words, to fold one over the other as though they were equivalents. But if one wishes to keep the relation of language to vision open, if one wishes to treat their incompatibility as a starting-point for speech . . . then one must erase those proper names and preserve the infinity of the task. It is perhaps through the medium of this grey, anonymous language . . . that the painting may, little by little, release its illuminations. (Foucault 1994: 8-9)

To write about translations of identities and identities of translations and translators also in a way means to create the “grey language” that is able to trace the trajectories of cultures, texts, and moving subjects as “translated beings” (Malena 2003: 9) without the comforting belief in equivalence. An important factor that has made the concept of identity interesting for TS in the past two-and-a-half decades is the internal development of the discipline–the so-called cultural turn (Snell-Hornby 1990) of the 1980s which opened TS to a more explicit and intense interest in culture, society, politics, and individuals involved in the process. The present volume investigates some of the facets of the relationship between translation and identity spanning from reflections connoting identity of humankind and individuals as defined by their language(s) through explorations into the habitus (Bourdieu 1983, 1991, 1996, 1998) and experiential complex (Miko 1970: 14; Popoviþ 1983: 33, 121) as parts of a professional translator’s identity to case studies investigating transcultural and hybrid identities, inscriptions, manipulations, and annihilations the (differences of the) source texts undergo. Before introducing individual contributions, I will give a short selective overview of the relationship of identity and TS.

2 The (Scope and History of the) Concept and Its Connections with TS The semantic scope of the concept of identity spans several areas which overlap with TS theoretical interest. In the following section I will outline several such clusters with an accent on their development in the late 1980s and 1990s until they became established in the discipline. Because of the boom of the concept in the last fifteen–twenty years, to give an overview of the post-2000 views on the subject would mean working with almost all literature that has been published on the subject of translation and/or interpreting and that would surpass the function of an introduction to the present volume. What I wish to do instead is to give the papers included in the volume their grounding in the developments of the idea so that the vast

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scope of the topic of identity and translation makes clearer sense with respect to the composition of the volume. It must also be noted that not all the papers in this publication start from the same theoretical basis and thus reflect not only the individual identities of the researchers, but also–to a certain extent–the specific identity of the scope of TS in individual regions (Central Europe [Slovakia], Eastern Europe [Ukraine], Northern Europe [Latvia], and Western Europe [Ireland]).

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2.1 Identity and the Text In philosophy, basic distinction is made between qualitative identity, which requires a certain degree of sameness, and numerical identity, which “requires absolute, or total qualitative identity, and can only hold between a thing and itself” (Noonan and Curtis 2014). In this sense, identity has a long history which goes back to ancient philosophy (Izenberg 2016: 9). The scope and content of quantitative and qualitative identity and the problem of identity over time (and space) can be glimpsed in such notions as the spirit of the original; it also served Schleiermacher to negatively define imitation as practice in which “identity of the original is abandoned” (1992: 149) and was certainly also in the background of discussions of the concepts of equivalence, invariant and shifts as tools that helped build TS as an autonomous research field. The main problem of identity and translation in this respect was determining the necessary degree of qualitative sameness of the source and target texts with variations in compared units and their qualities. Different authors postulate various relationships between equivalence and identity: Vinay and Darbelnet (1995) speak about an identity of situations as the grounding predisposition which makes equivalence possible (35); Nida (2000), on the other hand, verbalises the relationship in this way: “The total impact of a translation may be reasonably close to the original, but there can be no identity in detail.” ([126]). An example of a definition that uses identity as a quality that helps determine what a translation is is Popoviþ’s (1971) explanation of stylistic or translational equivalence. In one of his definitions it is the functional equivalence “in which components of the original are replaced so that the semantic invariant correspondence is preserved and the translation aims at expressive identity” (152; my translation). In his detailed discussion of interlingual identity, developed in 1984, Frawley comes to the conclusion that identity may be granted across linguistic codes, but this identity is actually useless in translation. We must purge ourselves of this rampant notion that identity somehow saves translation. . . . The true interest in translation

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Introduction stems from the fact that recodification is an uncertain act, and the uncertainty results from the inevitable structural mismatch of the codes, though single semiotic elements may be identical. . . . The act of translation involves a complicated juggling of codes, a healthy disregard for identity, and an uncertain leap into the production of a new code and new information. (Frawley 2000: 256, 262)

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In the following decades, the view of translation as production and performance gained a greater explanatory power and the desire for the original in TS was deconstructed together with the notion of the allpreceding original.1 It was difference, not identity that came into the foreground–one of the volumes on theoretical and philosophical problems of translation was named Difference in Translation (Graham 1985), equivalence was revealed as an illusion (Snell-Hornby 1988) and TS revisited Benjamin’s views of translation from the early 20th century, adopting Derrida’s critique of the metaphysics of presence, in which “‘origin’ is itself dispersed, its ‘identity’ undecidable. A representation thus does not re-present an ‘original’; rather, it re-presents that which is always already represented.” (Niranjana 1992: 9). The historical gendered thinking on translation and its metaphors was also challenged (Chamberlain 1988) and feminist deconstruction of identity relativized identity as a categorising element as such: Gender and translation participate in this economy of contamination, unable to maintain a separation of same and different, original and copy. This is the turning of the troping of metonymy... the mimetism of ludic repetition or supplement that exposes the operations of representation as the production of value within an economy of meaning configured by a specific set of overlapping signifiers. The metonymic infiltrating the metaphoric making (im)possible philosophy/theory, translation and gender. Instead of an exchange of signs constituting the identity of differing groups, there is only the change of signs in a combinatory of provisional groupings that announces the reign of the signifier. Reading from one signifier to another, connecting one signifier with another... Translating with the signifier, as it is contaminated by another while past and future configurations commingle, thickening the web of relations... (Godard 1991: 111; suspension points in original)

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This, obviously, does not deligitimise foreignising strategies: only by revealing the illusory effect of domesticating translation can “the numerous conditions under which the translation is made, starting with the translator’s crucial intervention in the foreign text” (Venuti 2004: 1) be revealed.

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Later in the 1990s, Matte’s “Translation and Identity” (1996) attempted to utilise part of the 20th century philosophical discussion on identity and difference (Heidegger, Derrida) and similarly concluded that translation as a process and its result cannot be explained by the concept of (textual) identity, but rather through the notion of difference. Identity in this sense seemed no longer productive for conceptualising entities TS was interested in.

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2.2 Collective Identities Once the problem of equivalence was more or less sidestepped (but not abandoned–see, e.g., Pym 2004) by functional approaches, further development in Descriptive Translation Studies and new transdisciplinary inspirations, the focus shifted from the text to culture and investigations into translation/interpretation and collective (ethnic, gender, linguistic, national, cultural, regional, etc.) identities came into focus. Some of the ideas currently discussed in papers concerned with cultural identity had been, in different forms, present in earlier reflections on translating– especially with respect to creation and establishment of languages and political (or national) units–e.g., Bohuslav Tablic, a Slovak translator and poet, wrote in his preface to his translation of Alexander Pope’s An Essay of Man published in 1830 that his motivation for translation was to enrich domestic literature and language “by translating useful books, written in more educated European languages.” (Tablic 1830: [iii]; my translation). However, as Simon (1996) writes in the preface to her Gender in Translation, “to position translation within cultural studies . . . means . . . that the terms ‘culture,’ ‘identity’ and ‘gender’ are not taken for granted but are themselves the object of inquiry” (ix); identity as such had to be addressed explicitly in order to enable researchers to view the us versus them opposition for a long time taken for granted from a critical perspective, or to explicitly challenge the “Eurocentric hegemonic binarisms” (Inghilleri 2017: 16). Identity in the contemporary sense of the word, i.e. “identity as substantive self-definition . . . which purportedly determines what I believe and do” (Izenberg 2016: 10) started to be commonly used after Erik Erikson (1956) coined “ego identity” in the 1950s. Identity in this sense– identity of the individual self–might be interesting for investigating translators’ idiolects, the reception and production of translation, and for the study of translator’s personal identity in contrast to his/her specialised habitus (perhaps in the context of the norm/convention breaking behaviour that results in changes of the field), but TS has been more intensely

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Introduction

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interested in collective identities. These, as Izenberg (2016) concludes, had not been explicitly addressed before the 1960s when “Erikson’s concern with individual identity was overtaken by social and political upheaval. . . [and] focus shifted from the individual to issues of collective identity and identity politics” (26). With the cultural turn, geopolitical redefinitions of borders, secondwave feminism, and increased geographical mobility and information flow, collective identities ceased to be taken for granted. TS–like other disciplines–also opened up to absorb and make use of the feminist and postcolonial questioning of canons and power relationships and the constructionist character of identity-formation: “The unequal character of interdiscursive relations . . . implies that identity construction can be seen as ideological: in establishing its identity, a discursive practice constructs, reproduces, or subverts social interests and power relations.” (Robyns 1994: 406). One of the first separate volumes that attempted to explicitly address the issue of collective identity and translation was Us / Them (1992), edited by Gordon Collier. The volume did not focus on TS theory very much, but it did succeed in outlining some of the topics that continue to be addressed within TS to the present day (the identity-forming power of language, identity-enabling and destructive power of translation, hybrid postcolonial identities that challenge the presuppositions about relationships of source and target languages and cultures, women’s identity and their language in Cixous’s sense, multiculturalism within political units, minority and hybrid identity, non-national identity, etc.). 2.2.1 Gender and Identity The movements across the Western world in the late 1960s also brought forth the second wave of feminism which spread to individual fields of human practice, including translation and research. Gender was introduced as a category of analysis (Scott 1986) and gender identity also started to be addressed from the TS point of view. The parallel development of TS and second-wave feminism was, in Bassnett’s view, not accidental: In general terms . . . the significance of much of the work by theorists such as Julia Kristeva, Luce Irigaray, Hélène Cixous, Elisabetta Rasy . . . was their refusal to continue looking at the world in terms of binary oppositions. . . . Similarly, one of the principal concerns of Translation Studies in the 1970s was the need . . . to get away from the binary concept of equivalence and to urge a notion of equivalence based on cultural difference, rather than on some presumed sameness between linguistic systems. (Bassnett 1992: 64)

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TS conceptualisations of identity in the context of gender were often inspired by feminist translation practices or went hand in hand with them (this especially concerns Canadian feminist translations published since the late 1970s). Babara Godard, drawing on Irigaray’s (1985) idea of “gestural code of women’s bodies” (134) and other silenced codes and the notion of “repetition and displacement of the dominant discourse,” (Godard 1989: 46) saw feminist discourse as translation and the activity of the feminist translator as “womanhandling”–replacing the self-effacing translator and “affirming her critical difference, her delight in interminable re-reading and re-writing” (50). The feminist impulse helped Godard move away from equivalence “grounded in a poetics of transparency” (47), see translation as production, not reproduction and feminist discourse as a model for translation. Jean Delisle (1993), also drawing on feminist translation practice in Canada, described feminist translation as weaving the identity of a woman into the language of translation (208). Feminist TS deconstructed stable (and essentialist) identities and started to view them as results of activity, as performative:

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Identity is no stable effect of a coherent entity but is constituted through the technology of language where the “I” or subject of enunciation remains contingent and provisional to institutional policies and practices articulated in historically differentiated discourses subject to contestation and to change. (Godard 1997: 92)

Sherry Simon in her Gender in Translation (1996), inspired by Judith Butler’s (1990) view of gender as the effect of institutions/discourses/ practices (xi), wrote that “gender, therefore, is never a primary identity emerging out of the depths of the self, but a discursive construction enunciated at multiple sites” (Simon 1996: 6). She felt it necessary to assert that “gender is not always a relevant factor in translation. There are no a priori characteristics which would make women either more or less competent at their task. Where identity enters into play is the point at which the translator transforms the fact of gender into a social or literary project.” (ibid.). In the following years, inspirations from feminisms, gender studies, and queer studies (Harvey 1998, 2000, 2003; Keenaghan 1998) furthered discussions of gender (and sexual) identity in translation, broadening and problematizing further the issue of performative/discursive gender identity–both in languages, and with respect to the author and translator. Some of these issues will be discussed in my section on identity of the translator below.

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Introduction

2.2.2 Ethnic, National, Linguistic, etc. Identity

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The role translation played in the history of creating nation-states was touched on by Even-Zohar (1993) and a historical TS perspective was also taken in Translators through History (1995), edited by Jean Delisle and Judith Woodsworth in which linguistic, ethnic, cultural, national, and minority identities were addressed in a retrospective look (translations of the Bible are said to have helped preserve ethnic identities; the way in which minority languages serve as a source of identity; the role translation played in creating national identities). Cultural (especially national and minority vs. majority) identity was also discussed in Culture in Transit: Translating the Literature of Quebec (1995), edited by Sherry Simon. In 1996, Woodsworth published an article explicitly addressing the relationship of translation into/from a minority language and identity. Her research focused on the way translators saw the aim of their activity. She asserted that “the translators’ decisions take place in the framework of political or ideological factors and are determined by their vision of what the function and consequence of their work might be” and that “translation serves to stimulate and preserve the [minority] language, enrich the indigenous literature and strengthen a sense of cultural identity” (Woodsworth 1996: 212). She concluded that by translating works that have enjoyed prestige, authority or simply wide distribution in the source culture, the translator confers credibility on the target language text and the target language itself. The motivation for translating, beyond personal affinities, is political. Translation is a means of strengthening the minority language and culture, of helping to ensure its survival, and hence of promoting national identity, or a new vision of “nationhood.” (235)

Subsequently, TS inquiries into cultural identity experienced a boom and nowadays, the bibliography of papers and volumes on translation and cultural identity is very long and encompasses historiographical probes into translation in various geographical locations as well as investigations of contemporary problems of cultural identity (transcultural, transnational, diasporic, and hybrid identities; enlargement of the EU and European identity; war conflicts; migration; minority literatures in a globalised book market; ethical aspects of domesticating translating strategies into a major language). Even a mere attempt to assemble a bibliography of the post1995 volumes and papers on the topic would surpass the scope of this introduction. Perhaps it is enough to direct the reader’s attention to some of the chapters in the present volume (Kolomiyets, Palkoviþová, Malinovská,

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Gavurová, SkrƗbane, and Olejárová), since these might serve as examples of some of the topics researched in this area of interest. 2.2.3 (Professional) Identity of the Translator/Interpreter With translation gaining academic attention and with developments of/in the field of TS, the status and identity of the translator–historically usually seen as subservient or even suspicious–came into question. An interesting parallel between the author and the translator and the patriarchal views of the relationship between men and women was drawn by Lori Chamberlain (1988). After analysing the metaphorics of translation, she concludes that although the paratexts on translation traditionally attempted

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to cloak the secondary status of translation in the language of the phallus, western culture enforces this secondariness with a vengeance, insisting on the feminized status of translation. Thus, though obviously both men and women engage in translation, the binary logic . . . defines translation as, in many ways, an archetypal feminine activity. (467)

Erosion of Western binary oppositions through deconstruction, feminist, gender, and postcolonial studies hand in hand with developments in the discipline of TS and work done by translators’ organisations challenged the traditional hierarchy of the author/original and translator/translation– this is, as Bassnett (1992: 66) remarks, reflected in terminology (original versus source text, translation versus target text) and also in the fact that the translator and her/his identity have become a separate object of study for TS with some researchers and translators explicitly making it their agenda to problematize the identity of the translator (Niranjana 1992), lift translators from their “shadowy existence” (Venuti 1992: 1), “illustrate the roles they have played in the evolution of human thought” (Joly 1995: xiv), “draw attention to the ‘translator-effect’” (Flotow 1997: 35), “win for translators greater cultural authority” (Venuti 1998), etc. One of the fruitful discussions on the translators’ identity that started in the 1990s was inspired by sociological models of thinking. Becoming a translator came to be seen as socialisation (Toury 1995) and acquiring a specialised habitus in Bourdieusian sense (Gounavic 1997; Hermans 1999; Simeoni 1998). Further discussions on this topic revolved around the tension between norms/conventions/habitus and the conscious decisionmaking process, the potentially norm-breaking agency of the translator. It may be noted that these issues resonated with the performativity of gender identity in Butler’s (1988) sense of “social agent as an object rather than the subject of constitutive acts” (519) and Parker and Kosofsky Sedgwick

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Introduction

(1995) who tend “to stay on the ‘intentional,’ ‘active,’ side of the argument around discourse” (Flotow 2011: 13). In more recent years, translators, their identity and professional status and the identity of translation as a process have been more and more often analysed in the light of fast-evolving technology and the high demand for commercial translation. The dehumanizing effect of instrumentalisation of language and translation and the cyborg identity of the translator have been conceptualised and criticised from the positions of language and translation ecology and didactics of translation (Cronin 2002, 2006, 2013, 2015, 2017; Dizdar 2014).

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3 The Contents of the Current Volume The authors of the present volume address the problem of identity and translation from various positions. Individual papers outline the theoretical aspects of the ecology of translational attention with language as a defining aspect of human identity in the context of global economy (Cronin), present certain Ukrainian translations and versions as spaces for inscription of the identity of the target culture in which translation is an explicitly political act (Kolomiyets), analyse the creation and dissolution of a field of Slovak translations of Hispanic American fiction with underlying questions of modelling and manipulating identity of the other through translation and tensions between a minor literature and world literature/global book market (Palkoviþová). Further in the volume, the reader will encounter a probe into the transcultural approach to translation in the Slovak cultural space of the 1980s where identities of various cultures mix and binarism in translation is overcome (Malinovská) and a look at the habitus and identity of a translator in Central Europe and a call for strengthening the agency of translators (Djovþoš). The remaining three chapters bring a probe into the complex hybrid identity of migrants (Gavurová), a call for a more effective export policies that help preserve and promote cultural identity and diversity (SkrƗbane), and an analysis of translations that foreground the requirements of the target context and the ways they recreate and destroy complex identities (Olejárová). Several of these chapters employ the methodology that has lately received–as Venuti (2013: 6) points out–less scholarly attention, namely close reading of translations. Michael Cronin addresses a paradox in the economy of attention (Gamboni 2014) with respect to translation: while translation plays a central role in facilitating information flow between linguistically diverse locales, it seldom elicits appropriate attention itself. He sees instrumentalisation of

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Translation and Identity

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language and translation as a threat to linguistic ecosystems and proposes an ecology of translational attention that would seek recovering Language Commons–the linguistic resources that should be preserved for future generations. Instead of turning attention to individual domains of translation (such as literary translation, technical translation, localisation, etc.) or post-national linguistic identities, Cronin draws attention to the language as a resource common to all humans, as something enabling human survival and shaping the identity of humanity. Depleting Language Commons may thus deprive future generations of opportunities to acquire diverse individual and group identities. Lada Kolomiyets explores translations and poet’s versions as spaces allowing for a visible, explicit inscription of the identity of the target culture. Post-Soviet Ukrainian identities can be glimpsed in what she terms as farcical translations of Yurii Andrukhovych and Oleksa Nehrebetsky, who markedly shift allusions of the source texts in their translations and through this deconstruct the remnants of Soviet identity in the general Ukrainian public. Translation thus becomes a powerful deliberate political action which propels establishing of an alternative cultural trend with travesty as a basic model of self-identification in postsocialist, postcolonial Ukraine. Eva Palkoviþová traces the history of Slovak translation of Hispanic American fiction in the socialist and post-socialist era. Her cultural approach is based on grasping and contextualising the norms and political circumstances governing individual phases in the translational import of Hispanic American fiction into Slovak cultural space. This diachronic curve is modelled as a gradual (near-)creation of the field of magic realism (with elements of magic realism also entering the works of Slovak writers) in the era of prescribed socialist realism and its rather abrupt dissolution caused by developments in source literatures and the radical change of political and economic situation in the target context. Her in-depth analysis of cultural, political, and economic circumstances of Slovak cultural space, publishing policies and texts–translations, paratexts and archives–also draws a picture of the model of the identity of Hispanic American literature as created by the agents and audiences in the target context. Zuzana Malinovská proposes a shift in approach towards translation of ethnic writers into Slovak as a language of limited diffusion, which, she argues, had already started before the end of the communist totalitarian regime and rapid globalisation of the post-communist cultural spaces. The chapter demonstrates the shift from the traditional intercultural approach which establishes a dialogue between two identities (but also accentuates

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12

Introduction

the possible tensions and conflicts between cultures) to the transcultural approach, which emphasises movement, interlinking and mixing of cultural identities and enables a complex hybrid identity to be conceptualised and expressed. Martin Djovþoš looks at the problem of translators’ identity from the sociological point of view with identity seen in direct connection to habitus. The author reinterprets Bourdieu’s notion of habitus through the concept of experiential complex, introduced in 1970 by the Slovak scholar František Miko. Miko defined the experiential complex as the unity of experience (ideas, thoughts, feelings, interests, and stimuli) that forms the basis of communication, i.e. conditions–similarly to habitus–behaviour. At the same time, Djovþoš attempts to grasp the gist of Central European identity, which he considers highly evasive due to the turbulent political history of the 20th century. He also questions the narrowly understood socialisation of translators and calls for a more complex and reflexive approach which would enable translators to make more responsible decisions. The core of Miroslava Gavurová’s chapter is the hybrid linguistic, ethnic, and religious identity of economic migrants and its portrayal in the 1941 novel by Thomas Bell and its Slovak translation (1949) by Ján Trachta. The paper concentrates on a close reading and in-depth analysis of emotional, economic, linguistic, social, and cultural aspects of the hybrid identity of migrants living simultaneously in two sharply different contexts (the outside world and the intimate domestic environment as a space imitating the lost homeland) and with a fractal-like heritage of their “original”–the mother tongue of the Slovak immigrants to the United States in early 20th century was a mix of the very young official version of Slovak with German, Hungarian, Czech, and various dialectal elements. The Slovak translation to a great extent normalised and erased the hybrid identity of the immigrants–not only the English-Slovak linguistic identity of the migrants and the text, but also that of the mixed vernacular they brought from their home. This might have partly resulted from a conscious strategy of the agents involved in the translation and publishing at that time to build a model national literary language. However, the inconsistencies (in some cases, hybridity is added to places where the source text did not indicate any) in translation of linguistic hybridity also partly sprang from underdeveloped models of translation of this kind of text. Astra SkrƗbane unites the sociological aspects of translation processes with a close reading of translations in her paper. Her approach is, to a certain extent, more traditional–she views the poetry of a significant Latvian woman writer as an expression of Latvian national identity and its

Translation and Identity

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(predominantly) supply-driven export (Vimr 2015) via translations is portrayed as behaviour enabling and preserving cultural diversity in global or international communication. Besides tackling the issues of modelling the identity of a cultural space through translations, the chapter’s appendix (Appendix B) introduces a bibliography of the poet’s translations containing more than 30 items in various languages and looks at the poet’s self-translations into German, which challenge the unproblematic and undifferentiated personal and national identity encoded in her work. Barbora Olejárová investigates the recreation of Quebec identities in two English and one Slovak translation of Gabrielle Roy’s 1945 novel. Given the geopolitical positions of both Quebec and Slovakia, it might be quite surprising that it was published only 4 years after the original, some 30 years before the translation in the closest larger cultural space (the Czech translation was published in 1979). The interest of the Slovak translator and publisher in a novel exploring French-Canadian identities can be explained by the policies of the target culture–the Živena publishing house, founded in the 1930s and active until the communist totalitarian regime came to full power, specialised in publishing fiction– mainly translations–written by women or for women. Olejárová looks at translating the complex identity of the characters in the novel as it is manifested in their language. Her findings show that the agents in the Slovak cultural space (the translator and the publishing house) were not interested in recreating the hybrid identity in the translation–their focus was probably more on the events forming the identity of the female protagonist (economic struggle, romantic involvement, etc.).

References Bassnett, Susan. 1992. “Writing in No Man’s Land: Questions of Gender and Translation.” Ilha do Desterro 28: 63-73. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1983. “The Field of Cultural Production, or: the Economic World Reversed.” Poetics 12: 311-56. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1991. “First Lecture. Social Space and Symbolic Space: Introduction to a Japanese Reading of Distinction.” Ed. by Brian McHale. Trans. Gisele Sapiro. Poetics Today 12 (4): 627-638. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1996. The Rules of Art. Genesis and Structure of the Literary Field. Trans. Susan Emanuel. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1998. Practical Reason. On the Theory of Action. Stanford: Stanford University Press.

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Introduction

Butler, Judith. 1988. “Performative Acts and Gender Constitution: An Essay in Phenomenology and Feminist Theory.” Theatre Journal 40 (4): 519-531. Butler, Judith. 1990. Gender Trouble. New York: Routledge. Chamberlain, Lori. 1988. “Gender and the Metaphorics of Translation.” Signs 13: 454-72. Collier, Gordon. Ed. 1992. Us / Them: Translation, Transcription and Identity in Post-Colonial Literary Cultures. Amsterdam: Rodopi. Cronin, Michael. 2002. “Babel’s Standing Stones: Language, Translation and the Exosomatic.” Crossings: eJournal of Art and Technology 2 (1). Accessed February 6, 2016. http://crossings.tcd.ie/issues/2.1/Cronin/. Cronin, Michael. 2006. Translation and Identity. London and New York: Routledge. Cronin, Michael. 2013. Translation in the Digital Age. London and New York: Routledge. Cronin, Michael. 2015. “The moveable feast: translation, ecology and food.” The Translator 21 (3): 244-256. Cronin, Michael. 2017. Eco-Translation. Translation and Ecology in the Age of the Anthropocene. London and New York: Routledge. Delisle, Jean. 1993. “Traducteurs médiévaux, traductrices féministes: une même éthique de la traduction? [Medieval translators, feminist translators: the same ethics of translation?].” TTR: traduction, terminologie, rédaction 6 (1): 203-230. Delisle, Jean and Judith Woodsworth. 1995. Translators through History. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Dizdar, Dilek. 2014. “Instrumental Thinking in Translation Studies.” Target 26 (2): 206-223. Erikson, Erik H. 1956. “The problem of ego identity.” Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association 4: 56-121. Even-Zohar, Itamar. 1993. “A función da literatura na creación das nacións de Europa [The function of literature in creation of European nations].” Grial 31 (120): 441-458. Flotow, Luise von. 1997. Translation and Gender: Translating in the ‘Era of Feminism.’ Manchester: St. Jerome. Flotow, Luise von. 2011. “Preface.” In Translating Women, ed. by Luise von Flotow, 8-17. Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press. Foucault, Michel. 1994. The Order of Things. An Archaeology of the Human Sciences. New York: Random House. Frawley, William. 2000. “Prolegomenon to a Theory of Translation.” In The Translation Studies Reader, ed. by Lawrence Venuti, 263-[250]. London: Routledge.

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Gamboni, Aurélien. 2014. “L’Escamoteur: économie de l’illusion et écologie de l’attention [The Conjurer: economy of illusion and ecology of attention].” In Technologies de l’enchantement. Pour une histoire multidisciplinaire de l’illusion [Technologies of enchantment. For a multidisciplinary history of illusion], ed. by Angela Braito and Yves Citton, 71-86. Grenoble: ELLUG. Godard, Barbara. 1989. “Theorizing Feminist Discourse / Translation.” Tessera 6 (Spring): [42]-53. Godard, Barbara. 1991. “Translating (With) the Speculum.” TTR: traduction, terminologie, rédaction 4 (2): 85-121. Godard, Barbara. 1997 “Writing Between Cultures.” TTR: traduction, terminologie, rédaction 10 (1): 53-99. Gounavic, Jean-Marc. 1997. “Translation and the Shape of Things to Come.” Trans. Donald Bruce. The Translator 3 (2): 125-152. Graham, Joseph F. Ed. 1985. Difference in Translation. Ithaca: Cornell University Press. Harvey, Keith. 1998. “Translating Camp Talk.” The Translator 4 (2): 295320. Harvey, Keith. 2000. “Gay Community, Gay Identity and the Translated Text.” TTR: traduction, terminologie, rédaction 13 (1): 137-68. Harvey, Keith 2003. Intercultural Movements: American Gay in French Translation. Manchester and Northampton (Mass.): St. Jerome. Hermans, Theo. 1999. Translation in Systems. Descriptive and Systemoriented Approaches Explained. Manchester: St. Jerome. Inghilleri, Moira. 2017. Translation and Migration. London and New York: Routledge. Irigaray, Luce. 1985 [1977]. This Sex Which Is Not One. Trans. Catherine Porter and Carolyn Burke. Ithaca (N.Y.): Cornell University Press. Izenberg, Gerald. 2016. Identity. The Necessity of a Modern Idea. Philadelphia (Penn.): University of Pennsylvania Press. Joly, Jean-François. 1995. “Preface.” In Translators through History, ed. by Jean Delise and Judith Woodsworth, xiii-xiv. Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Keenaghan, Eric. 1998. “Jack Spicer’s Pricks and Cocksuckers: Translating Homosexuality into Visibility.” The Translator 4 (2): 273294. Malena, Anne. 2003. “Presentation.” TTR: traduction, terminologie, rédaction 16 (2): 9-13. Matte, Neusa Da Silva. 1996. “Translation and Identity.” Meta 41 (2): 228-236.

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Miko, František. 1970. Text a štýl: k problematike literárnej interpretácie [Text and style: on the problems of literary interpretation]. Bratislava: Smena. Nida, Eugene. 2000. “Towards a Science of Translating.” In The Translation Studies Reader, ed. by Lawrence Venuti, [126]-140. London: Routledge. Niranjana, Tejaswini. 1992. Siting Translation. History, Post-structuralism, and the Colonial Context. Berkeley, Los Angeles, and Oxford: University of California Press. Noonan, Harold and Ben Curtis. 2014. “Identity.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2014 Edition), ed. by Edward N. Zalta. Accessed December 08, 2016. http://stanford.io/2qwsfwp. Parker, Andrew and Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick. 1995. Performativity and Performance. New York and London: Routledge. Popoviþ, Anton. 1971. Poetika umeleckého prekladu [Poetics of literary translation]. Bratislava: Tatran. Popoviþ, Anton. Ed. 1983. Originál–preklad. Interpretaþná terminológia [Original–translation. Interpretational terminology]. Bratislava: Tatran. Pym, Anthony. 2004. The Moving Text. Localization, translation, and distribution. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Robyns, Clem. 1994. “Translation and Discursive Identity.” Poetics Today 15 (3): 405-428. Schleiermacher, Friedrich. 1992. “Extracts from ‘On the Different Methods of Translating.’” In Translation/History/Culture, ed. by André Lefevere, 141-166. London and New York: Routledge. Scott, Joan Wallach. 1986. “Gender: A Useful Category of Historical Analysis.” The American Historical Review 91 (5): 1053-1075. Simeoni, Daniel. 1998. “The Pivotal Status of the Translator’s Habitus.” Target 10 (1): 1-39. Simon, Sherry. 1996. Gender in Translation. Cultural Identity and the Politics of Translation. London and New York: Routledge. Simon, Sherry. Ed. 1995. Culture in Transit: Translating the Literature of Quebec. Montreal: Vehicule Press. Snell-Hornby, Mary. 1988. Translation Studies: An Integrated Approach. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Snell-Hornby, Mary. 1990. “Linguistic transcoding or cultural transfer? A critique of translation theory in Germany.” In Translation, History and Culture, ed. by Susan Basnett and André Lefevere, 79-86. London: Cassell.

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Tablic, Bohuslaw. 1831. “PĜedmluwa.” In Anglické múzy w þeskoslowenském odČwu [English muses in the Czecho-Slovak garment], ed. by Bohuslaw Tablic, [iii]–x. Buda: Král. universická tiskarna. Toury, Gideon. 1995. Descriptive Translation Studies and Beyond. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Venuti, Lawrence. 1992. “Introduction.” In Rethinking Translation. Discourse/Subjectivity/Ideology, ed. by Lawrence Venuti, 1-17. London: Routledge. Venuti, Lawrence. 1998. The Scandals of Translation. Towards an Ethics of Difference. London: Routledge. Venuti, Lawrence. 2004. The Translator’s Invisibility. London and New York: Routledge. Venuti, Lawrence. 2013. Translation Changes Everything. London and New York: Routledge. Vimr, OndĜej. 2015. “Fighting non-translation: Does it make sense? Individual and institutional strategies of promulgating less translated literatures.” Presentation at the conference Translating the Literatures of Smaller European Nations, Bristol, September 9-10. Vinay, Jean-Paul and Jean Darbelnet. 1995. Comparative Stylistics of French and English: A Methodology for Translation. Trans. Juan C. Sager and M.-J. Hamel. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Woodsworth, Judith. 1996. “Language, Translation and the Promotion of National Identity: Two Test Cases.” Target 8 (2): 211-238.

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CHAPTER ONE TRANSLATION AND POST-NATIONAL IDENTITY IN THE DIGITAL AGE1 MICHAEL CRONIN DUBLIN CITY UNIVERSITY

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Abstract If the notion of economy is based on the management of scarce resources, attention in a media-saturated world has become the most precious resource of all. There is a paradox, however, that haunts translation in this new political economy of attention and that is the attention that is or is not paid to translation itself. In the de-regulation of language, translation becomes the Invisible Hand in the market of communication. However, to see language as purely instrumental without considering the ends to which it is employed is to allow strategies of legibility to be employed in ways that may be deeply damaging to human flourishing. The ecology of translational attention proposed here is concerned with recovering the Language Commons and research into how routinized, unreflective or narrowly utilitarian notions of language impoverish the Language Commons and deplete the expressive resources of future generations. Are you all sitting still and paying attention? The familiar injunction of the schoolmistress has become the watchword of the new economy. If the notion of economy is based on the management of scarce resources, attention in a media-saturated world has become the most precious resource of all. Already in the mid-1990s Michael Goldhaber was arguing that with the emergence of digital technologies, traditional factors of production would decline in importance relative to that of attention 1

This chapter was first published as “Reading the Signs: Translation, Multilingualism, and the New Regimes of Attention” in Amodern 6: Reading the Illegible, edited by Nick Thurston (2016).

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(Goldhaber 1996a, 1996b, 1997a, 1997b). Thomas Davenport and John Beck in the The Attention Economy: Understanding the New Economy of Business (2001) predicted the monetization of attention where the attention of consumers would be so sought after that they would be supplied with services free of charge in exchange for a few moments of their attention (213). We would be paid to pay attention. This is, in a sense, what has happened with Google where users can use extremely powerful search engines seemingly free of charge. From the point of view of an economics of attention, two challenges immediately present themselves. The first is how to protect attention from information overload to ensure an optimal allocation of this scarce resource (the vogue for time management courses) and the second is how to extract the maximum amount of profit from the capture of this scarce resource (Kessous, Mellet, and Zouinar 2010: 366). It is in the second sense, of course, that search engines come at a price. For Google, the user is the product and her attention span has a lucrative exchange value. The more she pays attention, the more Google gets paid for her to pay attention. What these developments highlight is a fundamental shift in economic emphasis from production to promotion. In information-rich environments, a series of media gates exist to filter information to potential users or consumers. Not all of these media gates have the same power co-efficient. An ad in a local college newspaper will not reach the same audience as an ad on prime time television. If the absolute cost of diffusing information has fallen dramatically over the centuries–it is substantially cheaper to post a blog in the 21st century than to print a book in the 16th–the cost of getting past the filters of preselection has risen exponentially (Falkinger 2007: 267). In other words, as societies are more and more heavily invested in various forms of mediation, from the rise of the audiovisual industries to the emergence of digital technologies, it is less the production of goods and services than the production of demand through the capture of attention that absorbs increasing amounts of resources. Getting people to take notice is the main income generator for what Kenneth McKenzie Wark has famously dubbed the “vectorialist class” (Wark 2004). Contrary to a popular misconception McKenzie Wark argues that information is never immaterial. It must always be embodied at some level. The vectors are the hard drives, the disks, the servers, the cables, the routers but also the companies and investment funds that are needed for information to be stored, archived, retrieved and to circulate between humans in space and time (Wark 2012: 143). The importance of this class in the United States is borne out by the figures cited by Erik Brynjolfsson and Andrew McAfee in their Race Against the Machine

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where they point out that the share of income held by equipment owners continues to rise as opposed to income going to labour. While payrolls have remained flat in recent years in the United States, expenditure on equipment and software has increased by an average 26% (2011: 45). There is a sense, of course, in which gaining people’s attention may be a central feature of the new economy but is not necessarily novel in human experience. People have been trying to get others to sit up and take notice for millennia. As Richard Lanham points out in The Economics of Attention: Style and Substance in the Age of Information (2006), the central thrust of the art and science of rhetoric for more than two millennia has been to find ways of soliciting the attention of audiences. Lanham argues that much of what has been debated under the heading of “style” in literary criticism, art history, aesthetics has largely been a matter of how writers and artists have sought to corner the attention of their readers or viewers in a field of competing media or stimuli. That the late moderns have not been the first to deal with the consequences of information overload is clear from the experience of Renaissance humanists and 17th century philosophers who were both excited and bewildered by the informational munificence of the printing press. One such scholar, Robert Burton, author of The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621) detailed this media invasion: I hear news every day, and those ordinary rumours of war, plagues, fires, inundations, thefts, murders, massacres, meteors, comets, spectrums, prodigies, apparitions, of towns taken, cities besieged in France, Germany, Turkey, Russia, Poland, &c., daily musters and preparations, and such like, which these tempestuous times afford, battles fought, so many men slain, monomachies, shipwrecks, piracies and sea-fights, peace, leagues, stratagems, and fresh alarms. . . . New books every day, pamphlets, currantoes, stories, whole catalogues of volumes of all sorts, new paradoxes, opinions, schisms, heresies, controversies in philosophy and religion, &c. (Burton 1927: 14)

Tables of content, indices, references, bibliographies were among the devices employed at a textual level to filter this informational excess and at an epistemological level, an interest in Cartesian style methods came from a wish to make sense of this abundant “news” (Blair 2010). Any attention to regimes of attention will necessarily have to relativise its arguments in the light of previous historical experiences but it is nonetheless evident that the advent of digital technologies have added a significant new dimension to what Davenport and Beck call the “attentionscape” (Beck and Davenport 2001: 49) of late modernity.

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A problem not mentioned by Burton but implicit in the spread of his interests is language. There is no way to make sense of the “towns taken” and the “cities besieged” in France, Germany, Turkey, Poland, and Russia if there are no means of obtaining and translating the information from the cities and towns that have fallen or that remain under siege. In other words, you can only pay meaningful attention to what you can understand and translation in a multilingual world is central to the task of language mediation. That translation is a constituent part of information-rich environments is borne out by the exponential growth of the localisation industry (Jimenez-Crespo 2013). The demands for translated data in globalised markets are apparently insatiable. In 2012, Common Sense Advisory estimated the size of the translation service industry to be $33.5 billion and a report by IbisWorld claimed that translation services are expected to keep on growing and reach $37 billion in 2018. These predictions tally with the forecast by the US Bureau of Statistics that the translation industry is likely to grow by 42% between 2010 and 2020 (Pangeanic 2015). The translation service provider Pangeanic concluded that, “globalization and an increase in immigration will keep the industry in demand for the coming years despite downwards costs pressures on the services” (2). Of course, a central rationale for investment in translation is the shift in emphasis, that we mentioned earlier, from production to promotion. In globalised markets, with attention an increasingly scarce resource, one way to make people sit up and pay attention is to offer them products in their own language. “Legibility” of supply encourages expansion of demand. This is the rationale behind the typical sales pitch from a web localisation company such as Language Scientific: Website localization or website translation is the process of modifying an existing website to make it accessible, usable and culturally suitable to a target audience. More than 1/3 of all internet users are non-native English speakers, and according to Forrester Research, visitors stay for twice as long (site stickiness) if the website is in their own language. As companies look to expand into new markets, reach a global audience and increase international sales, the benefits of website localization are clear. (Language Scientific 2015)

One of the consequences of this upward shift in translation demand on the foot of attention capture in globalised markets is the emergence of a new kind of scarcity, not only of attention but of translators. The response of the language services sector to growing demands for translation has been the accelerated interest in the technologization of the word. As Pangeanic put it in their promotional literature, “the advent of machine translation

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technologies should partly address the lack of qualified, professional translators coping with ever increasing amounts of data” (Pangeanic 2015). Computer-assisted translation, machine translation, translation memories, wiki-translation, all in their various ways invoke technology in dealing with the ever expanding demand for translated text. Indeed, already in 2006, Alan Melby made a prediction that he himself admitted was “a bit scary,” namely, that “in the future, the only kind of non-literary translator who will be in demand is one who can craft coherent texts that, when appropriate, override the blind suggestions of the computer” (Melby 2006). The move towards translation automation in the global attentionscape raises the question of attentional asymmetry that has already been identified in existing audiovisual media. As the German theorist Georg Franck points out, there is a strict asymmetry between the attention the media offer and the attention they receive. The media use the tools of technical reproduction to diffuse information while users pay for every piece of information they receive with live attention, an attention guaranteed by the “artisanal” and cognitively laborious sensory apparatus of our ears, eyes and brains. The standardised, industrialised media product can be delivered by means of automated technology on a scale that allows for the capture of a substantial attention “mass” (typically quantified by TAM ratings [Franck 2014: 61]). A less dramatic and more banal example is the time it takes to write an e-mail message which is automatically distributed across a mailing list and the amount of time cumulatively that will be spent either reading or discarding it. It is this discrepancy between automated and live attention that leads Yves Citton to posit a notion of “attentional capital gain”: “En collectant de gigantesques masses d’attention à l’aide d’une petite quantité d’attention multipliée par des dispositifs techniques d’automatisation, les industries culturelles bénéficient d’une énorme PLUS-VALUE ATTENTIONNELLE, résultant de la différence entre l’attention prêtée et l’attention reçue.” (Citton 2014: 97). Implicit in the offer by Systran, the noted architects of machine translation systems for the European Union, is the exchange of the automated translation of the system in exchange for the “live” attention of the user: “Instantly understand foreign language content or make your message understood in languages other than English. How? With SYSTRAN products” (Systran 2015). This attentional capital gain that results from the difference between the dead attention of technical reproduction and the live attention of legibility or reading through translation to make sense of the foreign

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message is, of course, a key generator of (advertising) income in the informational economy. Are there, however, different ways of construing the notion of translation, legibility and attention in late modernity? In particular, is there a way of thinking through the relationship between translation and legibility against the backdrop of automation that is not beholden to a scenario of repeated expropriation and disenfranchisement? Focusing on the economics of attention inevitably implies a certain set of assumptions, notably the maximisation of profits through the minimisation of costs in the context (real or imagined) of market competition. In the standard neo-classical paradigm, the economy is primarily concerned with the optimal management of scarce resources. The ends to which these resources are employed are normally outside its area of competence. However, a notion of attention which is solely concerned with means and not ends is scarcely viable as a theory of attention because attention is invariably bound up with value. William James in his Principles of Psychology (1890) pointed out how a notion of attention that was purely passive was unable to account for the ways humans pay attention. James is critical of the British school of Empiricism (Locke, Hume, Hartley, the Mills, and Spencer) for not treating of the notion of “selective attention.” He argues that because their main concern is showing that “the higher faculties of the mind are pure products of ‘experience,’” experience itself must be thought of as “something simply given.” James goes on to claim: Attention, implying a degree of reactive spontaneity, would seem to break through the circle of pure receptivity which constitutes “experience,” and hence must not be spoken of under penalty of interfering with the smoothness of the tale. But the moment one thinks of the matter, one sees how false a notion of experience that is which would make it tantamount to the mere presence to the senses of an outward order. Millions of items of the outward order are present to my senses which never properly enter into my experience. Why? Because they have no interest for me. My experience is what I agree to attend to. Only those items which I notice shape my mind–without selective interest, experience is an utter chaos. Interest alone gives accent and emphasis, light and shade, background and foreground–intelligible perspective, in a word. It varies in every creature, but without it the consciousness of every creature would be a gray chaotic indiscriminateness, impossible for us even to conceive. (James 1890: 402-403)

Out of the “millions of items of the outward order” we choose to pay attention to certain items and not to others. Attention inescapably involves value as attention itself implies a choice determined by particular ends

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(safety, sanity, satisfaction) that are believed to be important. In the circular relationship of attention and value, subjects value that to which they pay attention and pay attention to that which they value. Ends cannot, therefore, be discounted in any credible attentionscape. The purely economistic representation of attention prevents us from asking the most basic question, to what ends are directed the attention that will decide our future or put another way, if our future is strongly determined by those things to which we might pay attention to in the present (for example, public transportation in our cities), then must not the underlying value systems of our “selective attention” be a matter of explicit and sustained public debate? If the making legible of a text or an environment (or both) demands at the very least a deployment of our attention, an “experience that I agree to attend to,” then this attention is only intelligible in terms of present or future-oriented values. For this reason, Aurélien Gamboni has proposed the idea of an “ecology of attention” as opposed to an economy of attention (Gamboni 2014). From the point of view of an ecology of attention, attention is always a form of interaction and these forms of interaction are, by definition, relational. That is to say, attention implies a relation between attending subjects and the objects or persons to which they attend. This idea of relation can be linked to the ecosophical notion of relationism advanced by Arne Naess which posits that individuals do not pre-exist their relationships. Peoples and organisms cannot be isolated from their environment. Speaking about the interaction between organisms and their environment is a fallacy because the organism is already an interaction (Naess 1989: 78; see also Citton 2014: 45). Articulating attention within the ecosophical notion of relationism means taking seriously the new forms of economic practice detailed by the economics of attention but embedding these more broadly in an ecology of attention that discusses questions of values, ends and sustainability. More specifically, for theorists like Citton, the notion of an ecology of attention brings together different forms of ecology: “L’écologie biophysique de nos ressources environnementales, l’écologie géopolitique de nos relations transnationales, l’écologie socio-politique de nos rapports de classes, l’écologie psychique de nos ressources mentales dépendent toutes de l’écologie médiatique qui conditionne nos modes de communication.” (Citton 2014: 46). Media ecology at one level could be considered to be the most superficial of the different forms, being merely the reflection of the four others (superstructural) but at another, it can be construed as the most fundamental (infrastructural) because it decides to what we will (or will

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not) pay attention. How is translation to be conceived of in this ecology of attention and what are the implications for reading the (culturally, socially, politically) illegible? In Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s Half of a Yellow Sun (2006), the heroine Olanna wonders how the friends of her new partner Odenigbo are reacting to her. In particular, she is not sure what Miss Adebayo thinks of her:

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Neither was she sure of Miss Adebayo. It would have been easier if Miss Adebayo showed jealousy, but it was as if Miss Adebayo thought her to be unworthy of competition, with her unintellectual ways and her too-pretty face and her mimicking-the-oppressor English accent. She found herself talking more when Miss Adebayo was there, desperately giving opinions with a need to impress. (Adichie 2006: 51)

Olanna is caught between how she is perceived and how she wants to be perceived. She battles against false perceptions that she feels betray who she actually is. In a sense, what Olanna is articulating to herself is a notion of authenticity running from Rousseau to the Romantics to Sartrean existentialism which views appearances as deceptive and as irrelevant to any proper or authentic sense of self (Taylor 1992). In the economy of attention, however, visibility is everything. If attention is the hard currency of cyberspace then Michael Goldhaber argues that attention flows do not simply anticipate flows of money but that they eventually end up replacing them. In attentional capitalism, attention is fast becoming the hegemonic form of capital (Goldhaber 1997b). For Yves Citton the ontology of this attentional capitalism is the ontology of visibility which measures the “degré d’existence d’un être à la quantité et à la qualité des perceptions dont il fait l’objet de la part d’autrui” (Citton 2014: 75). From the quantity of YouTube hits to the number of Twitter followers, value is heavily invested in forms of visibility that accrue attention capital. On the website for the State government of Victoria in Australia, future entrepreneurs are encouraged to think of social media as fundamental to their very existence, “your business can now use social media to tell your story, and demonstrate your expertise on a global scale in real time with very little cost” (Business Victoria 2015). Young graduates are repeatedly reminded of the importance of having a strong web profile and getting onto virtual networks like LinkedIn. If attention is the currency of “semiocapitalism” (Berardi 2010) then what are implications for translation? How is the ontological status of translation affected by new regimes of visibility? The title of Lawrence Venuti’s 1995 work The Translator’s Invisibility articulates a long-standing concern with the marginal or peripheral

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situation of the translator. Venuti’s contention was that “translation continues to be a largely misunderstood and relatively neglected practice, and the working conditions of translators, whether they translate into English or into other languages, have not undergone any significant transformation” (Venuti 2006: ii). He explicitly used the term “visibility” to capture the historical and contemporary predicament of the translator:

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“Invisibility” is the term I will use to describe the translator’s situation and activity in contemporary British and American cultures. It refers to at least two mutually determining phenomena: one is an illusionistic effect of discourse, of the translator’s own manipulation of the translating language, English, in this case; the other is the practice of reading and evaluating translations that has long prevailed in the United Kingdom and the United States, among other cultures, both Anglophone and foreign-language. (1)

Venuti’s examples are primarily situated within print culture and within the cognitive economy of the post-Gutenberg world. However, the notion of “visibility” for translation has gained rather than lost traction as we consider translation in the context of post-print or digital culture. If we consider the earlier contention that a significant shift in economic activity has been from production to promotion, then translation products must, by definition, become part of attentional arms race where more and more resources are devoted to capturing the attention of readers in the crowded virtual agora of “world literature.” The pressures are all the greater in that as Franco Berardi has pointed out there is a fundamental tension between cyberspace and cybertime. If cyberspace is potentially unlimited, as even the humble memory stick increases exponentially in capacity, cybertime is not. Cybertime–the finite, organic, physical elaboration of information–is bound by real limits. The temporality demanded by this elaboration slows down the operations of our mind as it seeks to invest information with effective forms of meaning (Berardi 2010: 44, 71). The digital has opened up vast possibilities for the dissemination of translated literature in cyberspace but the difficulty is contending with the attentional economy of cybertime, the making visible of a writer or a literature in translation that must compete in the electronic agora. The anxiety around visibility becomes manifest in the language of promotion itself. In January 2013 the Flemish Literature Fund which supports the funding of translations of Belgian Dutch-language literature co-organised an event in the United Kingdom under the heading “High Impact: Literature from the Low Countries” which was described as follows:

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Chapter One

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From 14 till 19 January 2013, Flanders House London and the Netherlands Embassy in the United Kingdom present “High Impact”, six top writers from the Low Countries on tour to six cities for six nights of readings and debates to showcase the best 'High Impact' literature from Flanders and the Netherlands in English translation. The tour end with a final gala gathering in London of authors from both the UK and the Low Countries. The authors are the Low Countries literati: all prize-winners and bestsellers back home, all writing in Dutch but from two different countries– Belgium and the Netherlands. Two of England's closest neighbours producing some of the most exciting literature in Europe, but about whom the English public knows too little and they too little about each other. Now for the first time, and in a unique collaboration, six of the best Dutchlanguage storytellers are coming together for a rock star-style tour of six English cities–to perform for the English public and to discover what they may (or may not!) have in common. (Flemish Literature Fund 2015)

The language of institutional ranking (“high impact”) with the implicit background of the metrics of visibility (the optics of hits, citations, visits) is fused with the more conventional politics of spectacle (“a rock star-style tour of six English cities”). If the “English public knows too little about” its Dutch-speaking neighbours, then resources must be mobilised to achieve the maximum visibility in the crowded Anglophone attentionscape. Translation is the indispensable ally in the viability of the operation as both the literature itself and associated promotional activities on the website or elsewhere will be met with puzzlement, or worse, indifference, if audiences have no idea of what is going on. Put differently, what the Flemish Literature Fund is attempting to do is to create zones of legibility, in both a literal and metaphorical sense, for Dutch-language literature in the English-language literary landscape. This politics of legibility is, as I have argued elsewhere (Cronin 2013: 111-113), part of the incorporation of literary translation into forms of brand nationalism, where state-funded agencies seek to promote positive images of cultural capital as part of a soft power strategy in international relations. In the widespread culturalisation of economic advantage in everything from tourism to highend consumer goods, capturing the scarce resource of attention through various forms of cultural performance is seen to guarantee more tangible forms of economic reward (see Bradley and Kennelly 2009) thus justifying public expenditure on the activities in the first place. Cultural legibility shadows forms of economic accountability and vice versa. As the British Council argues in its public rationale for global involvement in Englishlanguage education and the arts, “In these ways, the British Council builds links between UK people and institutions and those around the world,

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helping to create trust and lay foundations for prosperity and security around the world” (British Council 2015). There is a paradox, however, that haunts translation in this new political economy of attention and that is the attention that is or is not paid to translation itself. If translation as made explicit by the localisation industry is essential to attention-gathering in the global age, what kind of translation is envisaged? If in the time-space compression of global competitiveness, economic advantage consists in taking the waiting of out wanting, then how will translation be configured? One place the answers to these questions can be found is in A Strategy for American Innovation: Driving towards Sustainable Growth and Quality Jobs (2009) issued by the Office of the President in the United States. At the end of document under the heading “Catalyze Breakthroughs for National Priorities,” there is an explicit recommendation for investment in “automatic, highly accurate and real-time translation between the major languages of the world–greatly lowering the barriers to international commerce and collaboration” (Office of the President 2009: 22). This first statement of commitment to developing to fully operational MT systems, that has been reiterated subsequently, presupposes a notion of translation as invisible, automatic and instantaneous. In the de-regulation of language (“lowering barriers to international commerce”), translation becomes the Invisible Hand in the market of communication. In order to consider the deeper implications of this conceptualisation we want to briefly consider the distinction the anthropologist Tim Ingold establishes between “transport” and “wayfaring.” Ingold argues that human existence is not fundamentally place-bound but place-binding: It unfolds not in places but along paths. Proceeding along a path, every inhabitant lays a trail. Where inhabitants meet, trails are entwined, as the life of each becomes bound up with the other. Every entwining is a knot, and the more that lifelines are entwined, the greater the density of the knot. Places, then, are like knots, and the threads from which they are tied are lines of wayfaring. A house, for example, is a place where the lines of its residents are tightly knotted together. But these lines are no more contained within the house than are threads contained within a knot. Rather, they trail beyond it, only to become caught up with other lines in other places, as are threads in other knots. Together they make up what I have called the meshwork. (Ingold 2011: 148-149)

Transport is primarily concerned with destination. If wayfaring is a development along a way of life, transport is primarily about carrying people or goods across, from location to location, leaving their basic natures unchanged, “for in transport, the traveller does not himself move”

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(150). Only when travellers reach their destination do they begin to move. One consequence of the privileging in the contemporary moment of transport over wayfaring is what Ingold terms the “logic of inversion” (69). This is the procedure whereby movement is reduced to a static point in space. If, for example, I draw a circle on a piece of paper, there are two ways of conceiving of this circle. One is to consider it as the trace of a trail, the story of a movement with a pencil. The other is to see the circle as a bounded point with an inside and an outside. The pathway in this view becomes a place in space. The inversion lies in the folding of the object in upon itself so that it is delineated and contained within a perimeter, set off against the surrounding world, with which eventually it is destined to interact. The memory of the continuous movement of the line in the world that brought it into being is lost. What becomes illegible in Google’s “Translate this page” is the continuous movement of language in the world that produces one or the other translation option. Translation is conceived of as a form of transport rather than as wayfaring, as primarily destinationoriented, a process of straight information transfer from point A (language A) to point B (language B) in networks of international communication. It is precisely this logic of inversion that an ecology of translation must set out to challenge. Just as the major critique of an economics of attention was that it privileged means at the expense of ends without which the notion of attention was meaningless, similarly, to see language as purely instrumental without considering the ends to which it is employed is to allow strategies of legibility to be employed in ways that may be deeply damaging to human flourishing. Mary Louise Pratt and Vicente L. Rafael have detailed how the “weaponization” of language in contemporary forms of warfare, notably in counterinsurgency practices, is rooted in instrumentalist concepts of translation and foreign language learning (Pratt 2009: 1515-1531; Rafael 2012: 55-80). More broadly, it can be argued that what an ecology of translation must seek to do is to make available or communicable the commons of language itself. In his 12 axioms of attentional ecosophy, Yves Citton lists as axiom number 12, Apprendre à valoriser les propriétés de fond [Learn to value background properties] (Citton 2014: 260). Part of the project of political ecology has been to make subjects aware of the importance of the “commons,” the water, air, climate, traditional knowledge and know-how, those things are shared and because they are shared are “grounds” rather than “figures” in individualistic regimes of value. They are not the focus of attention because in neo-classical or neo-liberal regimes of thought they do not “figure.” Paying attention to what is in the background is re-calibrating attentiveness to produce new regimes of value that prize what we have in

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common if only because it is these things that ensure our common survival. Language is also one of those things that humans hold in common and although or because it is what humans use to speak about the figures of their attention (every time we open our mouth it is to talk about what, for some reason or another, has caught our attention) its role can too often be perceived to be the neutral, background medium that facilitates the plain speaking of information exchange. The logic of inversion which feeds the automated, instantaneous paradigm of language transfer keeps language firmly in the background. Recovering the Language Commons is about developing an ecology of translational attention that brings the wayfaring of language and cultural movement to the fore. In other words, in the contemporary digital moment, it is about exploring translation practices in everything from translators’ blogs to fansubbing to see how attention is drawn to the processual complexity of language and culture as they move across global attentionscapes. This ecology of translational attention is also concerned with how routinized, unreflective or narrowly utilitarian notions of language impoverish the Language Commons and deplete the expressive resources of future generations. It is high time to figure out, at last, what we are leaving behind.

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References Adichie, Chimamanda Ngozi. 2006. Half of a Yellow Sun. New York: Alfred A. Knopf. Beck, John C. and Thomas H. Davenport. 2001. The Attention Economy: Understanding the New Currency of Business. Cambridge (Mass.): Harvard Business School. Berardi, Franco “Bifo.” 2010. Precarious Rhapsody: Semiocapitalism and the Pathologies of the Post-Alpha Generation. Ed. by Erik Empson and Stevphen Shukaitis. Trans. Arianna Bove et al. London: Minor Composition. Blair, Ann. 2010. Too Much to Know: Managing Scholarly Information before the Modern Age. New Haven (Conn.): Yale University Press. Bradley, Finnbarr and James J. Kennelly. 2009. Capitalising on Culture, Competing on Difference: Innovation, Learning and Sense of Place in a Globalising Ireland. Dublin: Blackhall Publishing. British Council. 2015. “Our organisation.” Accessed May 18, 2015. http://www.britishcouncil.org/organisation. Brynjolfsson, Erik and Andrew McAfee. 2011. The Race Against the Machine. Lexington (Mass.): Digital Frontier Press.

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Burton, Robert. 1927. The Anatomy of Melancholy. Ed. by Floyd Dell and Paul Jordan-Smith. New York: Tudor. Business Victoria. 2015. “Use Social Media for Business.” Accessed May 13, 2015. http://www.business.vic.gov.au/marketing-sales-and-online/ online-business-and-technology/social-media-for-business/usingsocial-media-to-boost-business. Cronin, Michael. 2013. Translation in the Digital Age. London: Routledge. Citton, Yves. 2014. Pour une écologie de l’attention [For an Ecology of Attention]. Paris: Seuil. Falkinger, Josef. 2007. “Attention Economies.” Journal of Economic Theory 133 (1): 266-294. Flemish Literature Fund. 2015. “High Impact: Literature from the Low Countries.” Accessed May 13, 2015. http://buitenland.vfl.be/en/196/collections/34/high-impact.html. Franck, Georg. 2014. “Économie de l’attention [The economy of attention].” In L’économie de l’attention [The economy of attention], ed. by Yves Citton, 55-72. Paris: La Découverte. Gamboni, Aurélien. 2014. “L’Escamoteur: économie de l’illusion et écologie de l’attention [The Conjurer: economy of illusion and ecology of attention].” In Technologies de l’enchantement. Pour une histoire multidisciplinaire de l’illusion [Technologies of enchantment. For a multidisciplinary history of illusion], ed. by Angela Braito and Yves Citton, 71-86. Grenoble: ELLUG. Goldhaber, Michael. 1996a. “Principles of the New Economy.” Accessed May 13, 2015. http://www.well.com/user/mgoldh/principles.html. Goldhaber, Michael. 1996b. “Some Attention Apothegms.” Accessed May 13, 2015. http://www.well.com/user/mgoldh/apoth.html. Goldhaber, Michael. 1997a. “Attention Shoppers!” Wired 5 (12). Accessed May 13, 2015. https://www.wired.com/1997/12/es-attention/. Goldhaber, Michael H. 1997b. “The Attention Economy and the Net.” First Monday 2 (4). Accessed May 13, 2015. http://firstmonday.org/ojs/index.php/fm/article/view/519/440. Ingold, Tim. 2011. Being Alive: Essays on Movement, Knowledge and Description. London and New York: Routledge. James, William. 1890. The Principles of Psychology. New York: Henry Holt and Company. Jimenez-Crespo, Miguel A. 2013. Translation and Web Localization. London and New York: Routledge. Kessous, Emmanuel, Kevin Mellet, and Moustafa Zouinar. 2010. “L’économie de l’attention. Entre protection des ressources cognitives

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et extraction de la valeur [The economy of attention. Between cognitive resources protection and extraction of value].” Sociologie du travail 52 (3): 359-373. Language Scientific. 2015. “Website Localization and Website Translation—What Is Involved?” Accessed May 5, 2015. http://www.languagescientific.com/translation-services/websitelocalization-services.html. Lanham, Richard. 2006. The Economics of Attention: Style and Substance in the Age of Information. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Wark, McKenzie. 2004. A Hacker Manifesto. Cambridge (Mass.) and London: Harvard University Press. Wark, McKenzie. 2012. Telesthesia: Communication, Culture and Class. Cambridge: Polity Press. Melby, Alan K. 2006. “MT+TM+QA: The Future is Ours.” Revista Tradumática 4. Naess, Arne. 1989. Ecology, Community and Lifestyle: Outline of an Ecosophy. Trans. David Rothenberg. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Office of the President. 2009. A Strategy for American Innovation: Driving towards Sustainable Growth and Quality Jobs. Accessed May 18, 2015. http://bit.ly/2s9prVV. Pangeanic. 2015. “What is the Size of the Translation Industry?” Accessed February 26. http://pangeanic.com/knowledge_center/size-translationindustry/#. Pratt, Mary Louise. 2009. “Harm’s Way: Language and the Contemporary Arts of War.” PMLA 124 (5): 1515-1531. Rafael, Vicente L. 2012. “Targeting Translation: Counterinsurgency and the Weaponization of Language.” Social Text 30 (4 113): 55-80. Systran. 2015. “Quick translation.” Accessed March 1, 2015. http://www.systransoft.com/lp/quick-translation. Taylor, Charles. 1992. Sources of the Self: the Making of Modern Identity. Harvard: Harvard University Press. Venuti, Lawrence. 2006. The Translator’s Invisibility: A History of Translation. London and New York: Routledge.

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CHAPTER TWO IDENTIFYING SHIFTS IN THE ALLUSIVENESS OF A SOURCE TEXT THROUGH POST-SOVIET TRANSLATION AS DECONSTRUCTION OF THE TARGET-LANGUAGE AUDIENCE’S SOVIET IDENTITY LADA KOLOMIYETS TARAS SHEVCHENKO NATIONAL UNIVERSITY OF KYIV

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Abstract This chapter discusses the performative dimension of farcical humour in post-Soviet Ukrainian translation practices. It applies Homi Bhabha’s view of translation as “the performative nature of cultural communication” (1994: 228) and, in particular, examines post-Soviet culture in Marina Lewycka’s novel A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian (2005) rendered by Oleksa Nehrebetsky. It also considers the postmodernist “inversion” of Shakespeare’s allusiveness in the translation of Hamlet by Yurii Andrukhovych. The discussion notes that Nehrebetsky and Andrukhovych tend to focus upon a particular facetious modality in style, a strategy seeking to play upon domestic and mundane situations. The most detailed analysis in the article focuses on the instances of Andrukhovych deliberately flouting canon-bound envisagement of the classical text in the reader’s mind. Burlesque and travesty in his translation work are grounded as deconstruction of the remnants of Soviet identity in the general Ukrainian public. The discussion describes how stereotypes of Soviet mentality are deconstructed by ironic or satirical allusions to commonly-known quotations, titles of literary works, and trite phrases that reflect Soviet institutionalised language with its manifold educational, cultural, and social clichés. In addition, the article details instances of reader-focused shifts of coherence (Blum-Kulka 2000) in Andrukhovych’s

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translation of the poem “Marriage” from the 1960 volume The Happy Birthday of Death by Gregory Corso, which expose the dependence of the Ukrainian post-Soviet audience on former Soviet stereotypes that still exist, and pinpoint a general tendency towards facetious absurdity in the speaking persona’s narrative style in translation.

1 The Performative Dimension of Farcical Humour in Post-Soviet Ukrainian Translation Practices

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Translation as action, or the generation of meaning by specific participants in specific communicative situations, presupposes performativity both on the textual level (meaning as generated by the translator’s implicatures rather than by an abstract system of linguistic relations) and on the metatextual level (translation as criticism, competition, experiment or an ethical gesture by the translator). The performative dimension thus implies specific communicative situations in which translation is carried out in its particular ethnic contexts. The view of translation as the performative nature of cultural communication was formulated by Homi Bhabha: Translation is the performative nature of cultural communication. It is language in actu (enunciation, positionality) rather than language in situ (énoncé, or propositionality). And the sign of translation continually tells, or “tolls” the different times and spaces between cultural authority and its performative practices. The “time” of translation consists in that movement of meaning, the principle and practice of a communication that, in the words of de Man “puts the original in motion to decanonise it, giving it the movement of fragmentation, a wandering of errance, a kind of permanent exile.” (Bhabha 1994: 228)

A postmodern view of translation assumes, in the first instance, a change in the audience. A communicatively-oriented translator, therefore, is bound to translate the source-language text into a discourse, i.e., into a connected, purposeful, and mutually-comprehensible communication that will enable them to make textually asymmetric decisions. In this article, I will consider the “movement of meaning,” or the “time” of translation, thematised by Bhabha. My assumption is that the “time” of translation is accomplished through shifts of coherence that, in their turn, result from a change in the audience in the process of transition from the source to target text. To demonstrate that this is so, the article will specifically focus on postmodern translation practices into Ukrainian through the analysis of translations performed by Oleksa Nehrebetsky and Yurii Andrukhovych.

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A popular post-Soviet poet, novelist, and essayist, Yurii Andrukhovych (who became the cutting-edge and stylistic model of Ukrainian postmodernism) translates in his own stylistic keys–even such works, historically and geographically distant from each other, as Shakespeare’s plays and Beat Generation poetry. In his renderings of both classical plays, namely, Shakespeare’s Hamlet (first published in 2000), and American Beat poetry of the 1950s and 1960s (Den’ smerti Pani Den’ [The day of death of Lady Day], 2006), he deliberately flouts a canonbound envisagement of the text in the reader’s mind and tackles the crucial issue of deconstructing the stereotypes of Soviet mentality via ironic or satiric allusions to commonly-known quotations, titles of literary works, and trite phrases that reflect Soviet institutionalised language with its manifold educational, cultural, and social clichés and saturates them with farcical humour. Oleksa Nehrebetsky, on the other hand, has contributed to several translation areas, including film dubbing, translating books for children and young adults, and literary editing of translations. All of these are in great demand in present-day Ukraine. Nehrebetsky is perhaps unique in contemporary literary translation into Ukrainian, and in his fundamental public role as a postmodern literary translator he could be compared to Yurii Andrukhovych. In both translators’ works there resonates a particular facetious modality in style, a strategy of mischievous domestication, which was established by the pioneer of modern Ukrainian literature Ivan Kotliarevsky in his mock-heroic 1798 poem Eneʀda written as a parody of Virgil’s Aeneid, where Kotliarevsky transformed the Trojan heroes into Zaporizhian Cossacks. Postmodern Ukrainian authors and translators among them show their keen sense of the residuary provincial status of Ukrainian literature and the survival of Soviet stereotypes, or the Sovietness (sovkovost’), of Ukrainian post-Soviet culture. Quite often, as a result, Kotliarevskian shifts of source text allusiveness through translation by such postmodern authors as Nehrebetsky or Andrukhovych are predominantly aimed at the burlesque deconstruction of Soviet narratives and stamps of all-Soviet cultural identity, as well as criticism of the (post-)sovok stereotypes in Ukrainian mentality.1 1 The slang noun of Russian origin sovok (plural: sovoks or sovki) comes from the adjective sovetskiy “Soviet” that means “pertaining to or from the Soviet Union.” The closest synonym of sovok is the derogatory pseudo-term “homo sovieticus” (devised by the Soviet-era satirist Aleksandr Zinovyev), which sarcastically refers to the average Soviet Union citizen who supports and reproduces Soviet values.

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2 Post-Soviet Culture in Marina Lewycka’s Novel A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian Rendered by Oleksa Nehrebetsky

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A view of the concept of sovok as a triumph of materialistic absurdity over moral reasoning encompasses the post-Soviet or post-communist epoch, when such characters as Valentina from Marina Lewycka’s novel A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian (2005) came to the fore. The term postsovok could pertinently serve as the best characterization of Valentina and her ilk. In the novel, this 36-year-old woman from Ukraine, seeking to cling to life in Great Britain by hook or by crook, represents postcommunist Ukrainian emigrants. In broader terms, the author anatomises and juxtaposes two generations of Ukrainian immigrants to Great Britain: a family of migrants to Britain after the Second World War (an 84-yearold engineer, Nikolai, his late wife Ludmilla, and their two middle-aged well-to-do daughters, Vera and Nadezhda, who have their own British husbands) and the above-mentioned Valentina, who arrived to Britain in the late 1990s (together with her teenage son Stanislav) with the firm intention of marrying a Brit and staying in the country.2 As the authors of the socio-analytical article “Migration to a consumer society: A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian by Marina Lewycka,” which thoroughly sums up Valentina’s immigrant experience as painstaking but failed, appropriately put it: Through a history of tractors that Nikolai is writing, and through his daughters’ recollections about their country’s history, their family history, and their dead mother, Ludmilla, Lewycka enables readers to compare and contrast the post-war Ukrainian emigrants to the post-communism Ukrainian emigrants whose aims, expectations, aspirations, life styles utterly differ from the formers’. (Töngür and Çevik 2013: 441)

And further, Töngür and Çevik conclude: Valentina is not concerned with dignity, virtue, and decency at all unlike the post-war immigrants . . . because she resorts to cajoling, flirting, marrying, abusing, exposing, fleecing, bullying or having cosmetic surgery alternately in order to survive in Britain. (449-450)

2

“Valentina,” “Nikolai,” and “Nadezhda” are the Russified versions of the names– the Ukrainian ones would be “Valentyna,” “Mykola,” and “Nadiia.”

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While post-Second World War immigrants’ primary goal was to survive in the West after having happily escaped Soviet persecution, humiliation and, most probably, death in a Gulag, post-communist immigrants’ aim, embodied by Valentina, was dramatically different: the 1990s emigrants from Ukraine were primarily looking for better living standards, educational and professional opportunities, often being non-realistic in their self-assessment, motivated not so much by any real fear for their lives, social depravation, or political oppression, but rather attracted by over-advertised and overrated values of Western consumerism. In this regard, it is noteworthy how Nadezhda viewed the life experience of her parents in Ukraine under Stalinist dictatorship and during the Nazi invasion: When I was young, I wanted my father to be a hero. I was ashamed of his graveyard desertion, his flight to Germany. I wanted my mother to be a romantic heroine. I wanted their story to be one of bravery and love. Now as an adult I see that they were not heroic. They survived, that’s all. (Lewycka 2005: 283-284)

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Furthermore, I will give an important example of how reviewers viewed Valentina’s failed experience of survival in Britain: Like a reverse tale of colonization, booby-wife [or “putative trophy wife;” L. K.] accumulates all the necessary Western loot (Hoover vacuum, RollsRoyce, even bigger breasts) while the sisters watch in a state of ideological crisis. Their family problems become a cheery parody of the country’s political dysfunctions. (Aviv 2005)

Lewycka started out with the idea of a rather merciless portrayal of a covetous peroxide blonde with artificial breasts searching for a suitable husband, but she let this character evolve and “have a way of taking over,” as she once intimated to a journalist (Lewycka 2012). Through the prism of this article’s subject matter, subsequent attention to Valentina’s character will be anchored to the (post-)Soviet facets of her personality. I will initially give below a generalised list of distinctive features of the post-sovok that can be found in Lewycka’s novel: 1. An arrogant attitude to rural culture and the cult of the “civilised person,” which is a continuation of the so-called “idolatry of the West,” characteristic of a sovok in the 1970s and 1980s. This cult is essentially a craving for a prosperous life in a consumer society, personified in the novel by Valentina.

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2. At the same time, the characters of Valentina and Dubov (her Ukrainian husband) are marked by a nostalgia for the Soviet past, understood as a symbol of a cheaper life generally embodied in the post-Soviet mantra “life was better under communism,” as well as Soviet propagandaengendered naive “communist” beliefs and a bright view of Ukraine’s past under the Communists, personified by Dubov.

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3. Low moral standards, perfidious and deceptive behaviour, and in particular supremacy over weak people whom they use (characteristic of Valentina’s rude attitude towards her new British husband Nikolai, an elderly person). These traits could be linked to governmental authoritarianism of the former USSR and its citizens’ opportunistic habit of double thinking and false memory: the Soviet people had to readily accept new alterations to past events and passively repeat the latest official version of their history. This has inevitably led to the formation of a new Soviet Man (a sort of an honest liar, a person always ready to re-evaluate any historic events and reconsider his/her own moral judgements in response to the Communist Party’s short notice), whose psychological portrait has been scrupulously studied and diagnosed as an ideological schizophrenic by the distinguished philosopher Leszek Koáakowski (2008) in his prophetic 3-volume treatise Main Currents of Marxism: The Founders, the Golden Age, the Breakdown, first published in Polish in 1976–1978. 4. Gaudy and pretentious appearance, vulgar manners, and primitive language embodied by Valentina, who was characterised by a native Briton, Ms Carter, as “so arrogant, swanning in with her fur coat and fishwife manners, demanding this and that” (Lewycka 2005: 266). All the above distinctive features of the post-sovok have been accentuated by Oleksa Nehrebetsky in his Ukrainian translation of the novel–through shifts of the source text allusiveness and the “return” to Ukrainian-based verbal allusions. He “back translates” Valentyna’s (and not only her) cursing and swearing, which sounds more vulgar in Ukrainian than in stylistically more neutralised English. Lewycka opportunely commented in her interview on the “wonderful use of hybrid language in the book, dialogue that is a combination of Ukrainian and English” (as the interviewer put it): “Actually, some of the expressions which sound outrageous and ridiculous in English are just literal translations of what people would say in Ukrainian.” (Lewycka 2012).

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Nehrebetsky translated this “mongrel language, half English, half Ukrainian, fluent and snappy” (Lewycka 2005: 88) into colloquial Ukrainian with plenty of rude words, borrowings from Russian and Russian-Ukrainian surzhyk (partly Russian, partly Ukrainian speech and pronunciation) words and phrases. And among such colloquialisms, special attention should be paid to Valentina’s constant accusations of Nikolai of being a zhlob “a stingy/tight/mean and small-minded person.” In the source text, it is “meanie,” which in informal British English (with its spelling variation “meany;” a phonetically closer equivalent would be “slob”) simultaneously points to a miserly or stingy person, a scrooge, and to a bad, or small-minded character. The Ukrainian low-colloquial lexeme zhlob came from Russian where it has two basic meanings: (1) skinflint and (2) vulgar person. As a quotidian vulgarism, it nevertheless embraces a much broader associative circle. And as a part of the sovok mentality and speech it pejoratively designates a mediocre Soviet hypocrite idolizing consumerism, i.e. the homo sovieticus in propria persona. That is why when Valentina frequently calls her senile husband zhlob, she pins him to a Soviet canvas, even though he had emigrated during the Second World War. In her post-sovok logic, he indeed was much more a vestige of Soviet-born cunning escapees than a “civilised person.” Consider a fragment, as seen through the eyes of Nikolai’s daughter, from one of numerous squabbles between Valentina and Nikolai, caused by her desire to have “prestigious” equipment and lead a “civilised” life, and her calling him a “meanie,” which is consistently translated as zhlob: “You no good man. You plenty-money meanie. Promise money. Money sit in bank. Promise car. Crap car.” (77); “Ty nehidnyk. Ty bahatyi zhlob. Obitsiav hroshi. Hroshi v banku. Obitsiav mashynu. Himniana mashyna!” [You are a wretch. You are a rich zhlob. Promised money. Money’s in the bank. Promised a car. Crap car!] (Lewycka 2013: 79). In back translation into Ukrainian, Valentina’s swearing sounds familiar to the Ukrainian reader. Most of her curses come from the Soviet-epoch low-colloquial clichés of Russian origin, such as “ty bol’nyi na holovu” (Lewycka 2013: 116; emphasis added; in standard Ukrainian it would be “ty khvoryi na holovu”), in the original: “you sick in head” (Lewycka 2005: 112) or “ty bezmozghlyi staryi peniok” [you are a brainless old stump] (Lewycka 2013: 177), which reflects the original “you dog-eaten-brain old bent stick” (Lewycka 2005: 173). Russian provenance and pronunciation of some of them are reflected in the spelling and pinpoint Valentina’s clichéd way of speaking, based on Sovietese (Russian-language-based common Soviet cliché) platitudes: “walking skeleton” (Lewycka 2005: 213) was

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rendered as “khodiachyi skieliet” (Lewycka 2013: 219; in standard Ukrainian it would be skelet). Other characters’ critical or curse phrases are also mainly back-calqued, especially in the Nadezhda’s discourse. For instance, the participial phrase “grinning like a dog with two tails” (Lewycka 2005: 139) containing the idiom “like a dog with two tails” is rendered by its colloquial equivalent from the Soviet language stock: “skalytsia nache slon pislia kupannia” [grinning like an elephant after bathing] (Lewycka 2013: 142). At times, the back-translated words and expressions appear much stronger than in the source text. Consider, for instance, Valentina’s swearing: “She lets out a shriek. ‘Vixen! Crow! You get out my kitchen! Out my house!’” (Lewycka 2005: 92). Nehrebetsky replaces the lexemes “vixen” and “crow,” which are used here in their informal meaning (though they belong to standardised language stock), with a low-colloquial synonymic pair, which consists of the lexemes mehera and karha: “Vona vereschyt’: ‘Mehera! Karha! Het’ z moieii kukhni! Het’ z moho domu!’” (Lewycka 2013: 94). Moreover, earlier in this chapter, the translator resorted even to obscene lexis. Consider in this respect the following excerpt containing Nadezhda’s accusations of Valentina (here Lewycka lets the readers know that Nadezhda delivered her fiery tirade in Ukrainian):

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My father is an innocent man. Stupid but innocent. You spend all your money on tart underwear and tart make-up! Is it because my father’s not enough for you, ey? (Lewycka 2005: 90) Bat’ko–beznevynna liudyna. Durna, ale beznevynna. Ty roztryn’kala vsi yoho hroshi na bliads’ku bilyznu i bliads’ku kosmetyku! Mozhe, tse tomu, scho tobi moho bat’ka malo? [The father is an innocent person. Stupid but innocent. You’ve squandered all his money on fucking underwear and fucking make-up! Perhaps it is because my father’s not enough for you?] (Lewycka 2013: 92)

Although “tart” is not as strong as other possible synonyms of the word, it is still considered vulgar and pejorative. However, the adjective the translator used, bliads’ku, is clearly obscene and belongs to extremely abusive, foul language. Being in an affective state, Valentina frequently turns to violence and shifts to the Russian language in her swearing. The translator sensitively traces the language switch in many a case, as in Valentina’s attacks on Nikolai in the following fragment: “‘You useless shrivel-brain shrivelpenis donkey.’ Flick flick. ‘You dried shrivelled relic of ancient goat

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turd!’” (Lewycka 2005: 126; emphasis added). The translation is studded with Russian swearwords and vulgar curse words in their Russified spelling, which nevertheless remain easily recognizable by Ukrainian readers from the post-Soviet world: “Ty nikchemnyi kaziol z usokhshymy mozghamy i usokhshym chlienom.’ Liap. Liap. ‘Ty zasushena mumiia, ty starodavnie kozliache himno!’” (Lewycka 2013: 129; emphasis added). Lots of ostensibly non-low-colloquial phrases in the English original intrinsically germinate from Sovietese, or the lowbrow stock of “people’s wisdom,” like the saying in the source text “Everybody thin drop over dead!” (Lewycka 2005: 91) which in Ukrainian originates from the proverbial “Poky hladkyi skhudne, khudyi zdokhne!” [While an obese person loses weight, a skinny one will snuff it!] (Lewycka 2013: 94). At the start of Nadezhda’s encounter with Valentina, the latter’s blatant and tawdry manner of dress caused a sort of compassion in the former, who had been striving to view Valentina as a collective image of a postSoviet Ukrainian woman, whose “tart” attire and make-up “signifies a rejection of the peasant past, that’s all” (Lewycka 2005: 74). The irony lies in the fact that eventually Nadezhda herself, a British-born lady, underwent a conversion into a “fish-wife” when she was talking to Valentina, collapsing into a “mongrel language.” Valentina’s brutal way of rejecting the peasant past and the hilarious logic of identifying a civilised woman by the kind and colour of her cooker must have been better known to post-Soviet Ukrainian readers of the novel than to British ones. Naive consumerism, or what could have been termed in Soviet-era Russian slang as veshchizm, literally “thingism,” gave Valentina a feeling of superiority over Nikolai’s late wife Ludmilla, who had been obsessed with growing, cooking, and preserving food (as a consequence of Holodomor trauma). In back translation into Ukrainian, Valentina’s offensive characteristic of Ludmilla as a “peasant Baba” sounds funnier because of the easily-recognizable collocation sil’ska baba, whose contextual allusiveness becomes substantially weakened in the English language, if not entirely lost, since the capitalised noun Baba would be more likely perceived by the British audience as a proper name than as a symbolic generalization for “an uncultured rural woman.” Actually, the Soviet-era coined Ukrainian comic phrase sil’ska baba originates from the Russian idiom derevenskaya baba (a robust peasant woman) pejoratively designating a vulgar, obese shrew. This abusive colloquialism–along with many other verbal labels of Valentina’s partly Russian, partly Ukrainian (low-)colloquial speech, “rendered” by Lewycka in a literalised or calqued, but mostly stylistically neutralised form–points to the (post-)Soviet identity of Valentina and her hybrid personality. It is

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not surprising, thus, that Valentina’s speech, as well as other Ukrainianorigin characters’ dialogue in the novel, sounds more convincing, natural, and funny in back translation into Ukrainian, with all the inclusions of Russicisms, than it does in the source text. Nehrebetsky has, accordingly, chosen a congruous strategy of farce to give real voices to the post-Soviet characters of Lewycka’s book. The “human condition” in Ukraine of the late 1990s–the period referred to by Lewycka in her novel–has been re-focused back to a specific Ukrainian context in Nehrebetsky’s translation. Focusing on the parody of a (post-)sovok, through the use of Sovietistic clichés and surzhyk, the translator exposes and, in a way, deconstructs, the hybrid identity both of the novel’s characters and post-Soviet society’s stereotypes.

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3 The Postmodernist “Inversion” of Shakespeare’s Allusiveness in the Translation of Hamlet by Yurii Andrukhovych I will now consider the translation practices of Yurii Andrukhovych. In both his original writings and translations, Andrukhovych appears strategically close to Kotliarevsky’s unusual facetious style of translationtravesty, or stylistic turning of the source text into a mock domestic property. Through the choice of burlesque linguistic code, Andrukhovych introduces into his texts a parody of recent high and canonical Soviet literary narratives and styles (just as Kotliarevsky once introduced a parody of high Russian literary style in his free translation of Virgil’s Aeneid–and he did it in subjugated Ukrainian vernacular that seemed at that time to have been eternally cursed to provinciality and lowness). In 2008, the leading Ukrainian children’s publishing house, A-BA-BAHA-LA-MA-HA, released Hamlet by William Shakespeare, translated by Yurii Andrukhovych, as their first book for adult audiences. The book was produced in a premium edition, printed with bronze and gold, and elaborately illustrated by the highly talented artist, Vladyslav Yerko. That same year, the book won a Grand Prix at the 15th Lviv Forum of Publishers. In his postmodernist “inversion” of Shakespeare’s play, the translator is wearing a mocking grotesque mask. Moreover, he creates numerous newly-based, or post-Shakespearian, target language-oriented allusions and reminiscences. One of the instances of such translation strategy can be found in Act 3, Scene 2. As the play within the play begins and the players act out the poisoning of the King and the wooing and winning of the Queen by the poisoner, Ophelia enters and cries: “What means this, my

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lord?” and Hamlet answers: “Marry, this is miching malhecho; it means mischief.” (Shakespeare 1971: 1074). In his rendering of this famous cue of Hamlet addressed to Ophelia, Andrukhovych mockingly alludes to the titles of post-Shakespearean classical works, namely to the play Intrigue and Love (in Ukrainian Pidstupnist’ i liubov) by Friedrich von Schiller and the novel Crime and Punishment (in Ukrainian Zlochyn i kara) by Fyodor Dostoyevsky, both of which Soviet literary critics had ranked among politically tendentious books that the Soviet literary canon had been based on: “Hamlet. Tse taka stsenka pid nazvoiu ‘Pidstupnist’ bez liubovi, abo Zlochyn bez kary.’” [Hamlet. This is a sketch entitled ‘Intrigue without love, or Crime without punishment.’] (Shakespeare 2000: 52). Ever since the first publication of Sergeyev’s Ukrainian translation of Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment in 1958 (Dostoyevsky 2014), his version of the book title Zlochyn i kara has been generally accepted as a set equivalent for the original title. And Andrukhovych, being a master of wordplay, availed himself of the opportunity to play on the masterpieces’ titles. In Act 5, Scene 2, while rendering Hamlet’s cue concerning a forged letter to the King of England, Andrukhovych alludes to the bombastic style of the renowned Ukrainian poet and member of Soviet literary nomenclature Pavlo Tychyna, in particular to the first stanza of his poem “Chuttia yedynoii rodyny” [The feeling of a single family] that opened Tychyna’s poetry collection of that name published in 1938, which propagated and glorified the Soviet regime in Ukraine and its policy of internalization (in practice: Russification) of languages and cultures in the Soviet Republics. Here are the respective words of Hamlet: “As love between them like the palm might flourish, / As peace should still her wheaten garland wear / And stand a comma ‘tween their amities.” (Shakespeare 1971: 1096) and their translation by Andrukhovych: “Zvazhaiuchy takozh na pal’motsvitne / Perevysannia nashykh dvokh narodiv, / Scho skriplene vinkom iz koloskiv” [Taking also into consideration the palm-tree-blooming / overhanging of our two nations, / Which is sealed with a wreath of ears] (Shakespeare 2000: 93; emphasis added). The italicised phrase contains an ironic reference to the above-mentioned first stanza of Pavlo Tychyna’s poem “Chuttia yedynoii rodyny,” which begins his poetry collection of the same name: Hlybynnym buduchy i pruzhnym, chuzhym i chuzhdym ridnych brodiv, ya volodiiu arko-duzhnym perevysanniam do narodiv. [Being deep and resilient,

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strange and alien to native fords, I own an arch-bowed overhanging to nations.] (Tychyna 1984: 7; emphasis added)

Andrukhovych imitates Tychyna and coins a neologistic metaphor pal’motsvitne “palm-tree-blooming” following Tychyna’s model. The Ukrainan poet had created the neologism arko-duzhnym “archstrong/bowed” that–due to Soviet propaganda in the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic–would be well-known even to high school students, although informally it would predominantly be used in ironic and satirical contexts. Andrukhovych’s grotesque and sometimes sinister laughter is notably distinctive in these lines, particularly in comparison with Hryhorii Kochur’s “neoclassical” translation of this fragment, which was approved by the Ministry of Education and Science of Ukraine for inclusion in the high school curriculum and considered the best translation of Hamlet ever since: “Oskil’ky zghoda pal’moiu tsvite v nas, / Oskil’ky myr, nemov vinok z kolossia, / Stosunky nashi schedro prykrashaie” [As consent, like a palm-tree, blooms between us, / As peace, like a wreath of spikelets, / Our relationship lavishly decorates] (Shakespeare 2003: 150). Shifts in source text allusiveness in Andrukhovych’s translation of Hamlet, aimed to make the text recognizable and coherent for Ukrainian readers, can also be exemplified by the following lines from King Claudius’s monologue: “As ’twere with a defeated joy, / With an auspicious, and a dropping eye” (Shakespeare 1971: 1050); in Andrukhovych’s translation: “Obnialysia / Z zhurboiu radist’, usmikh i slioza” [Have embraced / With sorrowful joy, a smile with a tear] (Shakespeare 2000: 10; emphasis added). The emphasised phrase presents an allusion to the popular poem “Z Zhurboiu Radist’ obnialas’” [The Joy embraced the Sorrow] by one of the best lyrical Ukrainian poets, the symbolist and neoromantic author Oleksandr Oles’ (1878–1944). The poem was published in his first poetry collection, titled after the first line of the poem, Z Zhurboiu Radist’ obnialas’ (1907), which was reprinted several times in subsequent years, particularly in Vienna. Although Oleksandr Oles’–who died in exile in Prague–was a banned poet in the USSR, his best works have not been forgotten, the abovementioned poem being particularly well known and nowadays even included in the national school curriculum. Andrukhovych alludes precisely to these tender words in the opening lines of the poem: “Z zhurboiu radist’ obnialas’… / V sliozakh, yak v zhemchuhakh, mii smikh” [The joy embraced the sorrow… / In tears like in pearls my laughter] (Oles’, n.d.: 4; suspension points in original).

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Among newly-coined allusions and/or references of perhaps minor literary prominence, which I nevertheless would also like to highlight, there is a reference to the Genie’s words of obedience in the 1967 Russian fairy movie Volshebnaya lampa Aladdina [Aladdin and his magic lamp] by the film producer Boris Rytsarev, based on the collection of Oriental folk tales One Thousand and One Nights (also known as the Arabian Nights). This popular Soviet movie has been repeatedly shown on TV and watched by probably every Soviet child many a time. Consider the following sentence from Hamlet’s speech in the original and in the translation: “We shall obey, were she ten times our mother.” (Shakespeare 1971: 1076); “Slukhaiu i koriusia.” [I hear and obey.] (Shakespeare 2000: 56). The phrase is a direct translation of the Russian cliché “Slushayu i povinuyus’” [I hear and obey] from the movie. Through the usage of post-Shakespearian, Soviet-time and often Russian language-based allusions and references in his translation of Hamlet, Andrukhovych dissects the post-Soviet Ukrainian’s socio-cultural experience and exposes the condition of the target audience’s linguistic consciousness. An observant reader will also come across references to Ukrainian folklore tales. Consider, for instance, the following excerpt: “Hamlet. Thou wretched, rash, intruding fool, farewell! / I took thee for thy better. Take thy fortune.” (Shakespeare 1971: 1079); “Hamlet. Proschai, staryi zanudo, bidnyi blazniu! / Ya spodivavsia, bude bil’sha ryba.” [Hamlet. Farewell, you old bore, a poor fool! / I was hoping there would be a bigger fish.] (Shakespeare 2000: 62; emphasis added). This cue pertains to the scene in Hamlet’s mother’s room when Hamlet stabbed and killed Polonius, who was hiding behind the arras, haven mistaken his voice for the voice of King Claudius. The emphasised phrase bil’sha ryba “bigger fish” is reminiscent of a folk byword. These lines also refer Ukrainian readers to the widely known folk tale “Lysychka-sestrychka i vovkpanibrat” [Foxy-loxy and palsy-wolfie], generally popular in Soviet Ukraine, in which a cunning fox outsmarts a credulous and ingenuous wolf. They specifically refer to fox’s facetious saying “Lovysia, rybko, velyka i malen’ka!” [Get on the hook, fish, big and small!] (100 Kazok 2008: 40). Andrukhovych does not even shrink from biblical intra- and interliterary allusions and/or references, though he generously spices them with pub-style vulgarisms. Below I will give an example of this kind of reference, surrounded by low-colloquialisms in Andrukhovych’s translation. Hamlet. Here, thou incestuous, murd’rous, damned Dane, Drink off this potion! Is thy union here?

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The phrase “Podokhny, dans’kyi vyrodku, pochvaro!” incorporates lowcolloquialisms: the imperative verb podokhny “drop dead/croak/kick the bucket,” the vocative noun vyrodku “a degenerate,” and the swear-word pochvaro “monster.” At the same time, the metaphorics of the “drinking of the cup” is of biblical origin. On the one hand, suchlike obvious parallelism with biblical, bookish words, set off by the surrounding brutal colloquialisms, illustrates the postmodernist inclusivity (if not cynicism) of Andrukhovych’s style. On the other hand, his ironic humour, permanent provocative play with the reader and, at times, shocking speech full of curse words, might be viewed as a bridge between his writing style, as a postmodern poet-translator, and the writings of Beat Generation poets Andrukhovych also translated. Although the Beat poets were not cynical in quite this manner, they were bitterly ironic regarding the social institutions of American society.

4 Reader-Focused Shifts of Coherence in Andrukhovych’s Translation of the Poem “Marriage” by Gregory Corso In his renderings of the Beat poets, Andrukhovych uses burlesque expedients (even more readily than in his Hamlet) together with the language of marginal social groups to stud the translated texts with allusions and references to Soviet socio-cultural reality with its rhetoric of ideology and class struggle. Furthermore, I will discuss “reader-focused shifts of coherence” (Blum-Kulka 2000: 296) in the book of American poetry of the 1950s-60s Den’ smerti Pani Den’ [The day of death of Lady Day] published in 2006 (the title of this collection comes from the title of the poem “The Day Lady Died” by Frank O’Hara), with special emphasis on the ways in which shifts of coherence in translation are concerned with the text’s interpretability. For instance, the poem “Marriage” by Gregory Corso, published in his 1960 volume The Happy Birthday of Death, both changes and loses its

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meaning potential through translation. Andrukhovych makes the text of this poem a coherent discourse for the Ukrainian reader (whom he leads to draw the necessary inferences for an understanding of the translated text). Andrukhovych thus relies on a new type of audience, which can apply to his translation relevant schemas, based on the Ukrainian reader’s world knowledge, subject matter knowledge, etc., and on an envisagement of the text in the Ukrainian reader’s mind. Translating Gregory Corso’s allusive surrealistic phrases, as well as other Beatniks’ poetic imagery, Andrukhovych mostly creates new allusions and associations, while not eschewing a naive literal and/or perfunctory interpretation of Corso’s hidden allusions. Further I will analyse several cases of travesty of source text allusions Andrukhovych introduced into his translation of the poem “Marriage” in place of source text allusive asemantic phrases, which can also be called “non-sequitur” literary devices (phrases that are not connected in a logical or clear way to anything said before them), or “word-salad” expedients (confused or unintelligible mixtures of seemingly random words). Andrukhovych’s translation of the introductory verses contains a number of vulgar and/or slang words. The rhetorical question opening the poem: “Should I get married?” (Corso 1996: 1694) becomes “Chas zheniachky nastav?” [Has the time for marriage come?] (Andrukhovych 2006: 169). The word zheniachka Andrukhovych used is a derogatory noun denoting marriage (formerly a dialectal Ruthenian word). “The girl next door” (Corso 1996: 1694) from the second line changes into “susids’ku pis’ku” [the neighbouring pussy] (Andrukhovych 2006: 169) and the fourth line–instead of the neutral “tell”–contains the slang verb vtyraty “to deceive/impose (up)on.” All these were used by the translator as a specific attribute of his post-Soviet, unrestricted idiostyle and also as a powerful means of deconstructing the stereotypes of Soviet mentality. Hereinafter, the scene of introduction of the bridegroom to the bride’s parents follows. Among other things, the scene introduces “Flash Gordon soap” (Corso 1996: 1694). The translator transported the image into the target text–he transliterated it–and introduced this exotic element as “a bar of toilet soap.” In a footnote, Andrukhovych explains to the reader that Flash Gordon is the protagonist of a sci-fi soap opera of the 1930s (although in the time frame of the 1930s, it would be more correct to refer to a comic strip instead of a soap opera), whose name became the eponym of a popular sort of toilet soap Flash Gordon (Andrukhovych 2006: 169). Further in his footnote, he compares the sort of soap, Flash Gordon, as a token of mediocre American family life, to similar tokens of former Soviet urban life–the toilet soaps Carmen and Shipr. However, there is no such thing as Flash Gordon toilet soap–Corso referred to the 1950s TV

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soap opera in his poem. Contrary to “Flash Gordon soap,” which is only an allusive phrase in the source text, the types of Soviet soap–Carmen for women and Shipr for men–really existed, with the latter brand being much better known as a quality sort of eau-de-Cologne that Soviet alcoholics used to drink instead of vodka, which was in low supply in the late Soviet Union. Note that Andrukhovych cares not so much about the semantic accuracy of his translation as about the manipulating of the target reader’s reception. He easily replaces the source text idioms with their semicalques in the target text having voluntarily developed their literal meaning, as in the phrase “on their 3rd degree sofa” (Corso 1996: 1694) from the same passage, which was turned into a phrase “na trypoverkhovii kanapi” [on a three-layered sofa] (Andrukhovych 2006: 169) whereas the source text idiom “3rd degree” figuratively means tough (as in “3rd degree interrogation”), therefore it imparts a figurative meaning to the phrase in question, which regards a tough interrogation of the bridegroom being carried out by the bride’s parents. As another case in point, let us further examine the travesty of the bridegroom by means of the Russian vulgar slang word mudak that has an abusive, vituperative meaning (an English approximation would be “moron,” “asshole,” “turd” or “scum”). In the source text, in the scene where the bridegroom is asked by the priest if he wishes to marry the bride, he, instead of “I do,” replies “Pie Glue” (Corso 1996: 1695). The phrase represents a stylistic device earlier in this article called nonsequitur, or asemantic trick, a sample of word-salad here and there deliberately inserted by the author into the speaking persona’s diction that makes it seemingly confused and unintelligible. The word-salad phrase “Pie Glue” which stands for the wedding ceremonial phrase could have been any other nonsensical exclamation that signals the speaker’s highest level of excitement and his inability to pronounce “I do” properly because of that. The translator transforms the word-salad phrase “Pie Glue” into the slang word mudak which rhymes with the phrase nu tak “well, yes” approximating the consent that should have been uttered by the groom: “I ya tremchu i ya khochu skazaty Nu tak a vykhodyt’ Mudak!” [And I tremble and want to say Well yes, but it comes to A moron!] (Andrukhovych 2006: 169-170). It would be worthwhile to compare Andrukhovych’s choice of the word-salad phrase with the Russian translation: “I ya sudorozhno soobrazhayu chto by takoye skazat’–naprimer Bul’-bul’!” [And I am frantically thinking what to say–something like Plop-plop!] (Corso n.d.). The onomatopoeic interjection bul’-bul’ that imitates a babbling or gurgling sound, appears better motivated by the context of the situation of

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a wedding (the speaker might have simply babbled the words in panic, or his blurred diction might have signalled a burning need to have a drink and relax). Andrukhovych’s version mudak is the evidence of the high frequency of vulgar lexis in Ukrainian post-Soviet literary discourses and, consequently, evocative of the profane mentality of “homo sovieticus.” Moreover, like the original phrase, it rhymes with the wedding ceremonial word of promise in Ukrainian tak “yes.” However, Andrukhovych deliberately discounts its church ceremonial value, firstly, by the ironic precedence of the low-style interjection nu “well” and, secondly, by the derisive replacement of the solemn oath tak with the low-colloquial exclamation “Mudak!” which has a paronomastic effect here as it perfectly rhymes with the phrase “Nu tak.” Furthermore, I will assess the newly-coined mock phrase koty sovkovi “Soviet trash-cats,” introduced in place of the source asemantic, or nonsequitur, phrase “cat shovel.” Andrukhovych’s version is based on overturning the ethical values of the Soviet ideologeme (sovok) and results in making a laughing stock of the “Soviet people.” Sovok–as has been analysed at the beginning of the chapter–refers to a browbeaten and practically disenfranchised Soviet citizen and has come to denote typical Soviet timeservers and philistines. The fragment of the poem containing the phrase refers the reader to an awkward situation of the traditional honeymoon journey to Niagara Falls when a bemused newly-wed spouse finds out the hordes of the same kind of husbands. Everybody’s exaggerated attention to the honeymoon suite traumatises his feelings so that he shouts: “I deny honeymoon!” (Corso 1996: 1695). And he does not contrive anything better than screaming, no matter how nonsensical his yelling may sound: “Radio belly! Cat shovel!” (ibid.). Andrukhovych’s translation of the first exasperated cry is the coarse “Maiu v dupi medovyi misiats’!” [I have honeymoon in my ass!] (Andrukhovych 2006: 170). Compared to the source text’s emphatic scream “I deny honeymoon!” that is the speaking persona’s way to épater la bourgeoisie, which nevertheless does not get out of line in terms of linguistic propriety (a characteristic feature of Corso’s texts, where no coarse language is used and where some nonsensical phrases might be assumed to stand for putative vulgar swearing), the translation sounds shockingly abusive. The criticism of the bourgeois honeymoon tradition, crowned with the babble-phrases “Radio belly! Cat shovel!” (Corso 1996: 1695) has been turned in translation into a sensate criticism of the “homo sovieticus” type of person. Andrukhovych’s version “Radiopuzo! Koty sovkovi!” [Radio potbelly! Soviet trash-cats!] (Andrukhovych 2006: 170) becomes allusive of the socio-cultural reality word sovok, which associates in Andrukhovych with

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the rotund and paunchy “soviet” bourgeoisie. Andrukhovych’s version of this place appears over-interpretative in comparison with the abovementioned Russian version of the poem in which these phrases were translated as “Radio pupok! Koshkin sovok!” [Radio navel! Cat’s shovel!] (Corso n.d.). The translation stays so close to the original that in back translation into English it is almost identical with the source text. Since the non-sequitur exclamation “Cat shovel!” literally can only mean (1) an excavator bucket or (2) a scoop for cleaning cat’s droppings (the Russian translation has calqued and pinpointed the second meaning), both meanings are nonsensical in the surrounding verbal context. The Ukrainian translator has evidently shifted the source text allusiveness at this particular point, as well as in his rendering of several other non-sequitur phrases in Corso’s poem. In the following, I will consider another renowned allusion from Corso’s poem–the allusion to “penguin dust,” encoded in the line following a sketch of the situation mentioning the milkman: “Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust” (Corso 1996: 1695). This weird phrase has become extremely popular. For instance, in 1997, the rock band Atomic Opera used it as the title for their new album. Andrukhovych translates: “Tlin pingvina, dai meni tlin pingvina, khochu tlin pingvina” [Penguin’s ashes, give me penguin’s ashes, I want penguin’s ashes] (Andrukhovych 2006: 171). The Ukrainian lexeme tlin could be rendered in English as “wrack,” “ruin,” “decay,” “rust,” “rot” or “ashes.” Thus, Andrukhovych creates a new phrase. The above-quoted Russian version of these lines sounds as follows: “ptich’ye moloko, prinesite mne ptich’yego moloka, ya khochu ptich’yego moloka” [bird’s milk, bring me bird’s milk, I want bird’s milk] (Corso n.d.). In my view, the metaphorical idiom ptich’ye moloko, literally “bird’s milk,” figuratively “an unobtainable delicacy,” communicates the speaking persona’s intention more accurately than penguin’s ashes, used by Andrukhovych, since Corso’s non-sequitur phrase “penguin dust” should have probably symbolically meant something extremely rare, valuable and, in fact, nonexistent. Instead of milk, the unhappy husband wants something impossible, unobtainable, no matter what it is, but it is most unlikely that he would hanker for the remains of a penguin (which is the case in Andrukhovych). Under any circumstances, the reason why Andrukhovych has opted for penguin’s ashes seems to me quite clear: he aims to flummox the post-Soviet philistine in his Ukrainian reader through creating an extremely farcical narrative with frankly shocking allusions, which oftentimes happen to be intermingled with blatant low-colloquialisms.

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Such is Andrukhovych’s way, as a poet-translator, to épater the Soviet-style post-sovok “bourgeoisie.” Lastly, I would like to examine–in the light of source and target text allusiveness–the most enigmatic of all the poem’s lines, in which the persona’s imagination draws a picture of him being already married and his wife giving birth to a child. Waiting for the child to be born, he is “sleepless” and “worn,” and “up for nights” (Corso 1996: 1696). Almost fallen into a reverie, he mixes up recollections of his bachelor days and imagined scenes, in which he is a “trembling” husband in anticipation of the birth of his first-born. No wonder that the persona finds himself “a trembling man . . . not twig-smear nor Roman coin soup” (Corso 1996: 1696; emphasis added) which could be possibly interpreted as associative opposition of a married man’s imagined responsibility to the author’s irresponsible life in Europe at that time. The Ukrainian reader will encounter a trembling man, “ne yakohos’ tam chuda v pir’iakh ani z ryms’kykh monet yushky” [not some gutless wonder or soup from Roman coins] (Andrukhovych 2006: 171; emphasis added). Andrukhovych interprets the phrase “twig-smear” with the help of the figurative phrase chudo v pir’iakh, literally “a wonder in feathers,” derived from the Russian-based Soviet idiomatic stock (Russian: chudo v per’iakh). Its English equivalents could be “jackdaw in peacock’s feathers,” “unfortunate beauty,” or “a gutless wonder,” with the last being semantically closest to Andrukhovych’s choice of expression. The phrase Roman coin soup in a literal translation of the English original has become in Andrukhovych grotesquely naturalistic and comic. In his own way, Andrukhovych seems to expose in translation the postSoviet dependence of his Ukrainian readership on surviving Soviet stereotypes. As a translator, he discloses a certain kind of schizophrenic identification provoked by this dangerous dependence when a person, “a gutless wonder,” does not know clearly who he/she is and believes this is normal. To conclude, I would like to pinpoint a general tendency towards facetious absurdity in the speaking persona’s narrative style in Andrukhovych’s translation of the poem “Marriage” and, in a broader sense, of American poetry of the 1950s and 1960s, collected in the anthology Den’ smerti Pani Den’ [The day of death of Lady Day]. Take for instance Andrukhovych’s rendering of the line “finding myself in the most common of situations, a trembling man,” (Corso 1996: 1696) which is “sam sebe zastavshy u stani liudyny tremtiachoii” [catching myself in the state of a trembling man] (Andrukhovych 2006: 171). It consists of (1) literal rendering of the idiomatic phrase “finding oneself” as “sam sebe

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zastavshy,” (2) partial omission of the adverbial phrase “in the most common of situations,” which in the source text clearly concerns the situation of giving birth to a child by the speaking persona’s wife–this connotation gets lost in translation, and (3) contraction of this phrase to a prepositional phrase “u stani” [in the state], which forms a new semantic combination with the subsequent “u stani liudyny tremtiachoii” [in the state of a trembling man]. In Corso, the phrase “a trembling man,” however, stands in clear opposition to “the most common of situations,” and it might allude, among other things, to Søren Kierkegaard’s Fear and Trembling (1843), which debunks the hypocrisy of the established church, the hollowness of bourgeois family values, and the senselessness of love. If it is so, then the translation distorts this allusion to Kierkegaard by redirecting its allusive potential based in Corso on the existentialist character of opposition of “a trembling man” to “the most common of situations,” towards a parody of the state of a trembling man. Ultimately, Ukrainian readers would most likely identify the phrase “u stani liudyny tremtiachoii” [in the state of a trembling man] with the classic Russian novel by Fyodor Dostoyevsky Crime and Punishment, which had been firmly installed in the Soviet literary canon, and specifically with the socio-behavioural theory and moral nihilism of its protagonist Rodion Raskolnikov that could be embedded in a single daring nihilistic question: “Tvar’ li ya drozhashchaya ili pravo imeyu…” [Am I a trembling creature, or have I the right…] (Dostoyevsky 1970: 395; suspension points in original). In the Ukrainian translation this famous passage reads: “Tremtiache ya stvorinnia chy pravo maiu…” (Dostoyevsky 2014: 456; suspension points in original). Since Dostoyevsky’s novel had been mandatory reading in Soviet secondary schools, Andrukhovych most probably draws on the association of his version of “a trembling man” (liudyny tremtiachoii) with Dostoyevsky’s “trembling creature” (in the Ukrainian version tremtiache stvorinnia), which is still well-known to post-soviet Ukrainian readership.

5 Burlesque and Travesty as Deconstruction of the Remnants of Soviet Identity in the General Ukrainian Public An apparent tendency to the strategy of farcical translation has been formed in Ukrainian translation practices of the post-Soviet period, particularly by the translations by Yurii Andrukhovych, who is one of the most acclaimed postmodern Ukrainian authors and Oleksa Nehrebetsky, a distinguished dubbing director, feature film translator, and editor. They

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both boldly shift source text allusiveness in their translations, and by doing so–with the help of burlesque and travesty expedients–they deconstruct the remnants of Soviet identity in the general Ukrainian public. Thereby, both translators explicitly refer to and mock the clichés and stereotypes of Soviet mentality in present-day Ukrainians. They represent an alternative trend to mainstream Ukrainian literature, which has mostly grown from the poetic word of Taras Shevchenko. This non-Shevchenkian branch of Ukrainian literature as represented by Andrukhovych and others derives from Ivan Kotliarevsky, the founder of new Ukrainian literature in the late 18th and early 19th century, and his mock-heroic poem Eneʀda that parodied the classical Aeneid by Virgil. Romantic stylistic values, embodied by Shevchenko, who has been symbolically called “the Father of Ukrainian literature” during the subsequent two hundred years, began to dominate in Ukrainian literature as its central tradition of high style and representation of a high canon. But burlesque and travesty in postmodern Ukrainian literature (both original and translated) have revived a peripheral tradition of low style that originates from Kotliarevsky and contrasts with the later Romantic tradition, which came to replace the rough “Kotliarevshchyna” (Kotliarevsky’s lowcolloquial style). Hence what is pejoratively known as “Kotliarevshchyna” (playing with the reader, lowbrow and earthy bodily humour, cursing in speech, etc.), Andrukhovych and Nehrebetsky, distinguished authors with a brilliant Bakhtinian sense of parody, have managed to transform into a massmarket literary product, a particular Ukrainian postmodern multi-generic narrative, alternative in its modality and style to Soviet literary officialese. Strategically close to Kotliarevsky, Andrukhovych succeeded in turning the “curse of the province” in Ukrainian literature (which consigned it to minor status within the framework of all-Russian Imperial and Soviet narratives) into the burlesque and travesty of his postmodern style that has become an endorsing pattern for the entire spectrum of (post)postmodern Ukrainian literature. Travesty therefore serves Andrukhovych and the like as a basic model of their self-identification as postcolonial Ukrainian authors and/or translators. It has become a way to shatter the shackles of provincialism, to dissociate postcolonial Ukrainian identity from that of former Russian-language-centred colonial narratives, and to further separate Ukrainian literature from Russian imperial and Soviet canons.

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References 100 kazok. Naykrashchi ukraiins’ki narodni kazky. Tom 1 [100 Tales. Best Ukrainian Folktales. Vol. 1]. 2008. Kyiv: A-BA-BA-HA-LA-MA-HA. Andrukhovych, Yurii. 2006. Den’ smerti Pani Den’: Amerykans’ka poezia 1950-60-h rokiv u perekladakh Yuriia Andrukhovycha [The day of death of Lady Day: American poetry of the 1950s-60s translated by Yurii Andrukhovych]. Kharkiv: Folio. Aviv, Rachel. 2005. “Paper Clips.” The Village Voice. Accessed March 14, 2016. www.villagevoice.com/arts/paper-clips-7138033. Bhabha, Homi K. 1994. The Location of Culture. London and New York: Routledge. Blum-Kulka, Shoshana. 2000. “Shifts of Cohesion and Coherence.” In The Translation Studies Reader, ed. by Laurence Venuti, 290-305. New York and London: Routledge. Corso, Gregory. 1996. “Marriage.” In The Norton Anthology of Poetry, ed. by Margaret Ferguson, Mary Jo Salter, and Jon Stallworthy, 16941697. New York and London: W. W. Norton & Company. Corso, Gregory. n.d. “Zhenit’ba [Marriage].” Trans. Yan. Accessed April 04, 2016. sensi.org/~misha/translations/beat/marriage.html. Dostoyevsky, Fedir Mykhailovych. 2014. Zlochyn i kara: roman na shist’ chastyn z epilohom [Crime and punishment: a novel in six chapters with an epilogue]. Ed. by Volodymyr Zvyniats’kovs’kyy. Trans. I. M. Sergeyev. Kyiv: Lybid’. Dostoyevsky, Fyodor Mikhailovich. 1970. Prestupleniye i nakazaniye: roman v shesti chastyakh s epilogom [Crime and punishment: a novel in six chapters with an epilogue]. Ed. by A. Kozlovsky. Moscow: Khudozhestvennaya literatura. Koáakowski, Leszek. 2008. Main Currents of Marxism: The Founders, the Golden Age, the Breakdown. Trans. P. S. Falla. New York: W. W. Norton & Company. Kotliarevsky, I. P. 1798. Eneʀda na malorossiyskiy yazyk perelytsiovannaya I. Kotliarevskym [The Aeneid, travestied into the Little Russian language by I. Kotliarevsky]. St. Petersburg: M. Parpura. Lewycka, Marina. 2005. A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian. New York: The Penguin Press. Lewycka, Marina. 2012. “A conversation with Marina Lewycka.” Accessed March 10, 2016. marinalewycka.com/tractors.html.

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Lewycka, Marina. 2013. Korotka istoriia traktoriv po-ukraiins’ky [A short history of tractors in Ukrainian]. Trans. Oleksa Nehrebetsky. Kyiv: Tempora. Oles’ O. n.d. Z Zhurboiu Radist’ obnialas’. Knyha I [The Joy embraced the Sorrow. Book I]. Vienna: Dniprosoiuz. Shakespeare, William. 1971. “The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.” In The Complete Works of Shakespeare, ed. by Irving Ribner and George Lyman Kittredge, 1047-1103. Waltham (Mass.) and Toronto: Ginn and Company. Shakespeare, William. 2000. “Hamlet, prynts Danii [Hamlet, Prince of Denmark].” Trans. Yurii Andrukhovych. Chetver 10: 2-103. Shakespeare, William. 2003. Hamlet, prynts dans’kyi [Hamlet, Prince of Denmark]. Trans. Hryhorii Kochur. Kyiv: Al’terpres. Töngür, A. Nejat and Y ld ray Çevik. 2013. “Migration to a consumer society: A Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian by Marina Lewycka.” The Journal of International Social Research 6 (28): 441450. Tychyna, Pavlo. 1984. Zibrannia tvoriv u 12 tomakh. Tom 2: Poezii 19381953 [Collected works in 12 volumes. Vol. 2: Poetry 1938–1953]. Kyiv: Naukova Dumka.

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CHAPTER THREE FROM PERIPHERY TO CENTRE (AND BACK?): ON THE RECEPTION OF HISPANIC AMERICAN FICTION IN SLOVAKIA EVA PALKOVIýOVÁ COMENIUS UNIVERSITY IN BRATISLAVA TRANSLATED BY LENKA POďAKOVÁ

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Abstract The present chapter deals with the position and image of translations of the works of Hispanic American fiction within three phases of their Slovak reception, during which they proceeded from a peripheral position with respect to publishers’ interest (until the 1960s) to the position of a dominant and popular literary field (Latin American Boom from the end of the 1960s to the end of the 1980s) until the present times, when they have returned from the centre of attention to a peripheral position partly as a result of the creation of the book market which introduced a nonsystematic approach to translation.

1 Introduction If we want to reflect on the issue of foreign literature’s reception in a target cultural context, we need to take into consideration that it is not an isolated, single-phase act, but a process (author–source text–translator– translation–publisher–reader), in which a work of translation gradually pervades into the target environment. The way in which a foreign work is perceived in domestic literature reflects all the phases of this complex process. The phases themselves can be considered dynamic systems in which “individual” and “collective” times (Bílik 2008) of the receptive

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process’s participants are manifested (and effective) on the background of the given historical period of time. Although before 1989, the concept of the bestseller was not unknown in Slovakia (as part of socialist Czechoslovakia), the criteria for its determining were completely different than nowadays–at least they were proclaimed differently and a bestseller in pre-1989 Czechoslovakia was not the same thing as it is today. Fast sellers, steady sellers or non-sellers were concepts almost unknown. On the contrary, nowadays they are part of common marketing concepts for most Slovak publishers. For example, according to archival materials of the Slovenské ústredie knižnej kultúry [Slovak centre of book culture], in 1977 it was demanded that “the number of copies in editions of translated titles from non-socialist countries was determined according to their real ideological-artistic qualities and should not be increased out of keeping with cultural-political criteria” and it was declared undesirable to “allow any commercial criteria to be applied” (“Materiály SÚKK” 1977).1 In the beginning of the 1990s a few Slovak publishers were asked what was crucial in deciding about the addition of a new title to their editorial plan and if they were interested in the reader and “ideological-artistic” qualities of a work, a representative of the biggest publishing house stated that although they do not know what their readers read, they know very well what they buy. Does a Slovak reader buy literature originally written in Spanish, too? What is the contemporary offer with respect to translations from Hispanic American literature, which in the past “would be selling out in Czech and Slovak bookstores even before it was shelved” (Stárková 1986: 182)? Slovak Translation Studies scholar Libuša Vajdová (2009) assumes that “what is chosen to be translated and the way the rendering is conducted depends primarily on the tradition of reception of that literature and culture in the target culture . . . and on the position it occupies internationally” (98). According to her, “culture is in fact a tangle of interests, personal and institutional preferences, connecting and decomposing alliances that more often than not have very little to do with aesthetic criteria and depend rather on strategies, ethical values, emotions, feelings and firmness of character” (ibid.). For the purpose of the following reflections on the past and present position of Hispanic American literature in the Slovak cultural environment (not excluding the analysis of influences that shaped it and the impact these translations had on the target literature and on the development of Hispanic Studies as a research field), 1

Slovenské ústredie knižnej kultúry [Slovak centre of book culture] was established in 1962 as a body authorised to monitor publishing and popularizing books in Slovakia.

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the choice of works for translation, activity of popular translators, the form of book editions and metatexts that surrounded them will be considered.

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2 The Beginnings of the Reception of Hispanic American Literature in Slovakia For a relatively long period of time, Hispanic literatures were considered exotic, unknown and distant in Slovak cultural space. However, our previous research indicates that in the context of translations and cultural relations with the Hispanic language field, it is interesting to focus on the periods preceding the beginnings of the establishment of contemporary Hispanic Studies in Slovakia, which are traditionally dated to the 1950s. It becomes obvious that classical works of Spanish literature were a common part of the libraries of many aristocratic families who lived on the territory of contemporary Slovakia in the past. For example in the historical library of the Apponyis in Oponice, Slovakia there are two editions of Cervantes’s Don Quixote–one of them is a German adaptation of the novel for children (published in Stuttgart, undated), the other is a translation aimed at adults (Florian’s translation, undated). So it can be assumed that in the aristocratic families and among the intelligentsia living in what is now Slovakia, Don Quixote’s adventures were read not only by adults, but also by children, and they gradually attained broader cultural recognition in the region. This canonical novel was also well known to the members of the 19th-century Romantic nationalist group centred around ďudovít Štúr (1815–1856), many of whom studied at foreign universities (Budapest, Halle, Jena, Prague, Vienna, etc.). They could speak foreign languages and during their studies they got an in-depth knowledge of not only Don Quixote, but also other works of the Spanish literary heritage thanks to Czech, French, German, Hungarian or Russian translations. Many of Cervantes’s ideas and attitudes expressed in the novel about the ingenious knight from the remote La Mancha were relevant to this revolutionary generation in their fight for a fairer position for the Slovak nation within Austria-Hungary–in particular the issue of the passive versus active attitude towards the basic human values. Despite the well-known affection of ďudovít Štúr for Slavic literatures, it is obvious that the Slovak intelligentsia of that time read and knew translations of works of Western literatures, including Spanish. References to Cervantes’s novel in autobiographical literary works of authors writing and publishing in the second half of the 19th century (Gustáv Kazimír Zechenter-Laskomerský, ďudovít Kubáni or Jonáš Záborský) serve as proof.

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It has to be noted that Slovak authors used allusions to this classical work of Spanish literature long before it was translated into Slovak (the first–and to the present day the only–translation, even though incomplete, was undertaken by Jozef Felix and published in 1951)–they must have assumed that readers would understand the use of a motif from Don Quixote, especially in the role of a reviving element. They frequently used even more detailed references (the type of protagonist, character pairs, motive of travelling, the most popular adventures, authorship game, the principle of a found manuscript, etc.). That indicates that they expected a general and deeper knowledge of Cervantes’s work among their readers. The same goes not only for fiction (for example Chalupka’s novel Bendeguz. Gyula Kolompos und Pista Kurtaforint. Eine Donquixottiade nach der neuesten Mode, published in German in Leipzig in 1841), but also for many contemporary texts for broad masses of readers, published in newspapers, as well as in literary and popular magazines (Hronka, Národné noviny, Slovenské pohĐady, ýernokĖažník). As early as in 1881, an article on the literature and culture of South America can be found in the magazine Slovenské pohĐady. It is not exactly a text of domestic origin but rather an abstract of an article by the Russian professor, Vladimir Lamansky, who expressed his opinion on the idea of separation of Russian literature from western Slavic literatures in it. The Slovak author (not stated) of the abstract informs the reader not only about the attitude of Russian researchers, but also about the fact that “out of Europe, outside of the Hispanic peninsula, Spanish language is widespread and is still spreading across the vast territories of Central and South America” (“Slavianske náreþia” 1881: 47). The article further informs the readers that Spanish literature “began to develop and became richer in recent times artistically, as well as from the scholarly point of view–and not only in Spain, but also in the New World. However, because of this expansion of Spanish language and nationality, Spanish literary work has a universal character with worldwide significance.” (48). Despite that, the literary work of Latin American (and Spanish) writers in Slovakia was for a long time felt as distant, even exotic. Literary critic Michal Chorváth in 1943 in his paper “K problémom nášho prekladateĐstva” [On issues of our translation practice] writes that “Spanish literature is unfairly neglected by our translators, which is mainly caused by the fact that few of them speak Spanish. If we consider the fact that the Spanish speaking area spreads over two thirds of America and that the Spanish speaking nations are probably heading towards significant cultural development, we realise that we have to aim our translation interest in that direction, too.” (Chorváth 1979: 113). A review of the Slovak (Vladimír

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Oleríny’s) translation of Ernesto Sabato’s novel El Túnel from 1948, which was published as Tunel samoty [The tunnel of loneliness] in 1965, says: “Our knowledge of the psychological character of contemporary Argentina apparently corresponds with the knowledge of an Argentinian man about Czechoslovakia. . . . Ernesto Sabato is a name which does not excite a non-informed person and does not attract a snob either.” (Hykisch 1966: 5). The review of Dni a noci Latinskej Ameriky [Days and nights of Latin America], the first anthology of Hispanic American short stories in Czechoslovakia, says that the stories contained in the volume are about people who “feel themselves to be stronger, living more passionately and faster than us” (TruhláĜ 1969: 5). According to the Hispanic Studies scholar Viera Dubcová, the reason why the attitude towards the Hispanic American culture and literature in Slovakia was cold for such a long time, was also rooted in the fact that before 1945, “we had neither Hispanic Studies as a field nor significant reception of works of Spanish culture–not to mention the Latin American culture,” while “our lack of interest could not be overcome even by Czech translations regularly appearing already in the interwar period” (Dubcová 1975: 197). These opinions of Slovak literary historians and critics also show that the Hispanic cultural context was for a relatively long time at the periphery of Slovak publishers’, translators’, and–consequently–also readers’ attention. The perceived haze of a language unity of Spain and the nineteen countries of Hispanic America probably played a significant role in the inability to recognise the origin of a work in Spanish and determine if it is a work of a Spanish or Hispanic American author. On the other hand, during Czechoslovakia’s existence, translations into Czech were also felt to be “ours”–they were distributed in Slovakia and for a certain time they served as substitutes for the missing Slovak translations. The reasons for their absence were not only the geographical remoteness of the continent and the rare opportunity for personal contact with the culture, but also the small number of Slovak translators who were able to translate directly from Spanish. From this point of view, the 1937 Slovak bibliography of the literary works translated from Spanish–probably the first bibliography of this kind–is of considerable interest in this respect: it lists (so far only Czech) translations of several Hispanic American authors and mentions five Slovak translations (Komzala 1937: 2). However, it gradually becomes clear that at the beginning of the 20th century, the Slovak cultural personalities were acquainted with the countries of Latin America more intimately than one might suppose. For example, the first printed translation from Spanish into Slovak was the

Chapter Three

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translation of a comedy by the Spanish Quintero brothers El genio alegre (1906) which was done in 1910 in Argentina by Miloš Ruppeldt (1881– 1943) and published in Czechoslovakia in 1923 under the title Bućme veselí [Let us be merry]. Ruppeldt was studying at the musical academy in Buenos Aires at that time and he was in contact with the local culture. The archive of unpublished texts of the founder of Slovak Romance Studies and prolific translator Jozef Felix (1913–1977) includes his notes on the history of Latin American literature in which Felix referred to its similarity with Slovak literature and indicated analogies between the efforts of Latin American intellectuals and revivalists and those of the Štúrites. In this respect it might be interesting to conduct deeper research into the work of Slovak monks on missions in Latin America. It might also prove inspiring to look at the life and work of the eminent Slovak authors of the 19th and 20th century–Martin Kukuþín (1860–1928) and Jozef Cíger Hronský (1896–1960), both of whom spent significant part of their lives in Southern America (Argentina and Chile), from the South American perspective. In the first half of the 20th century, translations from Spanish into Slovak were undertaken by individuals who learned the language through self-study (Miloš Ruppeldt, Tibor KobáĖ, Vladimír Oleríny, and Emília Obuchová). The period at the beginning of the 1950s is considered a turning point in Slovak Hispanic Studies–in 1954, Spanish started to be taught at Comenius University in Bratislava as a separate study programme (the first Slovak lecturers were Jozef Škultéty and Vladimír Oleríny). This propelled the expansion of Slovak Hispanic Studies. According to our records, 123 translations (considering first editions of books only) of Hispanic American fiction were published until 2016 in Slovakia:2 Table 4-1. Number of published Slovak translation of Hispanic American fiction 1948

3

2

1950

1960

1970

1980

1990

2000

2010

–

–

–

–

–

–

–

1959

1969

1979

1989

1999

2009

2016

5

10

33

40

11

17

4

The full bibliography of Slovak translations of Hispanic American fiction, including the second and subsequent editions, is included in Appendix A.

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The first book translations of Hispanic American fiction in Slovakia were published in 1948. They were novels by two Argentinian authors Manuel Gálvez and Hugo Wast. Gálvez’s Miércoles Santo, first published in 1930, was translated as Defilé hriechu [Parade of sin] and his La noche toca a su fin (1935) came out under the title Noc už pominula [The night has passed]. Hugo Wast’s 1930 book El camino de las llamas was published under the literally translated title Cesta lám [The road of the llamas]. The translator of all three novels was Tibor KobáĖ–one of the first translators from Spanish and a self-taught man and Romance-language literature enthusiast. The publication year indicates that work on the translation began before February 1948 (they could probably not be published later, certainly not by the Catholic publishing house Spolok Svätého Vojtecha that had to change its publishing activities). The choice of these titles also shows that Tibor KobáĖ observed the developments in European literatures, because–as he writes on the bookmark of the novel Defilé hriechu–those were works that were “well respected in European literary circles” (KobáĖ 1948). The first translations of works of Hispanic American poets played a major role in Hispanic American culture gaining greater recognition in the target context. In the course of those projects, several steady pairs of translators were formed, consisting of a Hispanic Studies expert and a poet (at the beginning it used to be mostly Vladimír Oleríny in cooperation with Rudolf Fabry and Štefan Žáry), which also brought new impulses for domestic literature. According to Viera Dubcová, “Slovak reception of poetry written in Spanish managed–thanks to a small group of Slovak Hispanic Studies experts–to get to such a level that it even affected the development of Slovak poetry.” (Dubcová 1975: 201). The work of the Chilean poet Pablo Neruda and Cuban writer Nicolás Guillén were exceptionally popular. The reasons for their popularity were both literary and non-literary. Both writers were not only significant poets, but also significant cultural and political representatives of their countries. They often visited the Soviet Union and Czechoslovakia, they were guests of writers’ organisations of socialist countries, they had private contacts with writers and translators and they had easier access to the editorial plans of Slovak publishing houses. Their innovative avant-garde poetry interested not only Slovak poets who put emphasis on modern poetical figurativeness in their work, but also the Nadrealists (the Slovak Surrealist group) and the neo-Avant-garde poets of the 1950s and 1960s, the Concretists. Based on the analysis of translated and published works and their reception, it can be concluded that Hispanic American literature in Slovakia went through three basic phases in the 20th century:

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(1) The period up to the mid-1960s. (2) The period from the mid-1960s until 1990. (3) The period after 1990.

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3 From the Periphery to the Centre (of Attention) In the first period, mainly realist-regional novels were translated. They could be interpreted in terms of their revolutionary character, humanism and collectiveness–attributes that were also required from the domestic literature and governed by the prescribed socialist realist poetics. Paratexts with “adequate” explanations and interpretations, which often shaped the identity of foreign literature according to the domestic image, were important parts of these publications. Their second function was to preventively minimise the potential negative encounters with authorities, usually by referring to the “progressiveness” of the published work. Milan Šútovec (1999: 70) refers to this as an “infantilization of the reader.” A significant milestone in the gradual process of spreading the works of Hispanic American literature into Slovak readers’ awareness was the Slovak translation of Alfredo Varela’s 1943 novel El río oscuro, published as Temná rieka [The dark river] in 1951, which among other things brought an aesthetically innovative portrayal of the reality of the distant Amazon rainforest. As with the positive attitude towards the work of Nicolás Guillén, Pablo Neruda or Gabriela Mistral, the growing influence of politics and ideology (the leftist orientation of the author, their close relations with writers of socialist countries, visits to Czechoslovakia, etc.) on literary life can be observed. The novel was the first book translation done by Vladimír Oleríny (1921–2016), an emerging Slovak Hispanic Studies scholar at that time. It is a story about the difficult life of tea pickers working on rainforest plantations and about building awareness of solidarity and resistance to capitalist exploitation. The work was acceptable from the political and ideological point of view; moreover, it was also “supported” by the existing translations into fifteen languages. In the Slovak context, the novel played a significant role for different reasons as well–it brought interesting new elements into Slovak translated literature (the exotic environment of the Southern-American rainforest, erotic scenes, the struggle of passions and human weaknesses, the traditional Latin American topic of civilization and barbarism) and rich vocabulary using a broad range of language levels (standard or substandard level of Argentinian Spanish, vulgarisms, dialect words, expressions from the languages of local Native Americans and from Portuguese, non-equivalent vocabulary, terminology of unknown work

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activities). From the aesthetic and literary point of view, it introduced a fragmentary text, the use of several genres and stylistically different forms (journal, newspaper article, advertising texts, and excerpts from specialist literature). This typifies the kind of narration which was creatively used in Latin American literature during the 1960s. Oleríny’s translation was published during a period of discussion about the Slovak translation of Sholokhov’s novel Tikhiy Don (And Quiet Flows the Don), which triggered a polemic on translation in 1950 and 1951 (not free from an ideological subtext–one of the main problems seemed to be the translator’s ambivalent political attitude [Maliti-FraĖová 2007: 46]). However, the discussion also encouraged theoreticians and practising translators to draw conclusions on acceptable ways of translation and translators’ work with language, mainly with respect to dialects and culture-specific items. Vladimír Oleríny addressed problems related to translation of culturemes and non-equivalent vocabulary according to the conventions of that time– he naturalised these in accordance with the ideal of “the most original” translation, which was supposed to overcome the barrier between “their” and “ours.” What is also interesting in this context is the fact that the translator mainly used dialect words (from the surroundings of the central Slovak town of Banská Bystrica) in these cases. They are not only unintelligible to a contemporary reader but in the background of the topic and the original work’s environment they probably sounded relatively archaic even at the time of the original work’s publication. At the time of the novel’s second edition (1968), the novel’s topic was outdated, but its poetics prefigured the subsequent wave of translations of Hispanic American authors. The number of copies in editions of the first translated works and their growing presence in the editorial plans of the publishing houses at that time suggests that Hispanic American fiction gained–despite initial lack of interest–a steadily increasing Slovak readership. The tense life dramas of an individual were new and attractive to the reader, mainly in comparison with the domestic topics of socialist collectivism. The pictures of exotic, wild nature were in stark contrast to the construction novel in the socialist realist style with its images of a Slovak village or industrial sites. Erotic scenes, which were, as a result of censorship or auto-censorship, largely absent in Slovak literature, were also attractive to the reader in those times. In this way, translations from Spanish contributed to reviving the domestic tradition–these elements (Romanticism and folk tradition with natural phenomena motifs, existentialism, lyrical prose) had been present in Slovak literature before, but as a result of various (predominantly political) factors, disappeared from it.

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As can be seen in Table 4-1, the number of Hispanic American literary works translated in the 1950s still remained modest. These were translated by the members of the already mentioned founding generation of Slovak Hispanic Studies scholars who focused more on the works of classical Spanish literature because cultural relations with Spain were rather sporadic during the Franco dictatorship and developed more on an individual level, which made information flow about literature and access to new books more difficult. However, the growing interest of readers in the works of “the periphery” and changing political and social relations in the countries of Latin America required more intense preparation of future Hispanic Studies experts (teachers, translators, researchers). Academic activities concentrated on the Faculty of Arts of Comenius University in Bratislava mainly thanks to the lectors from Latin America who worked in Prague and later in Brno and Bratislava.3 Spanish as a second language was also in demand among students of other Romance languages–this is also how knowledge of the language was acquired by Jozef Felix, who studied French. The pragmatic aspect of the lives of translators of that time was not insignificant either. From the preserved documents–personal memories and correspondence (Oleríny, Felix)–it is also clear that the very access of translators to the original works was not unproblematic (packets from abroad which contained books did not always come to the addressee in a good state). There was also a lack of available textbooks, dictionaries, and handbooks and insufficient direct contacts with the source culture (stays abroad, contacts with native speakers) also played a role in the translation process. From the point of view of Translation Studies, this initial period is interesting for its gradual transit from adherence to the principles of exoticisation (mainly with respect to the vocabulary that has no approximate equivalents in the target language) to an often too marked naturalisation in which foreign expressions were very frequently replaced by Slovak dialect words. In his translation of Varela’s Temná rieka [The dark river], Vladimír Oleríny preserved several expressions in their original form, some of which he explained in a footnote–e.g., “ponchos” [ponchos] (Varela 1951: 33), “s estancierom” [with estanciero] (36) “z yerbatera Cirito” [from yerbatero Cirito] (37). On the other hand, he used several regional dialect lexical or morphological items understandable only to a small group of readers–“som scicaný” [I’m nipped (drunk)] (109), “leje ani z kaĖvy” [it is raining as if from a watering can (heavily)] (197)–or, as in the case of “ýlapaĖa” (48), words that are nowadays almost 3

The first lecturer’s post was opened there in 1936–1939.

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unintelligible (this particular word is perhaps supposed to refer to a female rowdy or a shrew).

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4 The Boom of Hispanic American Fiction (Also) in Slovakia From the beginning of the 1960s, the situation regarding the relation of the Slovak cultural environment towards Hispanic American literature started to change. This was caused by the easing of social-political and cultural tensions in Czechoslovakia, which in the literary world corresponded with the search for an answer to the question about the future of the novel as a literary genre. One of the answers was “the new Hispanic American novel.” Argentinian translator and Translation Studies scholar Patricia Willson (2004) claims that foreign, previously totally unknown (in our case Hispanic American) literature can pervade into the receiving cultural environment either gradually, or by a “breakthrough and shock” (30). The entry of foreign literature into a target culture also depends on the way the literary organism of the target literature “copes” with the foreign tradition and what it then “accepts as its own” (ibid.). Slovak literary theoretician and comparatist, Dionýz Ćurišin, accentuated the role translations play in the receiving culture with respect to enriching or reviving its topics and literary devices. In his 1992 book, ýo je svetová literatúra? [What is world literature?]–the first book-length study of world literature as such in Slovak–he proposes that the process often requires impulses from “central” literatures, which function as the so-called “literary generals” (Ćurišin 1992: 30). The spread of Hispanic American literature into the Slovak cultural space is an example of an interesting process of the formerly peripheral Hispanic American literature gradually obtaining a central position. The first deeper probe into this issue was Oleríny’s 1964 Slovak translation of Alejo Carpentier’s article “Problemática de la actual novela latinoamericana” [The problems of the contemporary Latin American novel] published in the canon-forming literary magazine Slovenské pohĐady. The appearance of this article seems to be a well premeditated preparation of the target audience for the boom of translations of works of young Hispanic American authors, which by the end of the 1960s–thanks to quickly-done translations–were appearing in most European countries. Moreover, Alejo Carpentier was not only a significant Cuban writer, but also a diplomat and politician. Therefore, his words were also a sufficiently strong argument for the addition of works by unknown

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Hispanic American authors into editorial plans. The thematic and aesthetic innovativeness of their works pleased domestic writers, who were at that time bound by the demands of socialist realism. When reading the first translations of works by Juan Rulfo, Julio Cortázar, Ernesto Sabato, Mario Vargas Llosa or Gabriel García Márquez they realised that it was possible to write in such a way. Mexican writer Carlos Fuentes (1993) in his essay “Geografía de la novela” [Geography of the novel] writes: “Realism is like a prison, because through its iron bars we see only what we already know. On the contrary, freedom of art exactly consists in that it shows us what we do not know. Writer and artist do not know: they imagine.” (22). This was the attitude of young Hispanic American writers towards the elaboration of the literary topic expressed by the three forms of aesthetic expression (magic realism, fantastic realism, magic reality) and worked out during the period of outside enforcement of socialist-realist schematism inspirationally and motivationally. However, while Alejo Carpentier referred in his perception of “magic reality” to the Western culture (surrealism), younger Latin American authors searched for a way of expressing their own, Hispanic American syncretic culture and identity. While doing so, they drew on the classical European cultural and literary heritage as well, so their works (which were innovative, but not unfamiliar) appealed to the broad reading public. It was the positive reception of the readers that boosted their spreading into the world. This aspect was quickly observed by Slovak publishers, as well as by translators and readers. The newly-founded literary magazines (in 1965 and 1966), especially Revue svetovej literatúry [Revue of world literature] the first and to the present day only Slovak literary magazine concerned solely with literatures of other cultural spaces and Romboid, promptly– often at the very time the original was published–introduced to the readers the new names of the new generation of Hispanic American authors. They could react to the Boom more flexibly than the big state publishing houses, which recognised the newly-emerged centrality of this literature only after some hesitation. In Slovak cultural space at that time, the activities of the Tatran publishing house appeared important (primarily its edition Luk), since the first works by the representatives of Hispanic American “new novel” (Rulfo, Cortázar, Sabato, Márquez) were published in it. The Latin American Boom arrived in Czechoslovakia (and Slovakia) at the beginning of the 1970s. Paradoxically, it was during the period of the strongest normalisation–the thematic, linguistic, and aesthetic innovativeness of those novels was in contrast to the demand for the return to “verified values” promoted in the 1950s and it also raised questions about the form of realism in art. It seems paradoxical that these works–so different from

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the works of socialist realism–found their way into Slovak literature, either in the form of a book translation or at least in the form of so-called “review with excerpts,” which was according to a key Slovak translator and Translation Studies scholar Ján Vilikovský “an anti-state literary genre” in which “what could be translated, was translated, and what could not was added there, pretending it was a review” (Vilikovský and Magová 2013: 9). Apart from their undeniable artistic qualities, success among the readers, and the interest of the media in young authors, the politics and pragmatics of literary life also played a significant role in the creation of the new subfield of translated literature. Most of the representatives of the new generation of Hispanic American writers were leftist-oriented; the young authors of the Latin American Boom supported the Cuban revolution and the fight against cruel dictatorships in other Latin American countries. That is why it is understandable that these were the attributes that were taken into consideration while deciding whether the works were to be added to editorial plans or considered “escapist and elitist.” If we take a closer look at the paratexts that accompanied the translated works (afterwords, reviews, informative-promotional articles), we realise that the “preventive” censorship and auto-censorship that can be observed in them was supposed to minimise possible confrontations, so that the innovative activities of publishing houses would irritate political and cultural institutions as little as possible. Although many afterwords include traditional “instructions” on how to read, they carefully point to the “looking at reality from several viewpoints,” which at the time of prescribed socialist realism required a certain amount of courage and diplomacy. It can be found in the afterword to the Slovak translation of Sabato’s El Túnel, in which Oleríny (1965) writes about similarities between Sabato’s “neurotic maniac, obsessed by the thought to kill what he likes the most” (176) and the protagonists of Kafka’s, Joyce’s, Proust’s, and Sartre’s works. He also compares Sabato’s narrative technique to Camus’s in The Stranger, and at the same time stresses that the author is a “[politically] engaged writer” (ibid.). Similar and by that time unpublishable statements appear in the afterwords to the translation of Juan Rulfo’s Pedro Páramo (1955, Slovak translation 1970), and in the 1971 Slovak translation of a selection of Cortázar’s short stories V každom ohni oheĖ [In every fire a fire], where statements on how in the author’s work “reality and fantasy are blended, mutually influenced, until the reality at the end seems to a reader like unreal, fabricated” (Srnenská 1971: 373) are carefully worded and mixed with the obligatory references to hope, which–in the words of the author of the afterword Jarmila

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Srnenská–Cortázar “sees in the free, unoppressed nation that builds its future on its own” (ibid.). However, it is surprising that no afterword can be found in any of the seven editions of the Slovak translation of Márquez’s 1967 novel One Hundred Years of Solitude first published in 1969. Its first edition did not receive much attention from the literary magazines in the form of reviews–it was introduced to Slovak culture only through an article published in the world literature magazine Revue svetovej literatúry (Oleríny 1971). Slovak translations of Márquez’s magic realist novel offer very good examples of the translatorial procedures that maintained the kind of equilibrium that enabled these non-socialist realist works to be published in the target context. Comparative analysis of the source and target texts– the first edition of the Slovak translation–reveals omissions of several erotic passages and images of bodies and physiological processes. Substandard expressions were replaced by more elevated lexical units which led to a nivelisation of the style (Levý 1998: 111). Contemporary editorial practices which are governed by the rules of the book market can be observed in the newer editions, in which there are still several passages that remain omitted or inadequately translated, although the text underwent a thorough editing (including stylistic changes) in 1984 and 1999. However, the translation was not edited by a Hispanic Studies expert who would be able to compare it with the original which resulted in a translation that bears more elements of realism and lacks other aesthetic qualities typical of Márquez’s style (the imaginary, rhythm). In some cases, the perceived exotic and foreign nature of the Hispanic American fiction that persisted in the target culture until the 1970s played a positive role–it was able to cover and explain those elements of narration that were not consistent with the socialist realist model–the magical, fantastic, unreal elements. The compulsory quotas which were imposed on the publishing houses that had to include a certain amount of literature of “befriended” or “developing” countries in their editorial plans also helped create a relatively large subfield of translations of Hispanic American literature. Thanks to these quotas, new books were often translated and published at almost the same time as the original Hispanic American or Spanish edition. This was also possible thanks to the cooperation of the publishing houses and the Slovak literary agency LITA with the Cuban cultural institution Casa de las Américas in Havana. Although the cooperation inevitably served as an ideological filter, it also very flexibly secured copies of new books and provided new contacts to Slovak editors and publishing staff. All these factors resulted in the flourishing of translation

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and publishing activities concerning Latin American literature during the so-called “normalisation” of the 1970s and 1980s. New, young translators joined the founding generation of Slovak translators. They were needed not only because of the rising demand (in the years 1970–1989, 73 Slovak translations of Hispanic American fiction were published), but also because the translation process posed various challenges and difficulties that had to be dealt with. Despite the fact that in the 1980s, the Slovak translations of Hispanic American fiction were not limited to works of magic realism–many detective stories and novels for women were also published–the phenomenon of Hispanic American literature was still mainly understood as magic realist fiction, even though this ceased to exist in Hispanic American cultural space towards the end of the 1970s. To a great extent, this understanding has not changed to the present day and the constant referring to the well-known brand was (and still is) deceptive–readers would not find anything “magical” in many of the translations that are advertised under the brand of magic realism. Study of period paratexts reveals two approaches to advertising: in advertising and promotional materials aimed at the readership, magical and fantastic aspects were emphasised while the official and ideological institutions were supplied with texts (editorial proposals, assessments, recommendations) foregrounding the “realism” of the work, its humanistic message or the author’s progressive thinking. At the beginning of the 1980s, another interesting phenomenon occurred. At the time when almost all key works of the new Hispanic American novel were translated into Slovak, a repeated discussion about “magic realism” in relation to the cultural needs of socialist society was held on the pages of Slovak print media (mainly in the Communist Party’s daily Pravda and the Nové slovo magazine). The impulse for such discussion might have been the publishing of the novel Tisícroþná vþela [The millennial bee] (1979) by Slovak writer Peter Jaroš, which was influenced/inspired by Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude. In this rare and extensive discussion, the issues of realism and the fantastic were debated and new possibilities for socialist fiction were outlined.

5 What Remained From the Boom After 1989, the relation of Slovak culture towards Hispanic American literature changed. From the analysis presented above, it can be concluded that the receptive trajectory of Hispanic American literature started from a peripheral position characterised by an initial lack of interest; later, in the

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1970s and 1980s, it gained a central receptive position. With the new political, economic, and cultural situation, its position slowly changed again into a peripheral one. The only Hispanic American writer who preserved the publishers’ and readers’ interest throughout was Gabriel García Márquez, although even his position weakened. Between the years 2011 and 2015, a single translated work of Hispanic American fiction was published in Slovakia. Are Czech editions sufficient for us? Do Slovak readers read Hispanic literature in Spanish or in translations into other languages and so do not need translations into Slovak? Are we not interested in how the work of young Hispanic American authors who have to cope with the legacy of their famous predecessors can enrich us? Will we remain satisfied by globalised texts that are written merely with the ambition to fulfil the reader’s expectations? The causes of the virtual absence of Hispanic American fiction from the contemporary Slovak book market are again of non-literary origin. One of them is the way contemporary Slovak publishing houses work. Before 1989, in every state publishing house, a Hispanic Studies scholar or at least a more general Romance Studies expert focusing on foreign literatures and collaborating with translators was employed. Nowadays most publishing houses only have external editors. From this it follows that the possibility to add a work which is not Anglo-American to the editorial plan depends now even more than in the past on the personal attitude of a publishing house owner towards the particular literature, as well as on the position the work occupies on the international lists of bestsellers. Another factor is the opportunity to acquire financial support that the Spanish Ministry of Culture provides to foreign publishers of works written in Castilian or in other official languages of Spain. Even though this way of promoting Hispanic literatures is nowadays also applicable to the works of Hispanic American authors with translations into foreign languages supported by individual countries as well (such as Argentina), the long-lasting non-interest of Slovak publishing houses in the works of the Latin American authors still persists. These statements are, paradoxically, also reflected by the activities of several smaller publishing houses which have lately started publishing translations of works by authors from Latin America. Their activities spring from an intense personal interest in literatures of Latin America and from a belief that Slovak translations of authors they consider important and interesting for readers (Cristina Peri Rossi, Roberto Bolaño) will enrich the target culture. These agents are at the same time very well aware of the economic risk such translations pose in contemporary publishing culture in Slovakia. In this context, the appealing, effective and

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diverse promotional activities of the contemporary editors are also of great importance–they use new technology that attracts the readership (e.g., social media) and in this way not only promote their new translations, but also the source cultural contexts. A recent 2016 special magic realism issue of a Slovak academic journal specialising in world literature, World Literature Studies, also revived interest in Latin American culture (Görözdi and Passia 2016).

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6 Conclusion In spite of these few instances of renewed interest in Hispanic American literature in contemporary Slovak culture, the previous analysis leads to the conclusion that the history of Hispanic American literature in Slovak translation first draws its upward trajectory from its initially peripheral position in the target culture (caused by the geographical distance between the source and target cultures and by the pragmatic aspects of literary life– cultural, political, economic) to the centre of publishers’, translators’ and, most importantly, readers’ attention. The increased attraction of Hispanic American fiction during the so-called “normalisation” in Slovakia can be attributed–among other things–to its innovativeness, aesthetic value and particularly the disarming joy of reading which the works of new Hispanic American novel brought to Slovak readers from the late 1960s onwards. The post-1989 situation has seen a radical decline in Slovak translations of Hispanic American literature. The efforts to publish works of Hispanic American (but also Spanish) authors are rather aleatory; therefore a translation–when it does occur–enters an unprepared target environment, a cultural space in which enthusiasm for Hispanic American literature had faded a long time ago. The change in the reception of Hispanic American writing is a natural effect of the changing “literary generals” mentioned by Dionýz Ćurišin. After 1989, the literatures that were traditionally influential in the Slovak culture (French, Russian, German, Italian, Polish) and occupied a stable position in the context of world literature, were replaced by the globalised book market, dominated by literature in English, thanks to which not only peripheral literatures, but also peripheral genres have flooded smaller target contexts. After a period of a strong influence of inspirational Indian, Chinese, Japanese or Irish writers, nowadays it is mainly Scandinavian literatures which are finding their way into the Slovak book market. They are represented by detective stories which innovate the genre in the target culture (topics, investigators, approaches, language, and environment). Formerly peripheral literatures thus find their way into the centre of

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readers’ attention–in a way similar, although under changed circumstances, to the case of Hispanic American novel after the mid-1960s. However, they need to be more influential than the globalised version of products of contemporary central literatures to be able to succeed.

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References Bílik, René. 2008. Duch na reĢazi. Sondy do literárneho života na Slovensku v rokoch 1945–1989 [Spirit on a chain. Probes into literary life in Slovakia in 1945–1989]. Bratislava: Kalligram. Carpentier, Alejo. 1964. “Problémy súþasného latinskoamerického románu [The problems of contemporary Latin American novel].” Trans. Vladimír Oleríny. Slovenské pohĐady 80 (10; 11): 85-92; 101-108. Chalupka, Ján. 1841. Bendeguz. Gyula Kolompos und Pista Kurtaforint. Eine Donquixottiade nach der neuesten Mode [Bendeguz. Gyula Kolompos and Pista Kurtaforint. A DonQuixotian adventure in the latest fashion]. Leipzig: Otto Wigand. Chorváth, Michal. 1979. “K problémom nášho prekladateĐstva [On issues of our translation practice].” In Cestami literatúry [On the routes of literature], ed. by Branislav Choma, 98-118. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Dubcová, Viera. 1975. “Slovenská hispanistika v rokoch 1945–1974 [Slovak Hispanic Studies in 1945–1974].޵ Slavica slovaca 10 (2): 197-205. Ćurišin, Dionýz. 1992. ýo je svetová literatúra? [What is world literature?]. Bratislava: Obzor. Fuentes, Carlos. 1993. Geografía de la novela [The geography of the novel]. Madrid: Alfaguara. Gálvez, Manuel. 1948. Noc už pominula [The night has passed]. Trans. Tibor KobáĖ. Trnava: Spolok Sv. Vojtecha. Görözdi, Judit and Radoslav Passia. 2016. World Literature Studies 8 (2). Hykisch, Anton. 1966. “Súþasný þlovek na argentínsky spôsob [Man of our times in the Argentinian way].” Kultúrny život 21 (1): 5. Levý, JiĜí. 1998. UmČní pĜekladu [The art of translation]. Prague: Ivo Železný. KobáĖ, Tibor. 1948. [bookmark]. In Gálvez, Manuel. Defilé hriechu [Parade of sin], trans. Tibor KobáĖ. Trnava: Spolok Sv. Vojtecha. Komzala, František M. 1937. Bibliografia španielskej literatúry a kníh o Španielsku [A bibliography of Spanish literature and books about Spain]. Bratislava: Medzinárodná kultúrna liga.

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Maliti-FraĖová, Eva. 2007. Tabuizovaná prekladateĐka Zora Jesenská [Zora Jesenská–the tabooed translator]. Bratislava: Veda. “Materiály SÚKK uložené v Slovenskom národnom archíve v Bratislave [Materials of Slovak centre of book culture stored in Slovak national archives in Bratislava].” 1977. In Závery z komplexného hodnotenia kultúrno-politickej a hospodárskej þinnosti vydavateĐstiev a podnikov knižného obchodu za rok 1976 [Conclusions from the complex evaluation of cultural-political and economic activities of publishing houses and book trade enterprises in 1976]. Bratislava April 25, 1977. Kartón 2 [Box 2]. Oleríny, Vladimír. 1965. “K Sábatovmu Tunelu samoty [On Sábato’s Tunnel of loneliness].޵ In Sábato, Ernesto. Tunel samoty [The tunnel of loneliness], trans. Vladimír Oleríny, 169-177. Bratislava: Tatran. Oleríny, Vladimír. 1971. “Prvý latinskoamerický bestseller. Na okraj románu Gabriela Garcíu Márqueza Sto rokov samoty [The first Latin American bestseller. On the novel One hundred years of solitude by Gabriel García Márquez].޵ Revue svetovej literatúry 7 (3): 106-108. Srnenská, Jarmila. 1971. “Cortázarov fantastický realizmus [Cortázar’s fantastic realism].޵ In Cortázar, Julio. V každom ohni oheĖ [In every fire a fire], trans. Vladimír Oleríny, 373-379. Bratislava: Tatran. Stárková, Blanka. 1986. “Latinskoamerický román a svČtová literatura. Latinskoamerický zázrak ve svČtové literatuĜe [Latin American novel and the world literature. Latin American miracle in the world literature].” SvČtová literatura 31 (5): 181-182. “Slavianske náreþia [Slavic dialects].” 1881. Slovenské pohĐady 1 (1): 4751. Šútovec, Milan. 1999. Zo šedej zóny [From the grey zone]. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. TruhláĜ, BĜetislav. 1969. “Poviedky z Latinskej Ameriky [Short stories from Latin America].” Pravda 50 (110): 5. Vajdová, Libuša. 2009. Sedem životov prekladu [Seven lives of the translation]. Bratislava: Veda. Varela, Alfredo. 1951. Temná rieka [The dark river]. Trans. Vlado Oleríny. Bratislava: Dukla. Vilikovský, Ján and Gabriela Magová. 2013. “Jazyk je najlepší detektor lži. Rozhovor s prekladateĐom Jánom Vilikovským [Language is the best lie detector. An interview with translator Ján Vilikovský].޵ Romboid 48 (5-6): 7-22. Wast, Hugo. [1948]. Cesta lám [The road of the llamas]. Trans. Tibor KobáĖ. Bratislava: Tatran.

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Willson, Patricia. 2004. La Constelación del Sur. Traductores y traducciones en la literatura argentina del siglo XX [The Southern Constellation. Translators and translations in twentieth-century Argentinian literature]. Buenos Aires: Siglo veintiuno Editores Argentina.

CHAPTER FOUR FROM THE INTERCULTURAL TO THE TRANSCULTURAL APPROACH TO TRANSLATION: PÉLAGIE-LA-CHARRETTE IN SLOVAK: A CASE STUDY ZUZANA MALINOVSKÁ UNIVERSITY OF PREŠOV TRANSLATED BY BARBORA OLEJÁROVÁ

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Abstract This study, a follow-up to my previous reflections on the well-known representative of contemporary Francophone literature, the Acadian author Antonine Maillet (Malinovská 2015), deals with the Slovak translation of her most important work Pélagie-la-Charrette (1979), characterised by its highly specific idiolect. The translation, published as Akádia, zem zasĐúbená [Acadia, the Promised Land], was done by Elena Krššáková. What is significant about it is that the translator shifted from the more traditional intercultural approach towards a newer, transcultural one. Krššáková, translating into a “small language,” adopted translation strategies that challenge the myth of untranslatability between incommensurable languages and cultures and anticipated certain theoretical reflections on translation that were developed later.

1 Introduction The narrative text of the Canadian author Antonine Maillet, Pélagie-laCharrette, was published in 1979 in the publishing house Grasset in Paris, where it won the prestigious Prix Goncourt. It was a surprise: it was not

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common for such a prize to be given to an author who, despite writing in French, was in comparison with the paradigmatic and central French literature considered a representative of a peripheral, marginal, “small” French-language literature. Goncourt Academy’s decision to give the prize to Maillet, perceived, due to her Acadian origin, as an ethnic and nonmainstream author even in Canada and Francophone Quebec, drew attention to minority literature in two senses: it highlighted a little-known literature which was at the time still establishing itself and it acclaimed a female author. Thanks to the literary award, Maillet was noticed not only by the Canadian dominantly Anglophone context, but by the international literary scene too. The awarded work, simultaneously published by the Parisian Grasset and the publishing house of Leméac in Montreal, reached the Canadian mainstream reader rather quickly: the English translation by Philip Stratford, Pélagie. The Return to a Homeland, was published in 1982 in Doubleday Canada in Toronto and later, reedited, in 1983, 1994, and 2004, this time under a slightly different title: Pélagie: The Return to Acadie. Besides Bulgarian, Romanian, and Japanese translations, in 1983, Elena Krššáková offered the Slovak version of Maillet’s work entitled Akádia, zem zasĐúbená [Acadia, the Promised Land] published by the Slovenský spisovateĐ publishing house. The subject of my reflections will be the Slovak translation of Pélagiela-Charrette, today a canonical text of modern Acadian literature (Malinovská 2015) with the problem of identity central in my discussion of translation strategies adopted by its translator. In the first place, the original work itself is a representative example of a literature which originates in a smaller locality addressing its relation to the dominant locality, which captures the shift from the traditional intercultural perception of existence towards the transcultural one. Literary critics consider A. Maillet the founder of modern Acadian literature for her innovative manner in reflecting Acadian reality. I agree with their opinion: in Pélagie-la-Charrette, the author accentuates the newly approached theme of identity and culture through her authentic model, but mainly through her unique language. The source text was thus a great challenge for the translator. In my reflections on the Slovak translation of the Acadian text, I will attempt to show that Elena Krššáková broke away from what I call the intercultural approach and drew herself closer to the transcultural one. She thus moved from the more traditional approach, projectable in a translation technique as a communication between two different cultures whose differences and conflicts may express themselves through a higher rate of exoticisation or, conversely, of naturalisation, to a more contemporary one.

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I would like to put forward a view that the translator, in accordance with the author’s perception of existence, approached the process of translation from the transcultural point of view: as a significant creative subject “competing” with the author (with all due humility and respect for the author’s work), the translator was trying to overcome the incommensurability of two geographically remote cultures and show that despite those differences, the cultures may share more common features, and that there may exist even more significant ties than appear at first glance. As if the translator, through the tendency to link the seemingly irreconcilable, supported the idea of a hybrid-like nature of translation experience, “pratique professionnelle métisse” (Nouss 2005: 43). The theoretical basis for my reflections is anchored in certain recent contributions to Translation Studies (Nouss 2005; Simon 2005; Yuste Frías 2010, 2014) together with knowledge of the perception of culture and literature, especially “minor” literatures (Casanova 1999; Deleuze and Guattari 1975; Kundera 2005) with emphasis on Francophone literatures and their changing ties with French literature. The basic research method was a detailed analysis of the translation, building on a close reading of the original, confronted with the author’s, translator’s, and critics’ opinions. The core of the chapter is the presentation of the transcultural approach to translation applied by Krššáková in transmission of the source text to Slovak language.

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2 Starting Points and Clarification of Terms The use of the generally known internationalisms intercultural and transcultural is developed in dialogue with other theoreticians (Bertrand 1988; Welsch 1994). The term intercultural (from Latin inter- “among,” “between”) is related to the discovery of alterity in defining one’s own identity and culture. This term further accentuates possible tensions and conflicts in the contact between different cultures. In an ideal situation, it points to a dialogue between two or more different and separate cultures and identities, two othernesses and two solitudes, as the title of the wellknown novel Two Solitudes (1945), written by Quebec Anglophone author Hugh MacLennan, suggests. The intercultural approach can be expressed in a simplified form as “we” versus “you,” or “they,” spatially as “home” versus “abroad.” It is not only based on the geographical demarcation of place, however, but it also reflects axiological and ethical positions. The intercultural approach, when perceiving national or ethnic culture/identity, implies a close and static nature and exclusion of alterity. This approach is typical for the Francophone minority in Canada, which perceived its own

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identity in this way for a relatively long time, practically up to the second half of the 20th century. This is supported by the fact that the whole of Quebec literature was as late as the mid-20th century still depicting the theme of identity if not contrastively, at least comparatively: the domestic Francophone, firmly rooted in the soil of their ancestors, was sharply demarcated and secluded from the foreign, the other, which was often portrayed as having a lower value. This strategy can be observed in an even more intense form in the Acadian literature: this minority regional literature in French language, stiffly bound to the dominant Quebec Francophone literature and literally lost in Canadian Francophonie, was formed, in contrast to the Quebec literature, in the strongly bilingual environment of New Brunswick. For a long time, it was predominantly a means of national emancipation: it formed under the strong influence of folk literature and remained rooted in factual reality with which it worked in a traditional way. Until the early 1970s, this “small literature,” thanks to Antonine Maillet, began its journey of innovation: Maillet’s “one-person show” La Sagouine from 1971 (in Slovak Špinisko [Mailletová 1983b]) was built on Acadian otherness and all its major human questions stood out against its background. Already in this text, considered by literary critics a significant milestone in Acadian literature and representing the transition from oral to written literature (Gauvin 1997), the author fulfilled the ancient Acadian ideal of the national revival through its universal content (Malinovská 2015). It is not surprising then that the monodrama was also received with enthusiasm in France and Monaco. It surpassed the “small context” (Kundera 2005: 49), which is according to Kundera conditio sine qua non for uncovering the artistic and aesthetic value of a work. This view–a view of an author of Czech origin writing in French– accentuates the important role translation plays in the process of exporting a work into larger contexts. Its final form is therefore essential: evaluation of the aesthetic quality of the text–even without the need to master the source language–depends on it. It is not important whether the translation, mediating the contact between two languages and cultures, is seen as an intercultural transfer, dialogue, communication (Rakšányiová 2005) or as a transcultural operation (Yuste Frías 2014)–the significant point is the final outcome, the quality of translation. On the other hand, the transcultural approach puts the emphasis on the idea of the intersection (from Latin trans- “across,” “over,” “beyond”) of movement, dynamics, instability, which presupposes progressive influence, interlinking, mixing of two or more originally separate cultures. When two cultures clash, the question of the subject, confronted with “othernesses,” with which it has private experience and with which it wants to cope, is

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crucial. The subject opening up to another culture wants to cope with the tension between cultures and overcome the differences between cultural practices, both collective and individual. The transcultural point of view, in which personal experience with cultures and ethical dimensions are emphasised, is based upon the idea of cosmopolitanism, plurality, and hybridism. The transcultural approach thus destroys the boundaries, grinds the edges, and overcomes the tensions between cultures and identities, which can be expressed as the sum of we + you + they and here + there + somewhere else + in between. The difference between the two attitudes is interestingly reflected in Quebec literature: while the first urban Quebec novel Bonheur d’occasion (1945) by Gabrielle Roy, today a canonical text of Quebec literature written in French, and its Anglophone counterpart, MacLennan’s Two Solitudes (1945), point to two separate cultures and identities, less than forty years later, Régine Robin’s La Québécoite (1983), depicts a complex hybrid identity and culture in the “interspace,” emphasised by the hybrid unstable form in terms of genre (Malinovská 2011: 36). Such a shift is natural; even in the unsettled years of the socalled “peaceful revolution,” a literary concept undergoes a redefinition: literature stops being the national project (Nepveu 1999: 14-16) and becomes a unique expression of creative individuals. It seems that in Slovakia and Central Europe, a more significant shift from the traditional intercultural view of cultures to the more contemporary transcultural approach was necessitated by the era. I am referring to the rapid social and political changes occurring in the last decade of the 20th century, in particular, the fall of the totalitarian regime, rapidly progressive globalisation and multiculturalism and opening-up to the world. However, it has to be pointed out that while transcultural approaches are still rather new to the receiving Slovak culture, Canadian or Quebec literature was familiar with them much earlier. That is why this literature is so inspiring in terms of themes and methodology for the Slovak context.

3 Pélagie-la-Charrette from the Point of View of Translation Pélagie-la-Charrette can be read as a collective story of the return of the Acadian ethnic group from exile to the land of their ancestors linked to the personal story of the main female character Pélagie-la-Charrette, in Slovak Pelágia Taliga. This Acadian Mother Courage, after a long time spent wandering across the American continent, brings home a handful of her compatriots who were expelled from their native Acadia. Antonine Maillet

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elaborates the traditional, rather conventional motif of the revival of the nation with a great amount of ingenuity. Following the oldest epic forms, she shapes the story of the Acadians as a parodic, ludic “pun” of archaic genres (Malinovská 2015: 80). The very linguistic realisation of the theme is even more unique. In contrast to the noble language of classical epics, Maillet chooses a language which imitates the ancient colloquial language used until the 18th century in historic Acadia (located in the province of New Brunswick on the shore of the Atlantic Ocean until 1763, when the British colonisers expelled the Francophone Catholic community from the territory because they had refused to assimilate). The main topic of Maillet’s text deals with ontological questions related to culture and identity (national, ethnic, collective, and personal). The author depicts them from the transcultural point of view–she does not perceive culture/identity traditionally as exclusive, closed with significant specificities, or deeply rooted, but as a rhizome (Deleuze and Guattari 1972), as a complex inclusive culture/identity in motion, which, in spite of the differences between individual components, tends to achieve harmony. Maillet demonstrates her understanding of identity perceived as rhizomelike and hybrid outside the literary texts as well: even after the “small” Acadian literature gained its autonomy and asserted itself in a larger context, she considered herself to be an Acadian as well as Quebec author (Gauvin 2010). The fact that she situates herself in two “small” literary contexts does not exclude the possibility of perceiving Maillet as a Canadian, North American author and, at the same time, as a transnational author, a citizen of the world republic of letters (Casanova 1999). It is likely or even essential to do so, because Maillet, thanks to translations, surpassed the “small” as well as “median” context and contributed to the “large” context (Kundera 2005). Transcultural depiction of existence does not mean uniformisation to Maillet: accentuating universal values and all human ethical principles within individual components of this open culture does not result in denying local cultural specifics, but rather the opposite. The hybrid character of the Acadian rhizome-like, liquid (Bauman 2000) identity and inclusive, complex, pluralistic culture evolving in close contact with the cultures of the indigenous, First Nations peoples and surrounded by the Anglophone majority, is intensified by the hybrid-like form of expression. In terms of literary genres, Pélagie-la-Charrette is unstable, lying at the boundaries of various genres and their parodies. Its genre hybridity is also accentuated by the hybridity of its language (Malinovská 2015). The problems that the translator of this text faces can be divided into several categories. Some are related to the source culture and the concept

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of the original; others are related to the target culture. I will try to present them briefly in the following section. The most visible and perhaps the biggest translation problem is the very language of the work, the stylised archetypal Acadian language (Basque 2003) carrying the Acadian identity and culture. This unique language, imitating the colloquial language of the lower classes, which needs to be transposed into Slovak with the similar effect, is a trap. At first glance, it seems like a mechanical transcription of the authentic archaic dialect of the Acadian minority. In reality, however, this ancient Acadian colloquial language serves only as the source from which Maillet intentionally creates her own idiolect so that it fulfils its aesthetic function. In this respect, it should be noted that the history of the Acadian language fundamentally differs from the history of the Quebec language. Quebec French was for many years considered as lousy French, a “lower” variant of metropolitan French and it was only in the second half of the 20th century, after the long period of depreciation, that it was codified. However, there has never been one single Acadian language; it has always a cluster of several variants of dialect with differences at the phonetic and lexical levels. This situation has not changed much to this day. A large part of the Acadian lexis originated in the 17th century from the dialects of colonisers coming from the French regions such as Poitou, Vendée, and Charentes. At the present time, the best-known version of Acadian vernacular is chiac, spoken by the Francophone people living in the former territory of historic Acadia. This distinct mixture of French and English is often used by the characters in works of contemporary authors (e.g., France Daigle). Maillet’s language in Pélagie-la-Charrette, however, is intentionally based on the most traditional colloquial variant of Acadian. The author revives the archaic vernacular Acadian language by means of Quebecisms, and even Americanisms. The result of such a practice, motivated by the necessity to accentuate the hybridity of Acadian identity, is a hybrid complex language which seems to be untranslatable. Another translation problem stems from the complex narrative structure of the text whose genre is not stable. The main story of the Acadians’ wandering is told by several narrators from three separate and remote time zones: a few individualised characters from the epic world built around the female protagonist Pélagie-la-Charrette, their descendants (i.e. Pélagie-la-Gribouille and others), the author’s voice, and a collective voice, as a sort of ancient choir. In order to preserve the main idiolect, it is necessary to subtly differentiate the speech of individual narrators. Another seemingly insurmountable translation problem may be caused by the distance between the two cultures. The target culture has, at first

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sight, very little in common with the source culture. Even though some parallels between the two different and geographically remote cultures could be found (besides some tensions to assimilate, I am referring to some ongoing national myths and stereotypes in the self-reflection that, among other things, preserve the notion of the “nation oppressed for a millennium”), the history and the way of existence of Slovak and Acadian peoples, or Acadian ethnic (Gaudin and Basque 2007), are significantly different. It is unquestionable that the Acadians were deported from their home country in the mid-18th century with some historians perceiving this as genocide. The impact of this historic event on Acadian awareness results in consensus: radical deportation of the inhabitants refusing to assimilate is euphemistically called the Great Upheaval, Le Grand Dérangement, and considered a traumatic historic event which still persists in today’s Acadian collective memory. The situation of the translator trying to transform the text of the source culture to a radically different target culture is further complicated by the seclusion of Slovakia prior to 1989. It is a well-known fact that at the time the Slovak translation was published, Slovaks (even the linguistically proficient ones) had only limited access to information channels. Geographical distance between the two continents, separated by the Atlantic Ocean, doubled the translator’s problems: it is undeniable that there is a substantial difference between translating today, in the open and digital age, and the era prior to the advancement of contemporary communication technologies. The Slovak translator therefore had to make enormous efforts and show great ingenuity in familiarizing herself with what were for Slovaks very remote cultural elements. Verifying geographical names was probably the least difficult issue, although she had to be careful with that too. The source text contains many toponyms relating to both wellknown geographical names as well as names with figurative meanings, denominating small locations, where it is not so clear if it is a referential name or author’s intentional invention with a particular function in the text. Further problems were posed by the Acadian history, legends and folk traditions full of fantastic features, a prevalence of motifs related to the setting (such as wandering ghost ships without a crew), the Acadian literary context (such as allusions to an Acadian national heroine, the legendary Evangeline), the Canadian context, and the very little known Quebec context. At a time when there were no specialised dictionaries (Cormier’s Dictionnaire du français acadien only came out on the threshold of the new millennium), the Acadian variant of French, especially the particularities of its lexicon, raised a major problem.

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Difficulties with the inner aspect of translation were accompanied by the obstacles arising from the target culture. The choice of Maillet’s text itself–a text with strong features of folk oral literature which can be read as a story of the revival of the nation– did not present any greater problem for the target context. It conformed to the cultural and literary preferences of the receiving environment; it can even be said that it was symptomatic of them. As Vajdová claims, the transition from the 1970s to the 1980s brought a “turn towards the classics” in the publishing strategies in Slovakia, which was a “kind of return to the traditions forced by the difficult circumstances of the period” (Vajdová 2009: 121). In this respect, I would like to remind the reader that Maillet’s iconic text has never been published in the Czech translation, which is perhaps significant: despite being in a single state, the Czech and Slovak cultural contexts differed: the Czech context was more interested in themes depicting modern urban people in the early 1980s. In the period of socalled “normalisation” (the 1970s and most of the 1980s), texts dealing with strong social and national themes were preferred to introspective accounts in the “small”–smaller than Czech–Slovak culture. Therefore, Maillet’s text, a representative example of “small literature,” had better conditions to attract a readership among Slovaks. Censorship interventions were not imminent as the exotic story situated in a remote place and time was not thematically close to the domestic environment. The way of depicting the topic, which was far from the enforced realistic method, fortunately escaped the censors’ notice. Similarly, the fact that Maillet’s account hides much more than is visible at first glance, escaped their notice as well–this “hidden” content includes the way of reflecting the fundamental and, in that period, potentially controversial questions of identity, nation, national culture, and the relationship between “small” and “large” cultures. Besides the preferences of the receiving context (and of the individual publishing houses), the very strong tradition of linguistic normativity which was present in the target culture at the time of translation cannot be ignored either. In accordance with it, the Slovak translator had to follow the linguistic norm, respect the clarity of Slovak language, its “beauty” and “literariness,” which in this case would mean deviating from the nature of the original text. Summa summarum: It did not take much courage to publish Maillet’s text in Slovakia in the 1980s. There was no danger of Pélagie-la-Charrette breaching the ideological boundaries of the receiving environment. The greatest difficulty this work posed with respect to its reception in the target culture was translation itself. The source of the main translation problems

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consisted in the high degree of the exotic in the text, related not only to the language, the factuality, but also to the culture and context as such (Vilikovský 1984). The most difficult challenge was the choice of the target language, more precisely the choice of an idiolect that would firmly stand against the Standard Slovak and would somehow copy the effect of the source language. How did Elena Krššáková overcome those challenges?

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4 Krššáková’s Transcultural Approach to Translation Firstly, the Slovak translator had to deal with the problem of transposition of the author’s idiolect. What were her prospects? She could not apply normative Slovak in the whole text, especially not in the characters’ narrative voices. In order to reproduce a comparable effect of orality and the feature of substandard language, she could have opted for any of the Slovak dialects: it would be sufficient if it sounded archaic, slightly exotic and at the same time a little comical. If the choice of the language was based on an attempt to copy the Acadian situation–to suggest the relation between the periphery and the centre–some of the eastern Slovak dialects, considered picturesque and funny to this day, would be worth considering. In the 1980s, a distinct dialect of the region of Záhorie–zahoráþtina, which was well known from politically correct comedy programmes, was also one of the possible dialects to be applied in translation. At first, Elena Krššáková was considering using a dialect, but in the end she decided not to. She had little experience with either western or eastern Slovak dialects (she grew up in an urban environment of central Slovakia, where people speak Standard Slovak and since her university studies she had lived in the capital, where people speak urban Slovak). Her decision not to transfer the original text into any Slovak dialect was above all influenced by the fear of strange naturalisation, which would definitely damage the text. Moreover, she said that putting humorous Slovak dialect “into the mouth of sanguineous Rabelaisian characters of fishermen from the Atlantic coast would be like taking the path of least resistance” (Krššáková 1983: 53). She was thus searching in the target culture for a cultural and linguistic situation analogous to that of compatriots living outside the territorial units of Slovakia. She briefly considered the language used in the satirical novel of Ján ýajak Jr Zypa Cupák (1947) which used the language of Slovaks, who left the Slovak territory for Vojvodina in what is now Serbia at about the same time in which Canada was colonised by the French people, but then gave up on the idea. She was convinced that the archaic and conserved Slovak, not open to foreign influences, would not conform to the hybrid idiolect of the original. Krššáková then settled for the language

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of the Slovak folk tales, collected by Pavol Dobšinský in the period of Romanticism and generally known in the target culture. However, she used them in a similar fashion to the way Maillet used the colloquial Acadian language–as a source of lexicon, idioms, and imagery, the source from which she coined her own language. I consider Krššáková’s strategy, which proved to be successful, a perfect example of transcultural overlap of cultures, in which folklore, in the original represented mainly by the high frequency of motifs from Acadian folk tales, has an important status. Sensible and premeditated creation of the language, inspired by Slovak folk tales and constantly communicating with the language of the original, is one of the features of the translator’s special attitude towards language as such. As if Krššáková, marked by the hypertrophy of linguistic awareness, was standing at the crossroads of languages (Gauvin 1997), both source and target, and was intensely and intensely experiencing them in an effort to get as far as possible into their substance. I think the very attempt to get under the surface of the languages in order to get the most out of their clash is one of the concrete manifestations of the transcultural translation approach and procedure. Krššáková sees language as a problem: limiting by its restrictive rules on the one hand, and a living organism in motion, open to new possibilities on the other. Language is the object of her constant reflections, of her never-ending search for the right expression. Voz, taliga or rebriniak but also kára, káriþka and kárisko–these are just a few examples of how such a stable word as charrette “cart” can be translated into her target language. In the process of translation, Krššáková focused on embracing the full potential of the Slovak language, combining archaic and dialectical language with its more modern and standard registers. She brought her personal, sometimes even intimate experience to her work with the language: in harmony with the author’s original work and following her pattern, she created her own hybrid language and aesthetically convincing idiolect. The greatest challenge was to create a language that would evoke an impression of orality and archaic tone the French (and partly Quebec) audience would find in the source text. Linguistic devices of Slovak language enabled her to realise this intention mostly at the lexical level. The translator thus preferred, where possible, the less frequent and long forgotten words to the commonly used expressions of modern Slovak. At other times, she modified a common word and created a neologism that was not semantically hermetic. She opted for marked, often picturesque expressions, whose precise meanings Slovak readers–just like the readers of the original–would sometimes have to look up. She intensified the colloquial and vernacular features of the language, especially on the plane

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of the narrator-characters. In the whole narrative, she put the emphasis on the archaic, favouring certain fossil words. She called her own translation method a process of “patination” (Krššáková 1983: 54). Krššáková’s Rabelaisian approach to language (which I see as a search for the overlap in close connection with Maillet, who channelled her affinity with the French Renaissance author into her own artistic expression), might clash with the traditions of the receiving context. As I have mentioned, this tradition, in the given period, had very little understanding for any deviations from the standard language. Editors were carefully monitoring writers’ adherence to the strict rules of Slovak language and Krššáková appreciated the cooperation:

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To create a really fruitful cooperation, the translator’s desire to experiment and the courage to take risks have to meet with a certain amount of courage and good will on the part of the editor too. However, if the creative work of an overcautious bore lies only in changing every “takmer” [almost] into “temer” [a more formal synonym for takmer] and in crossing out the word “posledný” [the last; used to denote “recent”–a use that was common, but considered non-standard by the purists] from the whole manuscript in order to apply one of the trendiest achievements of our public language, the word “ostatný” [recent] (which, in “ostatný” times, has contaminated our means of communication as once the medieval plague did), and if the editor stomps on all translator’s ideas and carefully thought-out strategies like a bull in a china shop in order to employ the incontestable, perfectly sterile and boring language, both translators and readers will be defeated. (54-55)

Elena Krššáková worked with ďubica Vychovalá, who was not only a careful editor, but also a specialist in Romance Studies and translator from French herself. Being familiar with the matter, she gave, sensibly, but not without critical perspective, the translator free rein, but also reduced some of her tendencies to “patinate” (54). Vychovalá’s editorial changes, according to the translator, balanced and lightened the Slovak text. Through the translator’s “patination” of Slovak language, the target text came closer to the source text, whose language is characterised by high frequency of words borrowed from the 17th century dialects of French settlers, which today are part of the Acadian lexis. Most of these words have either disappeared from modern French (e.g., drès, known from Froissart’s medieval chronicles, now substituted by modern dès que “as soon as;” Old French besson “twins,” in modern French jumeau) or are perceived as rare fossil words (e.g., itou instead of aussi “too/also;” icitte, today ici “here;” transcriptions imitating the original pronunciation of the verbs ending in -oir, as in voir, which are today pronounced as [vwa‫ ]ݓ‬and not [vu‫]ݓܭ‬, which resembles the graphic form of vouère; retaining its

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original orthography as in queste instead of the modern quête). Many of these words and phrases underwent major or minor modifications in the process of borrowing. Sometimes, no greater semantic shift occurred (especially if it involved the exchange of one single sound, as in parsonne for personne, or in the case of contracting an original expression such as à cette heure into asteur in the meaning of maintenant “now”), but at other places, the change was more dramatic (jongler “juggle” in the meaning of penser “think”), sometimes involving a contamination with English (halage from English “to haul”). While creating an idiolect aimed at producing an effect similar to that of the original, the Slovak translator did not only work with lexical elements of the target language. At the syntactic level in particular, she tried to come closer to the source text and capture the most striking specifics of Acadian language. One of these was combining the personal pronoun of the first person singular with the verb of the first person plural of normative French (je devions instead of je devais). Other peculiarities include the substitution of the verbal declension of the present tense–third person plural -ent by the non-standard -ont, systematic omission of the negative particle, which is not tolerated in written French, and many others. The possibilities at the syntactic level of Slovak language are rather limited with regards to this type of operation – the first person is usually only encoded in the ending of the verb, since the pronoun is normally elided. However, thanks to the declension system, the target language has much more flexible word order than French and Krššáková made use of everything Slovak language offered to her. In compliance with the tendency to “patinate” her language, she used the plural of respect (using plural to refer to the third person–an honoured member of the family/society) and a dated form of address–instead of the neutral second person singular (for informal address) or plural (for formal address), she used the third person plural. The translator tried to make the syntax more vivid with the help of colloquial features such as marked word order, nonstandard placement of the reflexive pronoun sa, some conjunctions, particles, etc. Slovak was codified much later than French and unlike French, which is preserved in modified versions in the former French colonies, it does not have significantly differing variants (with the few exceptions provided by the Slovaks spoken by Slovak minorities living outside of Slovak territory). The target language thus did not provide Krššáková with many possibilities to build her literary language on the transformation of Slovak language in time or space. Since Slovak has a highly phonemic orthography, she could not experiment at the orthographic or orthoepic level either. However, Krššáková did try to

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imitate the deviation from the norms–she did so by means of slight modification of words (plaské instead of ploské “flat”) and playing with some exceptions to the phonemic orthography (céra, srce instead of dcéra “daughter” and srdce “heart”). The translator intensified the informality of the language of the original with expressive language, higher frequency of a wide range of emotionally charged words, diminutives, augmentative forms, hypocorisms, and similar elements which she wittily combined with dialectical or archaic expressions (e.g., apatieþka–a diminutive and archaic word for “chemist’s shop”). Her translation strategies show her good knowledge of the domestic culture, where the abundant use of emotionally charged words, especially diminutives, is quite common and natural. Krššáková’s approach therefore cannot be seen as introducing inappropriate naturalisation. On the contrary, I see it as an adequate compensation, a premeditated way to make up for the losses which inevitably occurred in the transposition of the two cultures. The translation recreates the features of the original with a comparable intensity, in terms of both the rhythm and imagery of the narrative. Even though Krššáková is sometimes more explicit than the author, her effort to decrease the implicit neither reflects her underestimation of the reader, nor an impulse to “add” to the author’s work. Intensified explicitness of the expression stems from the need to overcome the tensions between the cultures so that it does not lead to under-interpretation or decreased understanding of the narrative. I suppose that the sporadic tendency to explicate the implied is rather the feature of empathy: Krššáková wished to provide the Slovak recipient with everything that could be, in transcultural transfer, lost in translation. In many places, Krššáková’s creative language has the touch of the ancient, oral, and vernacular, but also literary where suitable. These shifts in registers enabled her to capture the particularities of the source text to a great extent. In the target culture, a similar atmosphere, effect of playfulness, and a mixture of the ridiculous and tragic, were produced to imitate the source text. This kind of equivalence was achieved by the translator mainly by means of substitution and systematic compensation for the losses which occurred in the process of translation. I shall give some examples to illustrate these issues. Let us focus on the translation of the title–the first element the reader encounters. Even though the publishers sometimes enforce their selection of the title with the intention to guarantee good marketability, it is not probable that this happened in the case of Pélagie-la-Charrette. Slovenský spisovateĐ publishing house published Maillet’s text in their series entitled Tvorba národov [Creation of nations] under the title Akádia, zem zasĐúbená [Acadia, the Promised Land]. As we can see, the Slovak title

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does not copy the title of the original Pélagie-la-Charrette, which consists of the first name of the female protagonist followed by the modifier of characterization (la charrette) with Slovak equivalents voz “cart,” taliga “handcart,” rebriniak “wagon,” kára “barrow.” A jolting oxcart is the symbol of the plebeian character that is in sharp contrast to the typical hero from an Old French heroic song, such as the legendary knight Roland whose symbolic features were a sword and a horse. In Maillet’s text–a kind of postmodern epic or heroic song turned upside down–, the oxcart is multifunctional: as her home and means of transport, it is connected to the character throughout her life and even after her death (the cross for Pélagie’s grave is made of the boards of her shattered cart). The connection of the protagonist and the cart is therefore laden with meaning. Pélagie-la-Charrette, in Slovak Pelágia Taliga, is literally a nomen omen. In the Slovak title of the novel, the name of the protagonist was substituted by the toponym Akádia and complemented by the evaluative expression zem zasĐúbená “the Promised Land.” At first sight, such a translation solution seems rather curious. As if the translator, usually positioned on the threshold of cultures–neither inside nor outside, but on their connecting line–all of a sudden stepped over the virtual frontier and by preferring exoticisation, resolutely entered the domestic culture. The unknown, “promised” land, the enigmatic Acadia, has, in the receiving culture, the potential to awaken the readers’ curiosity. The “Promised Land” implies the idea of a dreamt-of place, of an object of desire. Krššáková’s substitution may have a deeper motivation than merely that of catching the reader’s attention. The shift from one element of prose to another, which directs the reader’s attention not to the character, but to the setting, is in perfect harmony with the Acadian understanding of existence. Remaining on the threshold of the communicating cultures, Elena Krššáková leant towards the source culture, for which the space represents both trauma and the greatest value. The reasons behind the special relationship of the Acadians with the space can be found in the Acadian national history itself: Acadia as a geographically demarcated region existed only for a short time, hence today we can speak of three Acadias: the historical Acadia; genealogical (Acadian diaspora); and prospective. The absence of their own territory generated the so-called Acadian paradox of a landless people who are nevertheless deeply rooted in the land. Such a perception of space has been notably reflected in Acadian literature. Even contemporary authors consider the setting to be the most important and, at the same time, the most problematic element of fiction, therefore they pay great attention to its depiction.

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The choice of the Slovak title, in which the name of the protagonist was substituted by the setting of the narrated events, more precisely by the idealised setting, an object of desire, is therefore the perfect translation strategy. It is a manifestation of the transcultural approach towards translation–translation as interlinking, existing in the intersection of cultures and stemming from a profound knowledge of the contexts. I find the Slovak translation of the title more stimulating than its English counterpart Pélagie. The Return to a Homeland. Although the simple Pélagie is in accordance with the author’s intention of referring to the female protagonist, it strips the heroine of her cart, her very symbol. The Return to a Homeland is, moreover, much more explicit than the Slovak zem zasĐúbená “the Promised Land.” Let us now focus on the translation of proper names. Although some theorists treat them as referents or markers without deeper meaning (Searle 1972: 216), I personally adhere to other interpretations (Barthes 1972), because some proper names may function as signs in a literary text. If that is the case, they require translation. The Slovak translator’s method is in accordance with such opinions (Ballard 2001), which is evident in her translation of the protagonist’s name Pélagie-la-Charrette as Pelágia Taliga “Pélagie the Cart.” In this regard, the choice of the expression taliga, out of other possible solutions offered by Slovak language (kára, voz, rebriniak) is optimal: the Slovak translation seems to copy the rhythm of the original title and it even gets very close to its phonetic aspect (the repetition of the vowel [a:]/[a] in [pela:gija tal‫ނ‬iga], [pela‫ݤ‬i la ‫ݕ‬a‫ܭݓ‬t]; substitution of the fricatives [‫ ]ݕ‬and [‫ ]ݤ‬for the sonorant [l] combined with the voiced velar [g] create a similar phonetic effect; the recurrent use of [g] in [pela:gija] and [tal‫ނ‬iga] is also striking). The suitability of Krššáková’s selection of the words Pelágia and taliga (instead of the possible equivalents voz or rebriniak), in which the sound [g] is recurrent, is emphasised even more in connection to another character, called, in the original, Pélagie-la-Gribouille. This character and, at the same time, one of the narrators of the story, has, just like her greataunt Pélagie-la-Charrette, a characterizing name, her first name, Pélagie, accentuating the family bond between the characters. The modifier la gribouille–reminiscent of the French gribouiller “to scribble” and the Acadian gribouil, “a quarrel”–indirectly refers to the manner in which Pélagie-la-Gribouille delivers her great-aunt’s story. She has only vague ideas about it, knowing it only through oral tradition from her ancestors, and so she often stumbles, argues over details, and gets into a muddle in her storytelling. The Slovak translator reflects her chaotic manner of delivering the story by giving her the characterizing modifier Motajka

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“Muddler,” which I see as an adequate solution: she implicitly defines her storytelling as a vague sketch of events, as muddling through important moments of the story, muddling through the narration as such. The missing [g] in Motajka, which any Slovak recipient without knowledge of French notices not only in the original gribouille, but also in the first name of Pelágia that reads phonetically in Slovak, was relocated to the word taliga. The seemingly irrelevant detail may be perceived as a premeditated strategy emerging from the need to move between the two cultures in a balanced way, with the emphasis shifting between the source and target text in an attempt to establish their closest and most effective connection. It is again the manifestation of the transcultural approach to translation. The proper names of Maillet’s characters, interconnected via multigenerational family ties, are very important in her world of narration, which is evident from their frequent occurrence. For an ethnic group without its own territory, family ties and family memory are the only points of reference. The author emphasises this by means of enumeration and juxtaposition of typical Acadian surnames as well as by means of repetition of the same first name in more than one generation (Pélagie, Bélonie, etc.). Such practices should be respected in the transposition to Slovak. Sometimes, the solution is very simple, almost automatic as in “transportait les LeBlanc, les Roy, les Belliveau, les Bourg et des morceux de familles Babin et Babineau” (Maillet 1979: 21); “viezol . . . LeBlancovcov, Royovcov, Belliveauovcov, Bourgovcov a zvyšky rodiny Babinovcov a Babineauovcov” [he drove the LeBlancs, Roys, Belliveaus, Bourgs, and the rest of the Babin and Babineau families] (Mailletová 1983a: 17). At other times, however, Maillet stresses the multigenerational blood relations through their inscription into the form of the name. The author’s intention is announced in the words of the incipit: “Au dire du vieux Louis à Bélonie lui-même, ce rejeton des Bélonies” (Maillet 1979: 11; emphasis added), which Krššáková transferred into Slovak: “Ako vraví starý Bélonieovie Louis, potomok Bélonieov” [As old Louis of Bélonie, the descendant of Bélonie, says] (Mailletová 1983a: 9; emphasis added). In this case, the Slovak form Bélonieovie uses the dated, colloquial -ovie ending instead of the neutral and standard -ho. The translator, inspired by Slovak folklore, remained very close to the original in other instances too. She created names reflecting a patronymic relationship such as Charlovie Charles [Charles of Charles], Pierrovie François [François of Pierre], Pierrotovie Pierre [Pierre of Pierrot], as well as Šašovie Pierre [Pierre of Šašo “Clown”] instead of the original Pierre à Pitre “Clown.” She applied this method every time a part of a name had a characterizing function. The translator also used colloquial endings of female surnames -ka such as

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Aucoinka, Bourgeoiska, and others. Translation of other motivated proper names is also noteworthy–Krššáková showed a significant amount of creativity there (e.g., Picoté as Poćobaný “Pocked,” Pissenvite as Cikáþ “Tinkler”). However, in this relation, a phenomenon which, at first sight, may seem inconsistent in translation, cannot be overlooked. I am referring to the retention of some proper nouns in their French form, predominantly those of toponyms. Certain place-names, such as Ostrov nádeje [Island of hope], which is a literal translation of l'Île d'Espoir or Pobrežie VeĐkého Stroskotania [The coast of the great shipwreck], a calque of les côtes de la Grande Échouerie, were calqued, while others retained their original French form–e.g., Port-Royal or la Grand’Prée. These two toponyms have a special place in the Acadian collective memory. At the beginning of the 17th century, Port-Royal, located in the present-day province of Nova Scotia, was an important strategic place for the Acadians. The village of Grand-Pré (not Grand’Prée as in the novel) is the place where the forced displacement of the Acadian people started: a British officer announced in a local church the immediate deportation of the population (Godin and Basque 2007). Both Port-Royal and Grand-Pré represent memorial sites, lieux de mémoire (Nora 1984) for the Acadians and this fact is accentuated repeatedly throughout the literary narrative (Mailletová 1983a: 10, 14, 18, 117, and elsewhere). The focus on those places, as some sort of memento, was evidently intentional and the spelling change that made GrandPré/Grand’Prée more marked, was part of the strategy. The addition of the vowel “e”, the feminine feature of French adjectives, may call attention to the female protagonist and her key role in the story of the revival of the nation. There is another possible explanation accentuating the particularities of Acadian language. It has formed much of its lexis through borrowing from French, as I already mentioned. In the case of some nouns which are masculine according to the contemporary French norm, but in the 17th century were feminine, the author retains the original feminine, as in la prée instead of the standard le pré (Poirier 1995). When the translator decided to keep the original Grand’Prée and not to translate it as, say, VeĐká Lúka [Large Meadow], she was probably seeking a similar exoticising effect. Preferring exoticisation over naturalisation, she emphasised the cognitive function of the literary text: she drew the attention of the Slovak recipient to the Acadian lieu de mémoire, site, where the Acadian drama began. However, she used a different approach in the translation of the very name of the dramatic historical event, Le Grand Dérangement [the Great Deportation]. Naturalisation together with the choice of the literary expression mätež “mayhem” is an appropriate

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solution in this case: the Slovak translation epitomises the French grand dérangement, the great disruption of a normal course of events, causing a stir and creating a chaotic state. At the same time, it reminds the recipient of the target culture of the dramatic event which is still present in the collective memory of the source culture, being passed down from generation to generation.

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5 Conclusion Elena Krššáková has successfully fulfilled her intention, which was to transfer this literary oeuvre of Acadian culture, specific for its “nonstandard” French into the more conservative Slovak context. She not only transferred Maillet’s unique language adequately into the target language, but also completed her translation with a lot of the untold, i.e. that which is hidden beneath the language: the idea of dynamism/ instability/movement of the language, culture, and perception of the world. There are a number of factors that influenced the final product, the Slovak translation with its balance of exoticisation, naturalisation creolisation, explicitness, and implicitness: Krššáková’s knowledge, linguistic skills, responsibility, and last but not least, talent and the courage to take risks. Her intimate knowledge of the target culture and the hypertrophy of linguistic awareness were a driving force in the process of language creation, the creation of a sort of hybrid Slovak. The translator “loosened” the tightly normalised Slovak language and publishing practices. She not only exposed the immense possibilities of the “small” Slovak language, but also the potential hybridity of the “small” target culture. Only by accepting this multiplicity and complexity (of language, culture, identity, etc.) it is possible to get to know and accept otherness which is needed today more than ever. Elena Krššáková was ahead of her time with her approach to translation, which bore significant traces of the shift from the intercultural to transcultural point of view. Probably the most notable manifestation and consequence of this shift is the strengthened position of the translator, which Krššáková’s translation clearly confirms: as if through becoming equal to the author, a strong intellectual affinity arose between these two creative individualities. However, the harmony between her and the author did not prevent her from keeping essential critical distance from the text. The change in the status of the translator generated new ways of understanding the phantom of faithfulness in translation, which the translator regularly demonstrated. She suggested that it is possible, or even essential, to trust the interpretation of literary expression and accept a

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certain freedom in translation strategies, as long as this freedom is functional, systematic and supported by arguments. Krššáková’s Akádia, zem zasĐúbená is thus not an “unfaithful beauty” (Mounin 1994), but a faithful beauty, not bound by rigid rules. The translator, convinced of the infinity of the process of translation, finds her translation open. Awaiting criticism, she is open to discussion regarding her translation (which I, as the author of this study, may confirm). In 1983, Elena Krššáková was a pioneer: she applied the transcultural approach in translation before it was theoretically elaborated in the target context (these questions were more intensely raised after the year 1989, for instance in 1992, at the Prague conference with the symptomatic name Translation Strategies and Effects in Cross-cultural Value Transfer and Shifts). She succeeded in drawing attention to the capacity of translation to go against the narrow and sterile adherence to traditions at a time when such an approach was not acceptable in Slovakia. In this way, she confirmed Berman’s idea of translation as power, threatening tradition as such, “une puissance menaçant la traditionnalité elle-même” (Berman 1984: 27). Elena Krššáková, together with a small group of other brave translators in the confined Czechoslovakia, opened the way not only to a more contemporary translation practice, but also inspired theoretical research into translation.

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Acknowledgements This chapter is an output of the research project KEGA 027 PU-4/2015 French Culture and Francophone Cultures Taught at the Virtual University of Prešov.

References Ballard, Michel. 2001. Le Nom propre en traduction [The translation of proper names]. Paris: Ophrys. Barthes, Roland. 1972. Degré zéro de l’écriture [Writing degree zero]. Paris: Seuil. Basque, Maurice. 2003. “Acadiens aujourd’hui [Acadians today].” In Le Français au Québec [French in Quebec], ed. by Michel Plourde, 329330. Montreal: Fides. Bauman, Zygmunt. 2000. Liquid Modernity. Cambridge: Polity. Berman, Antoine. 1984. L’Épreuve de l’étranger: Culture et traduction dans l’Allemagne romantique: Herder, Goethe, Schlegel, Novalis, Humboldt, Schleiermacher, Hölderlin [The experience of the foreign:

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Culture and Translation in Romantic Germany: Herder, Goethe, Schlegel, Novalis, Humboldt, Schleiermacher, Hölderlin]. Paris: Gallimard. Bertrand, Pierre. 1988. “Le Voyage Immobile [The immobile journey].” Vice versa 22-23: 8-9. Casanova, Pascale. 1999. La République mondiale des Lettres [The world republic of letters]. Paris: Seuil. Deleuze, Gilles and Félix Guattari. 1972. Mille plateaux [A thousand plateaus]. Paris: Les Éditions de Minuit. Deleuze, Gilles and Félix Guattari. 1975. Kafka. Pour une littérature mineure [Kafka. Toward a minor literature]. Paris: Les Editions du Minuit. Gaudin, Sylvain and Maurice Basque. 2007. Histoire des Acadiens et des Acadiennes du Nouveau-Brunswick [The history of Acadian and Acadians of New Brunswick]. Tracadie-Sheila: La Grande Marée. Gauvin, Lise. 1997. L’écrivain Francophone à la croisée des langues [The Francophone writer at linguistic crossroads]. Paris: Karthala. Gauvin, Lise. 2010. “Antonine Maillet, Montréalaise d’adoption [Antonine Maillet, an adopted Montrealer].” In Lire Antonine Maillet à travers le temps et l’espace [Reading Antonine Maillet across time and space], ed. by Marie-Linda Lord, 13-16. Moncton: Université de Moncton. Krššáková, Elena. 1983. “MaĢ husle a vedieĢ na nich hraĢ. Z pracovne E. Krššákovej [To have a violin and be able to play it. From the study room of E. Krššáková].” Revue svetovej literatúry 19 (4): 52-55. Kundera, Milan. 2005. Le Rideau [The curtain]. Paris: Gallimard. MacLennan, Hugh. 1945. Two Solitudes. Toronto: Macmillan of Canada. Maillet, Antonine. 1979. Pélagie-la-Charrette. Paris: Grasset. Mailletová, Antonine. 1983a. Akádia, zem zasĐúbená [Acadia, the Promised Land]. Trans. Elena Krššáková. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Mailletová, Antonine. 1983b. “Špinisko [Big dirt].” Trans. Elena Krššáková. Revue svetovej literatúry 19 (4): 33-39. Malinovská, Zuzana. 2011. “Písanie o sebe v súþasnej québeckej próze [Self-writing in contemporary Quebec fiction].” World Literature Studies 3 (2): 28-45. Malinovská, Zuzana. 2015. “K podobám literárneho kánonu: Antonine Mailletová [On the varieties of the literary canon: Antonine Maillet].” World Literature Studies 7 (3): 76-86. Mounin, Georges. 1994. Les Belles infidèles [Beautiful infidels]. Lille: Presses universitaires de Lille.

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Nepveu, Pierre. 1999. L’Écologie du réel. Mort et naissance de la littérature québécoise contemporaine [The ecology of the real. Death and birth of contemporary Quebec literature]. Montreal: Boréal. Nora, Pierre. 1984. Lieux de mémoire [Memory space]. Paris: Gallimard. Nouss, Alexis. 2005. Plaidoyer pour un monde métis. Paris: Textuel. Poirier, Pascal. 1995. Le Glossaire acadien: édition critique établie par Pierre M. Gérin [The Acadian glossary: critical edition prepared by Pierre M. Gérin]. Moncton: Éditions d’Acadie et Centre d’études acadiennes. Rakšányiová, Jana. 2005. Preklad ako interkultúrna komunikácia [Translation as intercultural communication]. Bratislava: AnaPres. Robin, Régine. 1983. La Québécoite. Montreal: Québec/Amérique. Roy, Gabrielle. 1945. Bonheur d’occasion. Montreal: Pascal. Searle, John R. 1972. Les Actes du langage [Speech acts]. Trans. Hélène Pauchard. Paris: Hermann. Simon, Sherry. 2005. “Interférences créatrices: poétiques du transculturel [Creative interferences: the poetics of transculture].” Revista Mexicana de Estudios Canadienses (nueva época) 10: 111-119. Vajdová, Libuša. 2009. Sedem životov prekladu [Seven lives of the translation]. Bratislava: VEDA. Vilikovský, Ján. 1984. Preklad ako tvorba [Translation as creation]. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Welsch, Wolfgang. 1994. “Transkulturalität–die veränderte Verfassung heutiger Kulturen [Transculturality–the puzzling form of cultures today].” In Sichtweisen. Die Vielheit in der Einheit [Perspectives. The multiplicity in unity], ed. by Freimut Duve, 83-122. Weimar: Weimarer Klassik. Yuste Frías, José. 2010. “Au seuil de la traduction: la paratraduction [On the threshold of translation: paratranslation].” In Event or Incident. On the Role of Translation in the Dynamics of Cultural Exchange, ed. by Ton Naaijkens, 287-316. Brussels: Peter Lang. Yuste Frías, José. 2014. “L’interculturalité, multiculturalité, transculturalité dans la traduction et l’interprétation en milieu social [The intercultural, multicultural, transcultural in translation and community interpreting].” Cédille, revista de estudios franceses 4 (3): 91-111.

CHAPTER FIVE (MY) IDENTITY–NORMALITY–TRANSLATION MARTIN DJOVýOŠ MATEJ BEL UNIVERSITY

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Abstract This paper deals with the issue of identity by exploring the complicated, hybrid, and unclear habitus of the inhabitants of Central Europe. It problematizes this habitus, points out that it has no clear boundaries and lists norms which are responsible for orchestrating behaviour and action within the community. It further explores how translation as a process and product may be perceived in the process of intercultural communication (whatever that may be) and how, if any, cultural identity is preserved in the text. The paper is purely theoretical. It does not have the ambition to find an answer but rather ask even more questions, ones which are not unknown to translation scholars around the world but seem to be less reflected in the Central European context.

1 Introduction We in Central Europe, from the political perspective very often still viewed as Eastern Europe, seem to be having some serious issues with our identity recently. Last year alone I received at least four calls for papers with the main topic of identity. Instead of providing many definitions and approaches to identity, let me be personal this time and tell you my story, which I believe illustrates the situation quite clearly. I will for the sake of space and reader’s patience, provide very simplified historic facts. My ancestors, back in the second half of the 18th century, moved from one part of the country (the Austrian Empire) to another part of the same country known as “Low Land.” They were farmers and Protestants, so they decided to settle there for its suitable conditions: the soil was fertile, they could freely practice their religion and live in a community of the

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same people–those who called themselves Slovaks. However, in 1867, after the Austro-Hungarian Compromise, they lived on the territory of Austria-Hungary. After the First World War, they found themselves in the newly established Kingdom of Serbs, Croats, and Slovenes, which eventually became the Kingdom of Yugoslavia. After the Second World War they lived in Yugoslavia, and after the local “Third World War,” they ended up in the territory of Serbia (here and elsewhere I have simplified the history a bit, as there were several other states preceding the current situation). Moreover, they identified themselves with the Serbian region of Vojvodina and, within it, with the Slovak minority. In 1993, during the war and in the period of raging Serbian nationalism, my parents decided to move with my sister and me back to the place their ancestors left centuries ago, but they returned to a newly formed country–Slovakia, which had not existed when our ancestors first left. In fact, they returned to the precise place their great-grandparents had left, documented by my grandmother’s surname, which bears the name of the village close to the building where I am sitting at this very moment, writing these lines. One can imagine how many different ideologies they lived through as regimes came and went. Let me name just a few of them: Feudalism, Fascism, Nazism, Socialism, Nationalism, Democracy (or something resembling it), and so on. In the country once known as Yugoslavia, I had attended a Slovak primary school and most of my relatives had considered themselves to be proud Slovaks (as they had been for all those centuries), so it was an obvious choice for my parents to leave to newly born Slovakia. However, when I was 17 and went for my first trip to Scotland, I was the only one from the whole bus who had to step out at the Austrian borders, and I was investigated only because I had the “wrong” passport. When my sister was about 12, her school organised a trip to Italy. Her class left and had a nice holiday, but the Italian Embassy refused to give her a visa because “Yugoslavians sell their children for organs.” So she had to stay at home. In other words, in Slovakia we were “dangerous Yugoslavs” and in Serbia “stupid Slovak peasants.” Am I to change my identity with every readjustment of borders, with every change of regime, with every change of ideology? What do I identify myself with? Language? Nation? Country? Nationality? Humanity? The story is oversimplified and it is not occasional or unique. We could go on for hundreds of pages and still not reach the end. A similar story is shared by thousands, maybe even millions of people regardless of their personal history. This is the history of the unclear Central European identity, but it is probably the story of many more (and often in much more complicated circumstances).

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Why do I find it important to mention these “issues” when I am to discuss Translation Studies? Because translation is an activity (predominantly) performed by the people and for the people. I myself tend to forget about that and tend to be very technical in my research, relying on “hard” empirical data. But that data has to be understood and interpreted in a wider context, because the experience of previous generations is deeply embedded in our deepest selves, and even if we do not realise it, its influence on our decisions is enormous. It guides us to decide what is right or wrong, acceptable or inacceptable, adequate or inadequate, equivalent or not equivalent, normal or abnormal. I will base my further contemplations on the concept of Bourdieu’s habitus, Miko’s experiential complex, and the concept of normality and I will problematise the notion of habitus based on my story.

2 Habitus and the Experiential Complex

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Pierre Bourdieu wrote his Esquisse d'une théorie de la pratique back in 1972, and its English translation, Outline of a Theory of Practice (translated by Richard Nice), was published in 1977. His contribution to Translation Studies has been intensely discussed (see, e.g., Inghilleri 2005; Pym, Shlesinger, and Jettmarová 2006; Pym, Shlesinger, and Simeoni 2008; Vorderobermeier 2014; Wolf and Fukari 2007). However old and criticised it may seem, I find it a very solid basis on which to illustrate and contextualise my ideas. Bourdieu sees habitus as a basic unit of social organisation and defines it as systems of durable, transposable dispositions, structured structures predisposed to function as structuring structures, that is, as principles of the generation and structuring of practices and representations which can be objectively “regulated” and “regular” without in any way being the product of obedience to rules, objectively adapted to their goals without presupposing a conscious aiming at ends or an express mastery of the operations necessary to attain them and, being all this, collectively orchestrated without being the product of the orchestrating action of a conductor. (Bourdieu 1977: 72)

In the context of Bourdieu’s other ideas, we find that habitus can be understood as a common system of unwritten rules and values which the given community follows without realising it. In line with this, the community then accepts or denies those who are “different” and interprets the artefacts of reality. Freud (2010) claims, though in a different context, that not only is a human being exposed to the effects of his or her

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immediate surroundings, they are also influenced by the cultural development achieved by their ancestors. Miko on the other hand talks about the experiential complex, which he defines as

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a sum of experience, ideas, thoughts, feelings, interests and stimuli which create a certain unity in human consciousness and are the basis of communication. . . . The experiential complex is the selection base for a given text; it determines the extent to which the given text can be materialised. Those are materialisation possibilities. The given text is the selection from these possibilities. (Miko 1970: 14; my translation)

If we replace the term communication and text with the term action we realise that Bourdieu’s and Miko’s respective approaches are rather similar with Miko’s being sociologically less explicit in its original form. The experiential complex is thus not only the basis for translational choices, but can be understood as a subconscious foundation (although in many cases acquired consciously) for the decision-making process of a translator in their private as well professional life (translation, interaction with colleagues, etc.). Indeed, translators cannot be studied as a homogenous professional group but always with regards to their specific working and personal situation. In a study conducted in 2015 (Djovþoš and Šveda 2017), we managed to find out that translators behave differently depending on the text types they translate. There are literary translators, audio-visual translators, court translators, interpreters, translators/interpreters, etc. Each of these groups has a different set of norms (behaviour that they find normal). Literary translators in Slovakia translate for less than 7 euro per standard page whereas translators of specialised texts most often translate for 10–15 euro. And although they are all regarded as translators, their behaviour differs. If one does not realise it, it may lead to the creation of memes and myths which deform the social environment. The experiential complex could thus in its broadest sense be understood as a set of values and beliefs generated by the respective habitus responsible for the decision-making process. Levý (1967) defines this process as “a series of a certain number of consecutive situations–moves, as in a game– situations imposing on the translator the necessity of choosing among a certain (and very often exactly definable) number of alternatives” (1171). Apart from the text creation process, this must also be applied when studying translators’ market behaviour and their social roles. This also brings us to the identity of the translator and the identity of Translation Studies, but we are not going to elaborate on that as many scholars have done so before us (see, e.g., Jettmarová 2008).

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Given the outline of the problem of one particular identity in the introduction and in light of the aforementioned definitions, we realise that it is very complicated if not impossible to identify, define, and describe the identity of a person inhabiting the territory of Central Europe, as it is almost impossible to investigate an isolated habitus of the communities living here, since all of these environments are interrelated, mixed and have been influencing each other for centuries. The same applies to translators inhabiting this territory as members of the community. However, still we tend to pretend that “we” are different and usually “better” than “them,” and our habitus causes us to tend to be afraid of anything new, different, “not ours.” In this case we can learn a lot from Lotman’s (1994) opposition of “us” and “them.” Several Slovak translation scholars, e.g., Popoviþ (1975) and Vilikovský (1984), have used this opposition to explain the tension between source and target cultures in translation (naturalisation–creolisation–exoticisation) and I believe that the same principle may be applied to explain cultural phenomena connected to the translator’s behaviour.

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3 Briefly on Normality Each habitus generates its own set of rules which are set from within the community and influenced by the external environment. Although the concept may sound deterministic, if one thinks about it more deeply, one really finds out that the freedom of choice within the habitus is very limited–it could be said that it is “an illusion of freedom.” Žižek (2009) describes this basic human condition as being compelled to make decisions in a situation which remains opaque. . . . We know the standard situation of the forced choice in which I am free to choose on condition that I make the right choice, so the only thing left for me to do is to make the empty gesture of pretending to accomplish freely what expert knowledge has imposed upon me. (63)

Thus, even if one is not prevented from making the “wrong choices” explicitly, the subconscious limits imposed by the habitus might often cause auto-censorship. However, if we look more closely into the issue of rules, we find that they are very unclear and their relation to reality is rather arbitrary. In fact, as Peregrin (2011) concludes, social rules are a collective fiction which lives and dies on the attitudes of the members of the given community. What is right or wrong is then evaluated according to certain norms which, after their external manifestation, become, as Bourdieu says, internalised. Slavík (1999) defines a norm as “a delimited

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and binding measure according to which we evaluate certain phenomena as acceptable and thus normal . . . and others as inacceptable, abnormal, deviated from the norm” (53; my translation). Most often, what is normal is set statistically; in other words, if a certain activity is performed often enough, it is considered normal and acceptable. This is probably the most widespread understanding of the concept of “normality” among lay people; however, it tends to lead to serious misapprehension when it is interpreted to mean that anyone thinking “outside the box” and doing things differently is not normal and/or is making a mistake. As Peregrin (2011) adds, “to define a mistake as something made only by a minority does not seem to be acceptable” (21; my translation). So the statistical norm serves only to define the status quo of a given phenomenon in the habitus but excludes the axiomatic aspect, which is ascribed to the phenomenon by the agent, the person interpreting the findings. And the person interpreting the findings has their own set of values/worldview which significantly influences their attitudes toward evaluated data, and this set of values is in turn subconsciously derived from their habitus and so on. In this way we get into a vicious circle and eventually a dead end. Fortunately, statistical norms are not the only evaluative possibility. There are many other types of norms which help us analyse various social and therein translational phenomena which always, whether we like it or not, constitute a social act. Such norms, to name just a few, are (1) individual– these determine the state of the individual in line with their capabilities, (2) sociocultural–these are bound to concrete criteria of the community, usually in relation to traditions, (3) ideal–these occur when a norm attains a state of perfection which is never reachable but must be approached (Kariková 2011: 42), (4) norms derived from expectations–here normal behaviour is the one expected in the given situation (Slavík 1999: 59), and so on. One may observe at first sight that all approaches to the norm are interrelated and “problematic,” as we need to define and specify what we mean by each term (tradition? perfection? expectation?). And again, each definition of the “problematic” term is context- and community-bound. Toury (1995) claims that the basic features of norms are their sociocultural specificity and their instability. They tend to change over space and time, but they often coexist as well, and this is the reason why we have coexisting mainstream norms, previous sets of norms and the rudiments of new ones, hovering on the periphery:“this is why it is possible to speak–and not derogatorily–of being ‘trendy’, ‘old-fashioned’ or ‘progressive’ in translation . . . as it is in any other behavioural domain” (63).

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If we take into account the turbulent history of Central Europe, dynamically changing ideologies and thus patrons in the Lefeverian sense of the word, and the complexity of norms, it is very “normal” that the situation causes a lot of confusion in the given habitus. Indeed, ideologies change faster than generations in many cases. Actually, Bourdieu sees the problem of generation gap not in age differences, but in different modes of habitus generation and adds: This is why generation conflicts oppose not age-classes separated by natural properties, but habitus which have been produced by different modes of generation that is, by conditions of existence which, in imposing different definitions of the impossible, the possible, and the probable, cause one group to experience as natural or reasonable practices or aspirations which another group finds unthinkable or scandalous, and vice versa. (Bourdieu 1977: 78)

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In Slovakia, for example, we still have active translators who were educated, trained, and active during socialism, which is not–not only with respect to translation policy–exactly a homogeneous period itself (see, e.g., Palkoviþová in this volume; Pliešovská 2016). As a matter of fact, these translators consider commercial pressure and market demands as “abnormal,” whereas the newly trained young generation of translators regard them as being perfectly “normal” because they have had no previous experience with the previous period although it is subconsciously an inherent/internalised part of them. In other words, there is a constant tension between often contradicting tendencies.

4 Conclusion In line with the ideas above, it seems that it is impossible to translate adequately (whatever that may be) and criticise translation and educate translators, and yet we still have to translate, evaluate, and educate. However, when talking about translation, translator’s identity, or even the identity of Translation Studies, it is always important to bear in mind the restrictions imposed on our profession by context and the very uncertain and mixed habitus. A translator here is like a chameleon, changing their colour (identity) with every change of the environment. But what is the real translator’s identity? I believe that the translator’s habitus may not be observed as an isolated “field” as it is a part of a broader network of relations. If translators realise this, their actions may be more responsible. And if they do not, their decisions will be made automatically in line with the norms without them realising the consequences.

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As far as identity is concerned, I am not much smarter than I was at the beginning of this text. However, one thing I am sure about is that habitus and thus all social activity exported by the habitus and imported into the habitus, such as translation, cannot be evaluated on the “national” basis alone; we also have to take the broader historical context into account and avoid what Bourdieu calls genesis amnesia–otherwise we may end up making the same mistakes our ancestors made. I do not think that social and professional habitus can be separated. National self-centring, so typical for Central Europe, deprives the researcher/translator/human as a member of the community of a crucial tool for identification with whatever they may find important. Identity cannot be statistically measured and understood as it is one’s personal matter. Is the external manifestation of certain behaviour a proof of identity? I do not think so. Each individual needs to first deal with their own identity and only then can we talk about preserving cultural identity and intercultural communication.

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References Bourdieu, Pierre. 1977. Outline of a Theory of Practice. Trans. Richard Nice. New York: Cambridge University Press. Djovþoš, Martin and Pavol Šveda. 2017. Mýty a fakty o preklade a tlmoþení na Slovensku [Myths and facts about translation and interpreting in Slovakia]. Bratislava: VEDA. Freud, Sigmund. 2010. Myšlienky a úvahy [Thoughts and contemplations]. Trans. Milan Krankus. Bratislava: VydavateĐstvo Európa. Inghilleri, Moira. Ed. 2005. The Translator: Bourdieu and the Sociology of Translation and Interpreting 11 (2). Jettmarová, Zuzana. 2008. “Czech and Slovak Translation Theories: the Lesser-known Tradition.” In Tradition versus Modernity: from the Classic Period of the Prague School to Translation Studies at the Beginning of the 21st Century, ed. by Jana Králová and Zuzana Jettmarová, 15-46. Prague: Univerzita Karlova v Praze, Filozofická fakulta and TOGGA. Kariková, SoĖa. 2011. Psychické poruchy v detstve a dospievaní [Mental disorders in childhood and adolescence]. Banská Bystrica: Pedagogická fakulta Univerzity Mateja Bela v Banskej Bystrici. Levý, JiĜí. 1967. “Translation as a decision process.” In To Honor Roman Jakobson. Essays on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday III, ed. by Morris Halle, 1171-1182. The Hague: Mouton.

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Lotman, Jurij M. 1994. Text a kultúra [Text and culture]. Trans. Mária Kusá et al. Bratislava: Archa. Miko, František. 1970. Text a štýl: k problematike literárnej interpretácie [Text and style: on the problems of literary interpretation]. Bratislava: Smena. Popoviþ, Anton. 1975. Teória umeleckého prekladu [Theory of literary translation]. Bratislava: Tatran. Peregrin, Jaroslav. 2011. ýlovČk a pravidla [People and rules]. Prague: DokoĜán. Pliešovská, ďubica. 2016. Od Buckovej k Updikovi. Americká literatúra na Slovensku v rokoch 1945–1968 [From Buck to Updike. American literature in Slovakia in 1945–1968]. Banská Bystrica: Filozofická fakulta Univerzity Mateja Bela v Banskej Bystrici. Pym, Anthony, Miriam Shlesinger, and Zuzana Jettmarová. Eds. 2006. Sociocultural Aspects of Translating and Interpreting. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Pym, Anthony, Miriam Shlesinger, and Daniel Simeoni. Eds. 2008. Beyond Descriptive Translation Studies: Investigations in homage to Gideon Toury. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Slavík, Jan. 1999. Hodnocení v souþasné škole: Východiská a nové metody pro praxi [Evaluation in the contemporary school: Starting points and new methods for practice]. Prague: Portál. Toury, Gideon. 1995. Descriptive Translation Studies and Beyond. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins Publishing. Vilikovský, Ján. 1984. Preklad ako tvorba [Translation as creation]. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Vorderobermeier, Gisella. M. Ed. 2014. Remapping Habitus in Translation Studies. Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi and Brill. Wolf, Michaela and Alexandra Fukari. Eds. 2007. Constructing a Sociology of Translation. Amsterdam and Philadelphia: John Benjamins. Žižek, Slavoj. 2009. First as Tragedy, Then as Farce. London and New York: Verso.

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CHAPTER SIX TRANSLATED SELF: IDENTITY OF EARLY SLOVAK IMMIGRANTS IN THE UNITED STATES REFLECTED IN THOMAS BELL’S NOVEL OUT OF THIS FURNACE MIROSLAVA GAVUROVÁ UNIVERSITY OF PREŠOV

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Abstract The following chapter analyses transformations of the identity of Slovak émigrés in the United States at the end of the 19th and the beginning of the 20th century as depicted in Thomas Bell’s 1941 novel Out of This Furnace. It focuses on the presence of Slovak cultural and linguistic phenomena in the novel. The author aims to show that Slovak and Ruthenian languages as well as Šariš dialect played an important role in both the immigrants’ new situation in a foreign country and the novel itself, creating and preserving the hybrid identity of immigrants as translated beings (Malena 2003). The chapter also observes the ways in which the English source text (with Slovak, Ruthenian, and Šariš linguistic elements) was translated into Slovak in 1949 with the focus on preserving or evening out the hybrid identity of the original.

1 Introduction The change of identity of the self that accompanies immigration has been formulated and reformulated from various angles–linguistic, psychological, social, and, more recently, also from the perspective of Translation Studies, most prominently by Michael Cronin (2006). As Akhtar (1995) puts it,

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“immigration from one country to another is a complex and multi-faceted psychosocial process with significant and lasting effects on an individual’s identity” (1052). The profoundness of the change in the individual even led Akhtar to propose the notion of a third individuation–a process similar to the first individuation in childhood and the second one in adolescence. The question of language is one of the main sites (and means) of this process: “the immigrant lives in two linguistic worlds, pronouncing his [sic] own name in two different ways, and switching with relief to his [sic] mother tongue once the workday is over” (1069). As Cronin (2006) observes, “the condition of the migrant is the condition of the translated being” (45) and he continues, quoting Anne Malena (2003) on the notion of the translated self:

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Migrants are translated beings in countless ways. . . . They most likely will have to learn or perfect their skills in another language in order to function in their new environment; their individual and collective identities will experience a series of transformations as they adjust to the loss of their place of birth and attempt to turn it into a gain. (9)

This is the fate and experience of the three generations of Slovak émigrés portrayed in the abovementioned novel by Thomas Bell (1903–1961), himself a descendant of Slovak immigrants to the United States. The novel Out of This Furnace is author’s fourth novel and his masterpiece (Berko 1975: 148). Bell has proved to be a captivating narrator in it: “Bell’s novel is effective because it was written from the perspective of an insider. . . . Bell was aware that most Americans knew nothing of lives of Slovaks or others who did backbreaking and dangerous industrial work.” (Goldberg 2010: 62). In an interview for the Pittsburgh newspaper ďudový denník [People’s daily] from October 12, 1946 the author explained the incentives for writing this novel: My conscience dictated me to write it. I saw a people brought here by steel magnates from the old country and then exploited, ridiculed and oppressed. . . . I made up my mind to write a history of the Braddock Slovaks in order to tell the world that the Slovaks with their blood and lives helped to build America. . . . My book Out of This Furnace is an answer to all those unthinking people who look down on the Slovaks. It was also my aim to strengthen in the Slovaks their pride of their origin. Finally I wanted to make sure that the hardship my grandfather, my father, my mother and my brother, sisters and other relatives lived through would never be forgotten. (Berko 1975: 148)

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The novel Out of This Furnace was first published in 1941 by Little, Brown and Company only to be reprinted in 1950 with “minor textual changes,” though it is not clear whether the changes were initiated by the second publisher or the author himself (cf. textual note on the copyright page of the 1976 reprint). Yet the novel was not a huge success at that time. It was only in the 1970s that it was rediscovered by David P. Demarest who recognised its qualities and importance (Goldberg 2010: 66). In 1976 it was republished by University of Pittsburgh Press and since then several more times. The rediscovery also lead to inclusion of the book on university reading lists. The title Out of This Furnace refers not only to the steel mill that ruined many lives, but also to the “melting pot” of American society in which all the immigrants lost their typical national attributes and became Americans (Sabatos 2006: 187). Bell follows the life stories of his four main characters that were inspired by the three generations of his ancestors in the United States. The story begins in the early 1880s and ends in 1937 and “today, it stands as a testimonial to a vanished world” (Goldberg 2010: 62). But apart from the plentiful personal and family references there is something more universal in the novel: “Out of This Furnace is about the acculturation and evolving political consciousness of the immigrant workers of America’s steel towns. It is a history of an important phase of the labor movement, a splendid memorial to a particular ethnic group.” (Demarest 1988: 415-416). Today, the novel is perceived more as a historical document rather than a literary work (Sabatos 2013: 75)–it has become required reading in courses on the recent history of the United States (Brinkley et al. 2011: 171) alongside such works as Richard Wright’s 1945 autobiography Black Boy (Goldberg 2010: 62). It is valuable not only as a document of immigration but it also “offers detailed descriptions of steel mill operations and of events such as the 1919 steel strike” (64). Goldberg also admits: “many books that I have used in classes have not worked well. In contrast, Out of This Furnace will remain fresh no matter how remote the era of industrialization may become” (66). The following analysis aspires to show the reasons why the novel still proves to be topical.

2 The Historical Context as the Background of Identity Evolution Figures regarding the extent of Slovak immigration to the United States differ from source to source. Mark Stolarik, drawing on data from a postwar study by Ján SvetoĖ (1956) and from the 1920 US census, concludes:

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“Altogether 650,000 Slovaks migrated to the United States between 1870 and 1924 . . . and 500,000 eventually chose to remain in the New World.” (Stolarik 1988: 146). Another statistical record states that “the migration loss in Slovakia (in its present area) in 1869–1910 was 57.8 % of the natural population growth. . . . This represented a decrease of 597,894 inhabitants from the total number of 2,916,533 in Slovakia.” (Jakešová 1998: 28). And though the figures might also cover migration to other countries, not only to the United States, still they illustrate the extent of demographic loss in the area of today’s Slovakia. The largest number of immigrants came from the economically poor north-eastern regions of Spiš, Šariš, Abov and Zemplín (ibid.). Thomas Bell’s ancestors came from two of these. Extensive emigration was caused by several intertwined factors, mostly of economic character: “Slovaks left their homeland in Hungary in the 19th century for three reasons: lack of land, lack of industry and lack of opportunity” (Stolarik 1988: 145). But it was not only Slovaks who profited from migration. With new and economically strained immigrants, the United States got a cheap labour force:

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American industrialists refused to pay the Irish and other immigrants who were already in America a decent wage, and the industrialists also rejected the alternative of Black labor. Instead, they sent agents to Europe to seek workers who would settle for wages of around $1.50 a day and the agents found such people in eastern and southern Europe. (146)

Such an agent also appears in the story of Out of This Furnace and he comes from the county of Šariš (misspelled in the following quotation) listed among the four most prominent emigration sites: “Wold was a Slovak Jew and a growing power in the First Ward. It was said that the mill sent him to Europe regularly to persuade people to come to America, which was one reason there were so many Slovaks in Braddock from Wold’s–and Dubik‫ތ‬s, and Mike Dobrejcak‫ތ‬s–native Sarisa.” (Bell 1988: 37-38; emphasis added). For many Slovaks, the decision to go to America was inevitable; the promised wage in the new country could not be compared to what they would earn in Slovakia: “To a Slovak peasant, who could not make a living on five hectares of land and who earned only the equivalent of 15 to 30 cents a day on a noble estate, if he could find the work, $ 1.50 was a very handsome salary.” (Stolarik 1988: 146). Yet, in spite of the great hopes and expectations of Slovak émigrés, life in the new country was not easy:

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And, while the work on the railroads, in the mines or mills was long and hard, the Slovaks put up with all these hardships because they had not come to stay. . . . Living in cramped boarding houses, the frugal Slovaks managed to pay off the cost of the trip in six months and after that they began to send money home to support their families and to also bring additional relatives to America. (ibid.)

The quoted studies on Slovak immigration to America and the novel Out of This Furnace are in fact just two ways of looking at the same story, only from different angles or perspectives, one sociological, the other literary. The struggle of Bell’s family mirrors the struggle of the majority of Slovak peasants leaving their home country.

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3 Family History as the Background of Identity Evolution The author of the novel, Thomas Bell, belonged to the second generation of Slovak immigrants to America. He was born Adalbert Thomas Belejcak in Braddock, Pennsylvania, of immigrant Ruthenian parents in 1903 and his identity was inevitably shaped by his ancestors’ endeavour for a new, happier life. Thomas Bell’s grandfather Juraj Kraþun came to the United States from the Slovak village Košické Olšany (in the Abov region) in 1881–in the novel his literary reflection is Djuro Kracha, portrayed in the first chapter. The author’s grandmother, Elena Kraþun, arrived in the United States a year later following her husband–her fictional embodiment is the character of Elena Kracha, Djuro’s wife. Their first daughter, Mary Krachun was Thomas Bell’s mother. In the novel, the character of Mary Kracha, later marrying Mike Dobrejcak, was inspired by her. Thomas Bell’s father, Michal Belejcak, came from the village of Nižný Tvarožec in Eastern Slovakia (the Šariš region) in 1890–he is reflected in the character of Mike Dobrejcak. In his case, the world of fiction quite precisely reflects reality, Mike is a prototype of the typical Slovak émigré– “most Slovak immigrants came to the United States as single young men who wanted to make their ‘fortunes’ and return home” (Stolarik 1988: 145). The experience of the immigrant in a new land plays a defining role in the formation of the identity of an individual as well as the whole community: Although the [sic] identity is developing and changing throughout life, not many events cause it to change as profoundly as the immigration experience. A person coming to another country finds himself in a different reality and must construct a corresponding new identity for himself.

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Suddenly one is a member of an ethnic or racial minority, a “non-native speaker” of a foreign language, often a member of a lower socioeconomic class. (Zajacová 2002: 70)

In Bell’s novel, the hybrid identity of Slovak Americans evolves through several generations. As Goldberg (2010) puts it: “Few novels about any group capture so well the contrast between the lives of the first generation and those who followed them.” (66). Depictions of various split and hybrid identities start with the most dismal fate of Djuro Kracha, who initially succeeds and becomes a prosperous merchant, but later loses all: his wife, mistress, and closest family. Until his death he remains a foreigner–a Slovak living in America (Sabatos 2006: 187). The novel continues to tell the story of an American Slovak, Mike Dobrejcak, who comes to America as a young man and marries Kracha‫ތ‬s daughter Mary. Mike “represents a more forwardlooking type of Slovak immigrant who is anxious to improve his status” (Goldberg 2010: 63). The last generation the novel depicts is represented by Mike and Mary’s son Dobie. The partly autobiographical character of Dobie “fulfils the aspirations of his parents” as “he casts away the fears that dominated the lives of the first generation” (ibid.)–in comparison with the previous two generations, John “Dobie” Dobrejcak does not become, but is born, a Slovak American as his nickname suggests. Though Dobie might be viewed “to some extent [as] Bell himself” (Berko 1975: 148), he is rather “an imagined projection of what Bell himself would have wished to be had he remained in Braddock” (Demarest 1988: 421). There are plentiful biographical references to Bell’s ancestors in the characters, although the exact boundary between the reality-inspired and imagined is, of course, hard to estimate. Undisguised autobiographical features are not restricted to the fates of the characters only–there are numerous strikingly precise details in the novel regarding social, economic, and cultural circumstances. But as David Demarest reminds readers in his afterword to the novel, a few facts from Thomas Bell’s family history were changed in the fiction; yet only because “they might seem implausible in the world of a novel” (417). For instance, the author changed the cause of death of Kracha’s wife to a “milder” version, though in real life she committed suicide. The novel Out of This Furnace is a rare literary example of Slovak elements present in America and can be framed within the literature of “Second America” resembling the literary works of Richard Wright and Ralph Ellison (Sabatos 2006). Yet though Bell indisputably describes the world of the Slovak community, “its rich description captures the experiences of all of the various Slavic groups as well as other central and

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eastern European nationalities such as Hungarians, Romanians, and Lithuanians who settled in mill towns” (Goldberg 2010: 62). In this sense, the experience he introduces is more universal. As has been already pointed out, although life in a new country might sound promising, the immigrants’ existence has rarely been an easy one: “Immigrants to the United States frequently encounter a new culture and face the arduous task of making sense of this new reality. They have to construct a new world for themselves, master a new language . . . as well as find their own place in this new reality.” (Zajacová 2002: 70). Therefore, (Slovak) immigrants intuitively tended to stick together and form a community. A synonym for the Slovak community in the novel is Braddock’s First Ward where the main characters live. Though most members of the Slovak community in America were originally peasants, “among them were a few hundred intellectuals, largely clergymen, teachers, or aspiring writers, who . . . helped to organise their countrymen into parishes, fraternal-benefit societies, and they also established a newspaper press for them” (Stolarik 1998: 76). The inhabitants of the First Ward thus had their own doctor who could speak “enough Slovak to make himself understood in the First Ward” (Bell 1988: 96); they had their own Slovak priest, Father Kazincy and churches of both main denominations, Greek and Roman Catholic. Because of exclusion from the majority society, they organised their own social events: “These were held–on Friday nights, usually, so that the festivities could continue after midnight–by one or another Slovak society, and were the most important social affairs in the First Ward.” (152). Keeping their traditions helped Slovak immigrants to survive harsh working conditions and overcome the strong resentment of the American majority towards them. Yet, being gathered in a community is not only a consequence of, but also the reason for isolation and many Americans looked down on (Slovak) immigrants, calling them Hunkies. The name Hunky probably originated as an abbreviation of Hungary, the part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire Slovaks came from (Jablonický 1995: 32) and it was used to refer to all labourers from Central Europe. There are several examples of belittlement of Hunkies in the novel: e.g., when Kracha got arrested for being drunk and penniless, the policeman lectured him “on the evils of drink, mentioned the war, used the phrase, ‘You Hunkies’ once, and by inference blamed Kracha for the Prohibition Amendment” (Bell 1988: 229). This superior attitude of the American majority does not change even towards the third generation of Slovak immigrants; Mary’s son, Dobie, is also mocked at school: “I’m through with school. They only make fun of me because I’m a Hunky anyway.” (231). Even if Slovaks in

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America receive education, or are intelligent and diligent, they are belittled: “You’re a smart Hunky and I don’t like smart Hunkies.” (160). Ethnic oppression of Slovaks was entwined with economic injustice in the new country. The feeling of inferiority Slovaks experienced in America was one of the results of the economic misery they had to endure. Mike Dobrejcak ruminates on that: “I’ll be thirty years old in a few months–and I have no more money in the bank than I had ten years ago.” (147). This is because Slovak workers were, in comparison to other nationalities, underpaid; Mike later explains to his wife Mary: “I know my job, Marcha. I could take over that furnace tomorrow and make as good iron as Keogh ever did. But I’m a Hunky and they don’t give good jobs to Hunkies. God damn their souls to hell.” (185). So even though the expectations of Slovaks coming to the “promised” land were high and they worked hard for their living, they remained poor and–especially their first generation–also isolated. Uprisings and strikes were inevitable consequences of this everyday struggle. There was a nationwide steel strike in 1919 that was (derogatorily) dubbed as the “hunky strike” (Roediger 2003: 142) and Slovaks helped to organise the Congress of Industrial Organizations in Bethlehem, just as Thomas Bell had his protagonist do in his novel Out of This Furnace. The inferior position of the immigrants within the majority society inevitably leads to attempts to erase the difference an individual is marked by–in the novel there are also several characters that try to get rid of anything that would remind of their Slovak origin: “His name was John Baraj, which he had anglicised into Barry on joining the Army.” (Bell 1988: 161-162). In the fictional world of the novel, moving up the social ladder of American society is perceived as a great achievement for a Slovak immigrant. This was the case of Joe Perovsky, who ran for council, won and his “temerity had awed the First Ward; his victory spread jubilation” (145). It is understood not only as a victory of an individual but also in a way of the whole community: “The Slovaks were certainly getting ahead when one of them, scarcely twenty years in America, could be elected to the public office. Perovsky‫ތ‬s own prestige and business in his saloon increased tremendously.” (146). The excitement, however, soon deteriorates and its members are disappointed by Perovsky’s arrogant behaviour that becomes the source of both irony and resentment towards him: “That sonnomabitch. I bet if I met him on the streets he wouldn’t even speak to me. . . . But now he’s a big man, a politician. Much good his being a councilman has done anyone.” (157).

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John Dobie Dobrejcak finally rises from being the son of a Slovak immigrant to a self-confident representative of the Union. He is no more ashamed of his Slovak roots, no longer afraid to argue with his superior who despises him because of his origin: “Why you dumb Hunky son of a bitch I ought to ram this down your dirty throat!” (400; emphasis added). Dobie knows his rights and is not afraid to raise his voice: “‘Listen,’ he said: ‘I may be a Hunky but I ain’t dumb and I ain’t nobody’s son of a bitch.’” (403). Bell attempts to draw a complex picture of American life– without being pathetic, idealistic or biased towards any nationality. And he does so also using linguistic differences as vehicles of identity preservation and modification, as will be shown in the next chapter.

4 Living on the Margins of Languages: On the Ways of Expressing, Preserving, and Transforming Personal and Ethnic Identity

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The role of language in the adaptation of immigrants to the new existential situation is indisputably significant. And it is not only the language of the target culture that is important, but also their native tongue: To survive in a new culture, immigrants must come to know the “facts” and the ethos of the society. That knowledge, however, is not passively absorbed by the people, but is at least in part constructed by them from the information verbally transmitted through conversations. . . . The vehicle transmitting the knowledge is language, the intersection between the individual and the collective. The sense of reality is maintained through continuous ordinary talk. (Zajacová 2002: 69-70)

In this way, early Slovak immigrants in the United States preserved their soft power–mother tongue, religion, cultural traditions, and habits. However, the linguistic situation in their homeland at the time of the emigration peak was very complex–the official, yet underdeveloped Slovak language was under the strong influence of German, Hungarian, and Czech and the role of the vernacular spoken by simple, non-educated peasants was also substantial. Therefore if we speak of the defining role of the characters’ native language in the novel, it is not only Standard Slovak language, but also Šariš dialect and Ruthenian that come into play. It is exactly this hybridity that makes Out of This Furnace a “significant example of the use of ‘mixed languages‫ ތ‬in ethnic American literature” (Sabatos 2013: 74). In the novel Standard Slovak, Šariš dialect or Ruthenian lexemes have the “emblematic” function–as if “their lively poignancy and almost magic

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capacity to bring back valuable memories, partly explained for the book’s American target audience, could not have been rendered in English translation” (Draga Alexandru 2012: 303). The varied linguistic background of the Slovak immigrants plays a defining role within their community–so it is appreciated when the doctor who “was an American-born-and-educated Slovak” could speak “excellent Slovak, correct and precise, with hardly a trace of the peasant guttural; it was a pleasure merely to listen to him, though coming from anyone but a doctor or a priest such faultlessness would have aroused resentment” (Bell 1988: 174-175). Constant references to the Slovak language throughout the novel create an atmosphere of familiarity and indicate that a conversation was led in Slovak and was only “translated” by the narrator: “‘Well, what have you been doing today?’ Dobie asked in Slovak.” (303; emphasis added). Referring to the native language is also a means of emphasizing the Slovak element: “He was singing to himself in Slovak and it was obvious that he was drunk.” (25-26; emphasis added). Slovak elements are present also through such culturally specific phenomena as folk songs: “Mike crooned his favourite song, the ribald and more popular version of ‘A ja zo Sarisa,’ the tuneful lament of a young girl married to an old husband.” (191). The position of the Slovak language and its role in defining identity slightly changes in the second generation of immigrants, who can still speak Slovak, but they do so much less often than their parents. Bell deliberately depicts that in the character of Dobie Dobrejcak, who speaks Slovak at the meeting of the Union, but soon realises that his command of his ancestors’ language has its limits and he regrets that: At a nod from a chairman he continued in Slovak: “. . . Many people I’ve talked to think the company has forgotten all about them, but that…” He fumbled for the word. “That is a mistake.” He paused, shrugged apologetically and added, “For the first time in my life I wish I had listened to my father when he used to tell me not to forget my own language. My grandfather still says I talk like a gipsy.” (293; emphasis added; second suspension points in original)

The audience of Slovak steel mill workers expresses their approval of Dobie‫ތ‬s words again in Slovak, as if to prove the language and identity of their ancestors was still close to them: “He sat down, not a little surprised at himself, to murmurs of ‘Pravdu, pravdu [True, true].’” (ibid.). Slovak is also a preferred code in conversations about the old times: “‘Do you think I forget so easily? We were living on the cinder dump, where we moved after the fire.’ Kracha nodded. ‘Pravdu, pravdu. It was I

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who had forgotten.’” (334); it is also used when speaking to the older generation, e.g., when Dobie talks to his grandfather Kracha: “‘Good night.’ Dobie said. Then he added, somewhat awkwardly, ‘S Bohom.’ ‘S Bohom.’” (341). In fact, when Dobie speaks English, Kracha, his grandfather, immediately “scolds” him for that: “Never mind, never mind! You and your English! As though I was a greenhorn just off the boat.” (321). As Sabatos notes, it is apparent that Slovak words in the English text were chosen deliberately: “In addition to reimagining the personal sacrifices of his family’s immigrant experience, Bell literally translates their speech into English, retaining a few phrases in Slovak. These foreign words, italicized in the text, are the most visible signs of immigrant identity in the novel.” (Sabatos 2013: 75; emphasis added). The manuscript of the novel preserved at Carnegie Mellon shows the changes to the text Thomas Bell made before publishing. As a matter of fact, these changes concern mostly the Slovak “loanwords” in the text: “Many of the Slovak words in the published novel do not appear in the original typed version of Bell’s manuscript, but were written in by hand in the margins. This suggests that Bell decided relatively late in the creative process to add authenticity by using the Slovak language in his story.” (78; emphasis added). Sabatos‫ތ‬s analysis of the manuscript also showed that Bell reconsidered several versions of Slovak or vernacular phrases before choosing the one that was finally published (87). As has been mentioned above, Bell’s ancestors came from the counties of Abov and Šariš, both of which have their own distinct dialects. On top of that, Bell’s father was Ruthenian; all these linguistic features represent an indispensable part in the creation of the characters’ identity. There are several types of dialect expressions with different attributes and slightly different function in the novel. Code-switching through solitary dialect words in the text creates an atmosphere of familiarity and shows the tendency of Slovak immigrants to preserve their traditions and (archaic) expressions in everyday life. This type of code-switching technique was predominantly used in specific contexts concerning basic, emotionally charged human situations. These interlingual “parentheses” are proof of a constant inner struggle against the linguistic and cultural assimilation of the Slovak community in the United States. At certain places, Slovak vernacular elements are followed by their English equivalents, as in the welcome phrase in the following passage: “She looked up and as he closed the door she said, ‘Vitajce u nas. Welcome.’” (Bell 1988: 17). Sometimes a Šariš dialect phrase is combined with an English word resulting in a perfectly hybrid mixture of culture,

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identities, languages, e.g., a thank you phrase combined with an English address: “Dzekujem, missus.” (206). Bell‫ތ‬s effort to provide translation of a Slovak/dialect word for the American reader is a sign that even though translation enables communication, it is also a sign of crisis which “seems to be generally perceived as more dramatic when distances involved are bigger, as in the case with travels across the ocean” (Draga Alexandru 2012: 298). On several occasions, Slovak linguistic elements are presented without the English equivalent. In these cases, the hybridizing expressions do not carry specific semantics for the average American reader; instead they become signs of the silenced inner other. There are several such examples in the novel, including a toast phrase: “Bodnar picked up his glass. ‘Bohze daj zdrave,’ he said, and drank.” (Bell 1988: 158); an apology: “‘Prebaþ, prebaþ,’ Kracha said.” (67); a phrase of reassurance: “Na moj’ pravdu. Did you think I had forgotten you?” (71) or a goodbye phrase: “‘Good night.’ Dobbie said. Then he added somewhat awkwardly, ‘S Bohom.’ ‘S Bohom.’” (341). The function of the vernacular constructions used without English translations is therefore more symbolic than communicative. At the same time, Bell’s confident use of Slovak language “added deliberately to the completed text, is an assertion of ‘self-assurance‫ ތ‬toward the mainstream American reader” (Sabatos 2013: 82). There are also multiple references to the Ruthenian origin of the characters throughout the novel; the native terms Rusnak and its feminine version Rusnaþka are used instead of standard English Ruthenian or Slovak Rusín: “The man had spoken with the hard accent, the solid vowels and corrugated r’s, of a Rusnak, but the language he used was understandably Slovak.” (Bell 1988: 9; the second emphasis added); “I manage to keep myself busy. When your Rusnaþka here lets me.” (303). The vernacular of the Ruthenian characters is used in emotionally charged situations, similarly to the Šariš dialect, e.g., when Kracha dies, all his grandson Dobie “could think of were the first few words of Our Father: Oþe nas, i se jesi, na nebesci…” (362; suspension points in original). This transcript and the spelling might be evidence that the author experienced only the spoken form of the prayer, as even the phonetic transcription of the correct version of the verse would be slightly different. Slovak immigrants to the United States could not always translate all the elements of the extra-linguistic reality from their homeland into English as their new life was radically different. The largely urban and industrial world they entered was in sheer contrast with rural environment they had left as well as with the traditional ways of life–producing food,

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clothes, etc. These non-English words are often used to name the missing facts of extra-linguistic reality and become synecdoche of their lost homeland, e.g., Ruthenian plural form moþila (Standard Slovak moþidlá) “rettery”: “Like our grandmother in the old country.” “That what she did?” “Couple years ago. Uncle Joe got a letter. She drowned herself in the moþila, the place where they wash clothes or something. Must have been close to ninety.” (Bell 1988: 369)

Memories of the old life are intimately rooted in the mother tongue which after immigration becomes the only material remnant of the abandoned country and less problematised identity.

4.1 Misspellings and Incorrect Forms of Slovak Words As has been shown earlier in this chapter, Bell’s linguistic background was predetermined by his family history:

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Like most ethnic children of his generation, Bell was probably not encouraged to speak a foreign language, although his parents presumably used Slovak with each other and he may have picked up various phrases. Ironically, this “exotic” use of (often nonstandard or even incorrect) Slovak exposes Bell’s distance from his linguistic, if not ethnic, roots. (Sabatos 2013: 77)

This is particularly visible in a few misspellings of Šariš dialect expressions, though it is difficult to estimate whether they are a result of the author’s lack of mastering the dialect, the substandard form used within the family or a matter of a misprint. As psycholinguistics suggests, perfect acquisition of several languages is impossible because each of them is usually limited to certain communication situations. Mother tongue or dialect might be reserved for emotionally prominent situations, family environment, fundamental values, very intimate space, and primary emotions. The standard language or other languages might be, on the other hand, used for official communication sphere. This might lead to forming a complex, yet hybrid identity of a person determined by the various different languages they speak. One of the results of this varied linguistic background are improper grammatical forms of words used in the novel’s text, e.g.: “He sat down,

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not a little surprised at himself, to murmurs of ‘Pravdu, pravdu.’” (Bell 1988: 293); “Kracha nodded. ‘Pravdu, pravdu. It was I who had forgotten.’” (334; pravdu is the accusative case in Standard Slovak, the nominative pravda would be the correct form to use in this context). Sometimes it is hard to estimate whether the misspelling is an accidental or rather intentional form, as in a good-bye phrase: “‘Ist s Bohom,’ Mihula said. ‘Go with God.’” (7). Instead of the expected Šariš dialect imperative form ic, the form ist, reminiscent of the Standard Slovak infinitive form ísĢ “to go” is used. This might suggest that the phrase was in fact a product of back translation. These forms are quite understandable remnants of the spoken forms of the language(s) as Bell probably did not have much access to the written form of either Slovak, Ruthenian or Šariš. This is why quite a number of emotional Slovak expressions in the novel are misspelled. Some forms could perhaps be considered typesetting errors or transcripts of sounds that English has no single letters for, like “Bohze moj!” (15) used instead of Standard Slovak Bože môj “My God!” But it is also probable that Bell was not aware of the alternation in declension, since the nominative form is Boh and the vocative one is the one that the quoted phrase requires–Bože. Sometimes the author provides his reader with the English translation of the misspelled word, as in the case of “soma druha” (106; samodruhá in Standard Slovak) “pregnant.” Interestingly enough, the author self-translates some of the phrases to the native language of the immigrants. Therefore while English is used for mediating the meaning, Slovak adds hybrid authenticity to conversations as in the following example: “he had to be satisfied with staring at Kracha enviously and calling him an old devil (stary fras) a dozen times a day” (99). The inability of some of the characters to perfectly acquire the new language on an emotional level can be observed in the use of (anglicised) Slovak and is visible in using these languages in emotionally tense situations: “Don’t gape at me like an old goat and pretend you don’t know! Kurvas! Adulterer! Whoremonger!” (88). These instances show that translation is a loss, but, at the same time, a gain–when the message is “reinvented in a different location, identity is enriched, but also impoverished” (Draga Alexandru 2012: 298).

4.2 Proper Nouns As has been already stated, multiple autobiographical references in Bell’s novel are most explicitly represented by the characters and reflected in

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their surnames. In fact, the whole Slovak community in the story is defined by Slovak-like names and surnames that often resemble the real names of the author’s relatives. The name and character of Djuro Kracha is modelled on that of Bell’s grandfather George Krachun. Djuro is an English transcription of the Slovak hypocorism Ćuro (as English does not have single letter for the Slovak palatalised consonant ć), a form of the male proper noun Juraj (i.e. George). Bell changed his original surname Belejcak to the pseudonymous Bell to accommodate it more easily to American literary mainstream culture (Sabatos 2013: 81), though it is not clear whether he also did that legally (Alexander 2001: 34). But his original name Belejþák is somewhat preserved in the character of Mike Dobrejcak and the choice of the name is deliberate. Bell kept the ending of his original surname -ejcak and added the “root” Dobr- meaning “good” in Slovak perhaps to suggest Mike‫ތ‬s moral profile. The novel proves that in spite of the Americanised name, Bell was “acutely aware and proud of his Slovak ancestry” (35). Both the change of the surname and the English version of his grandfather’s first name Juraj (George) are evidence that immigrants were expected to adapt to the new society also by changing their names. It is a sociological fact that at that time, this kind of blending in with the target culture was not unusual–the strong tendency towards assimilation among immigrants prevailed in immigration waves until the second half of the 20th century (Bauman, Kasík, and LázĖovský 2015). This has to do with the fact that “migrants ‘borne across’ cultures, are bound to reach a point where they need to redefine the boundaries of identity, which, no longer associated with a fixed understanding of national belongings, finds itself in crisis” (Draga Alexandru 2012: 297).

4.3 Slovak Cuisine Another way of introducing Slovak identity into the novel is through the typical regional dishes that mix different cuisines (German and Slavonic), but at the same time exhibit the regional variations and differences of these dishes. Their names (together with the recipes and tastes) resist translation and assimilation into the new culture most pronouncedly–they “were kept alive long after the language itself was no longer in everyday use” (Sabatos 2013: 79). A prominent example of this in the novel is a dish pirohi: “He cautioned Mary to see that Anna didn’t choke to death on pirohi and went upstairs.” (Bell 1988: 95) Pirohy (in Standard Slovak spelling) is a doughbased meal cooked with various fillings. Another typical Slovak dish

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mentioned in the novel is halushki–a kind of gnocchi prepared from a mixture of potatoes and flour: “Give them what they pay for and no more. No foolishness like making pirohi for them on Fridays. Halushki are good enough.” (151). In this context, these two types of dishes–and the difficulty of their preparation–are used as a means of comparison of working too much (pirohi) or just enough (halushki) for business or for profit. A popular regional dish that Slovak immigrants brought with them to the new land was kreple (sg. krepĐa, probably from German Kreppel “doughnut,” though in fact more similar to the Knieküchle). It is a fried dough pastry with a hole in the middle and topped with jam, usually prepared in the Shrovetide season. For the American reader, Bell translates them to English: “She used to do her baking on Saturday and I’d sit here and grub kreple. You know, raised doughnuts. . . . But it was the kreple he came for.” (330). Apart from the typical dishes mentioned in the novel, the text also mentions a regional wine (produced in the Tokay region on the HungarianSlovak borders): “Johnny got tipsy on a mouthful of Tokay” (153; emphasis added). Bell‫ތ‬s use of meal and drink names represents that “one of the recurrent challenges for translators [and translated subjects] is to decode the language of food in terms of what it tells them about the social setting, cultural background, situation in time (past, present, future), religious or folk beliefs, relationship to the erotic or the aesthetic” (Cronin 2015: 251).

5 Religion–Immigrant’s Sanctuary and Consolation Religion played an important role in the life of Slovak immigrants. Ruthenian immigrants were mainly Greek Catholics, while other immigrants from Eastern Slovakia were usually Roman Catholics. These two main denominations are present in several ways in the novel, e.g., by the saints to which the local churches are dedicated: “That was the year the Roman Catholic Slovaks in Braddock took over the First Baptist Church at the head of Eleventh Street and dedicated it as St. Michael’s.” (Bell 1988: 38); or further on: “The Monday after Greek Easter–Greek Catholics like Dorta and Mike Dobrejcak had had their own church for some months now . . . having been dedicated as St. Peter and St. Paul’s the previous autumn.” (69). Slovak immigrants preserve their strong religious roots from their homeland and faith is what helps them deal with their arduous existential situation:

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God would look after a man who worked hard, took care of his family and always did his best–this could not be doubted. So Mike prayed, and God listened. To One more powerful than steel corporations and General Superintendents Mike spoke in prayer and was sure of a hearing, for in this place he was not a check number or a Hunky laborer, but a man. . . . For God knew him by name . . . and had a pretty good idea what kind of person, behind his laborer’s clothes and poor English, Mike really was. God, in short, liked him. (171)

God is the only thing that Mary Dobrejcak can stick to after her husband’s death, losing the main breadwinner of the family. When she cannot afford to buy presents for her children, she writes them a fake letter of apology from Santa in which she postpones the delivery of presents until January, because this is when the Ruthenians celebrate Christmas according to the Julian calendar: “On account of the war I couldn’t bring you anything this time but I will be back on Greek Christmas, as that is your Christmas anyway, and I will try and bring you some nice presents. So be good children and I will try and come back Greek Christmas.” (230). The second generation of Slovak immigrants is still strongly religious: men tend to choose wives of the same denomination or nationality. So Dobie Dobrejcak marries Julie who is also a Rusnaþka and they “were married in the Greek Catholic church on a brilliantly hot Sunday” (287). Alongside strong Christian belief, Slovaks also preserved some pagan practices and superstitions, such as healing fatigue with uhĐikova/uhĐova voda–water with embers that is believed to be a remedy when somebody does not feel well, especially under the influence of bad energy from other people: His Aunt Anna went about getting rid of a headache. . . . Anna filled a glass with water, bunched three matches in her hand and struck them at once, let them burn for a moment and then doused them in the water. Then, murmuring under her breath she sprinkled a little at each of the room’s four corners and drank the water without swallowing any of the floating cinder. (243-244)

Strange as it may seem, both, religious and pagan practises as the remnants of the old way of life represent a shelter and refuge from the unknown and harsh new world; and clinging to them might be perceived as staying on the safer side of the hybrid identity.

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6 Slovak Translation of the Novel Since “translation is the linguistic equivalent of changing location” (Draga Alexandru 2012: 297), it might be interesting to observe how the intimate Slovak experience in a foreign land was reflected in its Slovak version and particularly how the authentic Slovak or dialect expressions were treated. In 1949, the novel Out of This Furnace was translated into Slovak by Ján Trachta and published in the former Czechoslovakia as Dva svety [Two worlds]. The Slovak translator adopted various different approaches towards the translation of Slovak expressions in the novel. At times, he preserved the deviations from the norm, e.g., he did not replace the dialectal kreple with the Standard Slovak equivalent šišky. He also preserved the English neologism Hunky, but left it undeclined as a loan word, even though such a form might not sound natural and makes no sense in Slovak: “Ale ja som ‘hunky’ a oni nemajú dobrú prácu pre ‘hunky’” [But I’m only “hunky” and they don’t have a good job for “hunky.”] (Bell 1949: 163). Maybe that is why at other times the translator used the plural form hunkovia, although it is a nonce word in Slovak. Generally, there is inconsistency in translation when dialect lexemes are sometimes preserved, while at other times changed: Rusnaþka became rusnáþka and Rusnak was translated as Rusín. Other dialect expressions were translated into Standard Slovak, the translator did not attempt to preserve them, although they would have been surely more understandable for a Slovak reader than they were for an American one. This erased the diversity of the text and resulted in the loss of the colour, authenticity, and mixed original identity of the characters. The translator’s decision might have been driven by an effort to homogenise the translation as much as possible. Yet in terms of defining identity in the novel that definitely also meant a loss in expression in the target text, especially as the translator named the novel Dva svety [Two worlds]. Quite the opposite approach has been adopted towards the Slovak phrase Bože moj used in the original text to suggest the conversation is carried out in Slovak. Surprisingly enough, the translator uses the English phrase “My God,” preserving the foreign element but not the sense (Sabatos 2013: 189). In the same way the translator also unexpectedly adds the dialect/Ruthenian equivalent “cerkev” (Bell 1949: 63) to the translation, although the English original contained the Standard English “church” (Bell 1988: 69). By using these strategies, the translation is, in effect, much more standard than the original. This considerable variability of Trachta’s approach to translating the dialectal words is partly a result of

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a lack of standardisation of translation practices in Slovak cultural space of that period.

7 Conclusion Bell‫ތ‬s novel Out of This Furnace captures the hybrid identity of Slovak Americans and its changes under the influence of their experience in a new home. At the same time, the analysis shows that Slovak language in both its standard and vernacular forms played a significant role in this process, serving as a means of identifying with one’s own community throughout several generations of immigrants. The literary success of Bell’s original novel proves that even the literature of the small Slovak minority can be heard among much more dominant immigrant communities. If the linguistically specific expressions as well as the cultural and religious phenomena were used in the novel to define the settings and to add the right “colour” to the whole atmosphere in the book, their replacement in the Slovak translation might be perceived as a negative shift (Popoviþ 1975). The Slovak translation thus shows a slight tendency towards the normalisation of the standard language of translation that foreshadowed discussions leading to standardisation of translation practice in subsequent decades in Czechoslovakia.

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References Akhtar, Salman. 1995. “A third individuation: Immigration, identity, and the psychoanalytic process.” Journal of the American Psychoanalytic Association 43 (4): 1051-1084. Alexander, June G. 2001. Bell, Thomas (née Belejþák). In Making It in America: A Sourcebook of Eminent Ethnic Americans, ed. by Elliott Robert Barkan, 34-35. Santa Barbara: ABC Clio. Bauman, Zygmunt, Pavel Kasík, and Matouš LázĖovský. 2015. “Migranti jsou pro nás poslové špatných zpráv, Ĝíká slavný sociolog [Migrants are bad news bearers, a distinguished sociologist says].” Technet.cz. Accessed December 18, 2016. https://goo.gl/EG3jlV. Bell, Thomas. 1949. Dva svety [Two worlds]. Trans. Ján Trachta. Bratislava: Obroda. Bell, Thomas. 1988. Out of This Furnace. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Berko, John F. 1975. “Thomas Bell (1903–1961). Slovak-American novelist.” Slovak Studies 15: 143-158.

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Brinkley, Alan, Esam E. El-Fakahany, Betty Dessants, Michael Flamm, Charles B. Forcey Jr., Mathew L. Ouellett, and Eric Rothschild. 2011. The Chicago Handbook for Teachers. A Practical Guide to the College Classroom. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press. Cronin, Michael. 2006. Translation and Identity. Oxon and New York: Routledge. Cronin, Michael. 2015. “The Moveable Feast. Translator, Ecology and Food.” The Translator 21 (3): 244-256. Demarest, David P., Jr. 1988. “Afterword.” In Bell, Thomas. Out of This Furnace, 415-424. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Draga Alexandru, Maria Sabina. 2012. “Transatlantic Translations as Identity Mediating Discourses.” Perspectives. Studies in Translatology 20 (3): 297-311. Goldberg, David J. 2010. “Thomas Bell‫ތ‬s Out of this Furnace: An Evaluation and an Appreciation.” Journal of American Ethnic History 29 (2): 62-66. Jablonický, Viliam. 1995. “Drámy emigrácie [Emigration dramas].” Historická revue 6: 31-32. Jakešová, Elena. 1998. “The Impact of Emigrants and Reemigrants on Slovak Society (1880’s–1920’s).” Društvena istraživanja 7 (33-34): 27-42. Malena, Anne. 2003. “Presentation.” TTR: traduction, terminologie, rédaction 16 (2): 9-13. Popoviþ, Anton. 1975. Teória umeleckého prekladu [Theory of literary translation]. Bratislava: Tatran. Roediger, David R. 2003. Colored White: Transcending the Racial Past. Berkeley, Los Angeles, and London: University of California Press. Sabatos, Charles. 2006. “Medzi dvoma svetmi: slovensko-americká kultúra štyridsiatych rokov (Thomas Bell: Dva svety, Out of This Furnace) [Between two worlds: Slovak-American culture of the 1940s (Thomas Bell: Two worlds, Out of this Furnace)].” In Štyridsiate roky 20. storoþia v slovenskej literatúre [The 1940s in Slovak literature], ed. by Valér Mikula and Dagmar Robertsová, 186-190. Bratislava: Univerzita Komenského. Sabatos, Charles. 2013. “Between Two Worlds: Slovak Language and American Identity in Out of This Furnace.” Comparative American Studies 11 (1): 74-88. Stolarik, Mark M. 1988. “Slovak Immigration to the United States and Its Relation to the American Socialist and Labor Movements.” Migracijske i etniþke teme 4 (1-2): 145-155.

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Stolarik, Mark M. 1998. “The role of Slovak Émigrés in North America in the Emancipation of the Slovak Nation.” Društvena istraživanja 7 (3334): 75-88. SvetoĖ, Ján. 1956. “Slovenské vysĢahovalectvo v období uhorského kapitalizmu [Slovak emigration in the capitalist era of the Kingdom of Hungary].” Ekonomický þasopis 4 (2): [171]-191. Zajacová, Anna. 2002. “Constructing the Reality of the Immigrant Life.” Journal of Social Distress and the Homeless 11 (1): 69-79.

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CHAPTER SEVEN TO TRANSLATE ASPAZIJA…?: IDENTITY AND THE TRANSLATION OF POETRY ASTRA SKRƖBANE VENTSPILS UNIVERSITY COLLEGE

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Abstract The present chapter focuses on translations of the poetry of the Latvian writer Elza Rozenberga (1865–1943), known by her pen name Aspazija and on the role these translations might play in helping to understand Latvian identity in other cultural spaces. Aspazija’s poetry occupies a prominent place in the Latvian literary canon. Its firm position in the landscape of Latvian literature springs from the fact that it not only draws on Latvian national folklore and conveys the atmosphere of late 19th and early 20th century poetry, but that it is relevant for Latvian identity even today. The aspect that makes it interesting from the point of view of contemporary Latvian culture is the overall feeling of desire Aspazija’s poetry conveys. Desire, longing or the untranslatable ilgas, denoting the situation of being thrown into a state of uncertainty between the past and the future, can be seen as the principal attribute of Latvian identity. The present analysis looks at the degree to which the characteristics of Aspazija’s poetry have been recreated in existing translations.

1 Introduction The interrogative form of the title of the chapter, including the polysemous aposiopesis, was intentional. The aposiopesis allows one to anticipate the variety of issues related to the interpretation of Aspazija’s literary work. To mark the 150th anniversary of the birth of two great Latvian poets, the year 2015 was declared the year of Rainis (born JƗnis PliekšƗns) and Aspazija. Thanks to the anniversary, new studies of their poetry were

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written, conferences were held, new selections of their poems were published, and–last, but not least–new translations of their poems appeared. The present chapter attempts to take a look at what characteristics of Aspazija’s literary works made her part of the canon of contemporary Latvian literature and how these were treated in translations into various languages. Hypothetically, we may assume that the reason why Aspazija has become a defining figure for Latvian culture is the golden mean between literary tradition (of both Latvian and world literature of which the poet was well aware) and innovation (mostly connected with embodying the world of an extraordinary and rebellious woman in Latvian poetry). Given the immense importance of the poet for Latvian literature, her poetry might be considered part of the world’s cultural heritage and as such one might (perhaps naively) assume that it is accessible through translation to a wide audience. However, it must be said at the very beginning that in spite of the commotion surrounding the anniversary and the effort Latvian cultural ambassadors have put into promoting Aspazija’s poetry, the number of translations and variety of target languages is not immense. The rules and logic of the global book market dominate over the ethics of representation–translations of literature written in a language of limited diffusion and their small importance within the target culture of a widely spread language face (almost) insurmountable obstacles both quantitative (lack of translators, publishers, and publishing mechanisms to enter the market of translated literature) and qualitative (how to make the specific identity and style expressed through the means of a rare language perceptible). The economic dominance of Anglophone culture and “hegemonic non-translation” (Baumgarten 2016), as a side effect, lie at the heart of the problem. Indeed, “the global market appears today to be controlled by just six major international publishing giants” (Bruno 2012: 259). It has to be admitted that translations of Latvian literature seldom– or, indeed, never–become a notable event in the literary life of other countries. Aspazija’s 150th anniversary was a missed opportunity to at least slightly modify this situation, especially in the light of the fact that in 2015, Latvia did appear in the spotlight of the European Union being the presiding state of the European Council. It is impossible to analyse comprehensively the notion of translation in its diverse aspects “from the psychological to the ideological” (Torop 2011: 25) within a single article; nor is it possible to fully focus on the numerous individual aspects of translation, such as the four ethical models of translation suggested by Chesterman (2001: 139-142). Nevertheless, here we will provide some linguistic, textual, cultural and TS-specific contrasts which will enable us to reveal the relationship between the

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source texts and their translations in the diachronic aspect from the late 19th century to the present day.

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2 Translating the Woman To translate Aspazija’s poetry also means to interpret the destiny of a legendary personality. She is a well-known and respected figure in Latvian culture–several surveys of the one hundred most popular Latvian personalities include her name (Apinis 2006; CimdiƼa 2008). Aspazija has left a number of unsolved mysteries behind her, including the real year of her birth. The author has also provoked very diverse reactions from the readers and critics–from a playwright and poet who shocked her audience at the turn of the centuries she became a well-respected literary and public figure in the 1920s and 1930s only to be very narrowly interpreted during the Soviet period (mostly within the context of her poetry for children and rebellious poems). Her private life has also raised an intriguing question of whether or not she sacrificed her career for Rainis’s genius–it is not possible to estimate how large Aspazija’s contribution to his translation of Goethe’s Faust really was, how many of Rainis’s plots and characters were suggested by her or what her contribution with regards to editing of his works was. It is a fact that foreign authors have mostly been interested in Aspazija’s private life, not in her writings. She has come to be seen as an extraordinary personality who, unfortunately, denied her own way and sacrificed herself to assist her husband Rainis with the problems of everyday life (Makoni 2004). This is how the Italian journalist Chiara Macconi characterises the poet in her 2001 biography La cometa rossa [The red comet] which–when published in Latvian–created a polemic with MnjžƯgie spƗrni [Eternal wings] by SaulcerƯte Viese (2004) that lacks such a dramatic interpretation of the conflict between art and everyday life. In the play Aspazija. PersonƯgi [Aspazija. Personally] by Inga Ɩbele, first performed at the New Riga Theatre on March 18, 2015, the feminist reading of Aspazija’s life is presented again–this time from within the culture. Aspazija’s female presence at various places and events aroused the interest of the French photographer Christophe Fouin (Cirule et al. 2011) in Trois parfums de femmes [Three scents of women]. The French photographer visualised his associations of Aspazija through his photographs of BrƯvƯbas Street, the Monument to Freedom from a bird’s-eye view and pictures of the Art Nouveau architecture on Alberta Street in Riga. He has successfully emphasised Aspazija’s relationship to the modern world

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through Art Nouveau architecture as a dominant artistic style of her era. The photographs suggest that due to her physical appearance (her thick hair set in a high coiffure, slim waist, a tiara), Aspazija could have been a perfect model for Gustav Klimt. Both her poetry (collections published after SarkanƗs puƷes [Red flowers] from 1897) and her drama have much more in common with the aesthetics of neo-romanticism, a movement much closer to the literary mainstream of the turn of the centuries (Ratniece 2010: 98) than with romanticism some critics identify in her writing. It comes as no surprise that the memorial museum of Aspazija in Jnjrmala and its authentic objects also appear in Christophe Fouin’s visualisation; the overall impression draws a picture of a woman interesting as an original personality of her time. She is not portrayed simply as a literary classic, representing the canon of a literature using a narrowly spread language and possessing merely local historical and cultural value–she is an embodiment of the trends of European culture at the turn of the 20th century, especially in the context of women’s emancipation. It seems that this poet and playwright is nowadays mainly attractive as a personality in the context of feminist criticism. That makes us wonder what happened to her literary heritage. Is her work known outside Latvian culture at all?

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3 Translating the Texts It cannot be doubted that translation multiplies the heritage of a particular culture. Taking a look at translations of Aspazija’s texts can also indirectly point to the position of the whole culture on the geo-cultural map. Analysis of the existing translations of Aspazija’s literary work suggests that her texts have not been fully represented in a comprehensive edition in any language.1 Therefore, special attention has to be paid to the key according to which the poems to be translated were selected. Analysis shows that Aspazija’s most frequently translated poems include “MƝness starus stƯgo” [Moon-hands string the lyre], “PasaciƼa” [Fairytale], and “Dzejnieka bnjtƯba” [Poet’s essence]–all of them have been translated several times in different languages. These thus seem to be the key texts that synecdochically express Aspazija’s poetic world as seen from the point of view of the foreign reader. Quantitatively, the greatest number of translations of Aspazija’s works has been into Russian. The underlying reason is of personal as well as historical nature: Aspazija spent four years (1899–1903) in Slobodskoy 1

For a bibliography of translations of Aspazija’s poetry see Appendix B.

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(Russia) during her husband Rainis’s exile; Latvia separated from the Russian Empire in 1918 and the relationship between the two neighbours was determined by a long and contradictory cultural coexistence. At first, Aspazijas’s poetry in translation appeared in various collections, the first being Sbornik latyshskoy literatury [Collection of Latvian literature] published in St. Petersburg in 1916. In the 20th century, a number of anthologies of Latvian poetry in Russian were published by both Russian and Latvian publishers. One of the latest translations came out in 2014 when a book of selected poems was translated by Ruta Marjaša. Since Aspazija was well acquainted with German literature and culture and her first literary writings were in German, it might be assumed that she has a somewhat privileged reception in German culture. However, translations of Aspazija’s poems into German can only be found in four collections of Latvian poetry–no separate volume of her poetry in German has ever been published. It is interesting to note that part of the translations are in fact self-translations–some of these will be discussed later. Translations into English occupy a special place in contemporary globalised culture, since “writing or being translated into English has the appealing potential of accessing an extraordinarily large audience” (Bruno 2012: 259). One of the most recent translations of Aspazija’s poetry was published in 2014. The multilingual collection Uguns lednj [The fire in the ice] contains new renditions together with well-known ones. The older English versions were created by the scholar and translator William Kleesmann Matthews and originally published in A Century of Latvian Poetry in 1957. The more recent ones were done by the prominent contemporary Latvian translator Ieva Lešinska who is experienced in translating poetry both from and into English. I will take a better look at these in the following subchapter.

4 Identity, Folklore, and Desire The poem “MƝness starus stƯgo” [Moon-hands string the lyre] was initially part of the 1894 play Vaidelote [The vestal] as Mirdza’s song, later it appeared as an independent poem in the 1897 collection SarkanƗs puƷes [Red flowers]. The poem presents the young poet’s programmatic credo–it presents and entwines mythological characters, auseklƯt “the morning star,” the Moon as a young man, and the Sun (a young woman possessing a typically romantic state of mind: desire and dual symbolism typical for Western European literature in the late 19th century). The hands of the Moon lure the addressee to the sea abyss–towards a downward dynamism, probably to death; however, the moonshine leads us to the place where the

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division between moonlight and sunlight disappears, and these unite in “nebeidzama / gaismas straume” [an endless / stream of light] (Aspasia 2014: 61), representing life. Aspazija herself translated the poem into German (62-63), allowing herself to freely improvise by turning the Moon into the full Moon Vollmond, concretising the abyss as Meer “sea,” and changing the “morning star” to Abendstern “evening star.” At the same time, the mist of the final quatrain vanishes like a Traum “dream” and the endless stream of light is replaced by contemporary notions–timelessness and spacelessness. As can be seen from the strategies the poet-as-translator adopted, Aspazija was at home in both German and Latvian culture. It is obvious that she was well aware of the character of both cultures and languages and freely used their various linguistic means in order to attain the desired effects like rhythm, e.g., by in using “selges Land” (63) and “selge Heimat” (ibid.) instead of “seliges Land” and “selige Heimat.” In Shervinsky’s Russian translation of the poem, dzelme “abyss” is replaced by omut “whirlpool” and contains considerably more words belonging to the semantic field related to water: omut “whirlpool,” chelnok “dugout canoe,” vësla “rowing oars,” parus “sails,” slity “poured,” rastayet “will melt,” l’yëtsya “flows,” reka “river” (64-65). As a result, the poem attained a homogeneity in contrast to the plurality of the world of the original, which consisted of various elements (earth, sky, water, spiritual matter). It seems that, in comparison with the source text, the English translation by Matthews does not contain the symbolic mythological layer–it is only the mysterious voices that remind the reader of it; the mysterious moonlit scene was turned into a sunset on the beach. It is only in the last quatrain that the translator attempted to rise the fictional world of the text above the un-problematised natural scene and move it to the symbolic realm–towards the “immortal splendour” (67). One of the most distinctive lexical-semantic features of Aspazija’s poetry is her frequent use of diminutives that poses a difficulty for translations into certain languages. The importance of diminutives has been noted by Ella Buceniece: “When speaking about Aspazija’s so-called aesthetic attributes, one of her typical features should be mentioned– namely, the use of diminutives, mostly in her poems for children, but not only there.” (2015; my translation). It is this feature that has distinctly marked Aspazija’s long-lasting place in the canon of Latvian culture–the fact that its roots lie in the traditions of Latvian folklore where diminutives are widely used. Apart from the traditional meanings of diminutives (making something smaller, denoting sweetness, etc.), VƯƷe-Freiberga

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(1980) also mentions another function: to provide the necessary extra syllable or two syllables for the structure of the poetic metre. She also adds that the frequent use of diminutives in Latvian dainas (national oral verse) creates (intentionally or unintentionally) a very strange atmosphere: a kind of ease, light, warmth and goodness. Diminutives thus help to maintain a certain emotional distance, smooth the roughness of the plot–in this sense, diminutive forms can also be seen as a method of emotional focusing. Sometimes, diminutives also appear in titles of Aspazija’s poems, as, for example, in “Pazudis vƗrdiƼš” [A little word lost] or “PasaciƼa” [Fairytale]. The translations of the first of these titles into Russian naturally accommodate the diminutive for “word” slovechko, however, the English “a little word” does not bring any associations with sweetness into the text, therefore the translator reformulated it slightly into “one bright little word” (Aspasia 2014: 201). The connotations diminutives bear in Aspazija’s poetry contrast with the current use–today, diminutives are largely a sign of hidden aggression (such as an adult speaking with a child misbehaving)–they are perceived as something that makes one shudder. These contemporary connotations cloud Aspazija’s speaker’s genuine caring and loving attitude towards the world and make her poetic language slightly obsolete and to a great extent sentimental. The value of Aspazija’s diminutives as perceived by her translators is a mix of allusions to the folklore, stereotypes of German sentimental literature (very popular at the end of 19th century in Latvia), and the contemporary use of diminutives. The poem “Ilgu zeme” [Land of desire] illustrates this point. It begins with a statement that does not contain any diminutives and is not strongly emotional: “Lai bnjtu sapnƯ vai nomodƗ / Tev nespƯd zvaigznes vairs otrreiz tƗ!” (157); in Lešinska’s translation into English: “Should you be dreaming or awake, / No star will shine again for your sake!” (173). The poem further evolves and creates a macrocosm with very humane attributes: zemƯte (diminutive for “earth”), vƝjiƼi (diminutive for “winds”); then moves on to build a microcosm: zirneklƯts (diminutive for “spider”), staipeknƯts (diminutive for “wolf’s-claw”), kociƼš (diminutive for “tree”), krnjmiƼš (diminutive for “bush”), puƷu pušƷƯtis (diminutive for “bouquet”). Almost each of the 28 lines in the poem contains a diminutive, sometimes more than one. The only couplets without diminutives are the 1st and the 11th, and the poem ends in a paraphrase of the introductory couplet: “Nekur vairs zvaigznes nespƯd tƗ / KƗ tavas jaunƯbas lodziƼƗ!” (159), in Lešinska’s translation: “No window will show stars as bright or as mild / As did the one you looked through when you were a child.” (175).

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Diminutives are more widely used in Russian. However, they have gradually acquired negative evaluative semantic attributes, such as irony or contempt there, too. Therefore, there is no such saturation of diminutives present in Marina Borisova’s Russian translation (16 diminutives out of the original 28). Borisova, being a modern translator, has adjusted her translation to the contemporary use of language. This caused an obvious re-positioning of images: the original zirneklƯts (diminutive for “spider”) creates a different cognitive correlate than strogiy pauk “strict spider.” What is perhaps more poetologically questionable is the fact that the translation does not reflect the ring composition of the poem–the last couplet is not a paraphrase of the first one. The English translation does not contain any diminutives–this is given by both the character of the target language and by the experience of the translator Ieva Lešinska that is rooted in modern translation tradition, where the ethics of communication often dominates over the ethics of representation. A compensatory method has been employed in her translation–she used adjectives like “sweet,” “small,” “mild,” and “keenly.” From the existing German self-translations, it can be inferred that the author herself did not see preserving diminutives in the target text as utterly necessary. Her translation of the poem “ZiedoƼa rƯts” [Springtime morning] contains some diminutive forms, such as “zaƺƗ galviƼa” [the green headie] (143)–“das grüne Köpchen” (145), but by far not as many as the source text (e.g., taurenƯts–diminutive for a butterfly, mƗkoƼmaliƼa– diminutive for a cloud line, or rociƼa–diminutive for a hand cannot be found in the translation). One of the most essential poems that fully reveal Aspazija’s poetic world is “PasaciƼa” [Fairytale], translated by Matthews as “Fancy,” and first published in the 1902 collection DvƝseles krƝsla [Twilight of the soul]. The poem has been rather successfully revived within the context of modern Latvian culture by the animated cartoon SƝd uz sliekšƼa pasaciƼa [The fairytale is sitting on the threshold], directed by Roze Stiebra and featuring several of Aspazija’s poems made into songs by Zigmars LiepiƼš. The film deals with the contrast between the big and the small by visual means (the proportions of the main characters). The leitmotif of the poem is distinctly romantic: “JƗj un jƗj un neapstƗjas, / Zemes virsnj nav tai mƗjas.” (125), in Matthews’s translation: “It rides and rides and doesn’t stop, / It has no home on the earth” (131)– just like the leitmotif of the dear long-gone childhood that has turned into dreams, imagination has no home on the earth. Irreversible time slips

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away, childhood visions return only for fleeting moments: “nu es atkal ieraudzƯju” [then I saw them again] (125). Aspazija’s poems are also characteristic by the use of a word resistant to adequate translation–ilgas “desire/longing/nostalgia” which could very well be seen as a keyword to modern Latvian identity, frequently described as something very contradictory. On the one hand, Latvians share a pragmatic worldview of the Western type; on the other hand, their initiative is–thanks to long incorporation in the Soviet Union–somewhat diluted, and, in the end, leads to a denial of the pragmatics. Treating the period of independent Latvia (1918–1940) as a mythological success story, a rather sceptical attitude to joining various alliances, a sense of endangerment with regards to the linguistic and demographic situation, a lack of self-confidence, and other negative emotions have not been cleared up by promising figures of economic growth. Thus ilgas as defined by the dictionary of Latvian literary language, best of all corresponds to the emotional state of a Latvian: “1. Mental state characterised by a deep, usually long-lasting inclination, wish (usually for something better, or farreaching) . . . 2. Frame of mind, mood characterised by unrest, sadness, wish for something unknown.” (Bendiks 1972–1996; my translation). It seems that the title of the poem “Ilgu zeme” [Land of desire] from the 1910 collection Saulainais stnjrƯtis [Sunny corner] itself combines the noncombinable–the mental state ilgas “desire” and the material zeme “land.” The title itself is difficult to translate adequately. Its Russian version from the 2014 multilingual volume Uguns lednj [The fire in the ice], “Zemlya mechty” [Land of dreams] does not disclose that dynamism–the desire of the soul for the impossible, far-away, for the lost motherland, childhood, or youth, where looking through the objective lenses of a binocular makes everything minute, though, at the same time very dear and close to the heart. This specifically Latvian feeling denotes neither the act of dreaming of something uncertain in the future, nor regret for losses in the past, but an aspiration for something that had partly been realised, already experienced, a desire to re-live past experiences. The importance of this notion and associations related to it in Aspazija’s poetry can be shown by the high frequency of the word ilgas in its different forms in her work–as our research shows, in the 118,000-unit corpus of Aspazija’s poetry, ilgas can be found 103 times and it is her 66th most frequent noun, following such lexemes as “time,” “sun,” “stars,” or “heart.” This definite peculiar attraction towards the past in the future differs from the notion of dream that was used in the translations. When one back-translates “dream” into

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Latvian, they use the word sapnis: redzƝt sapnƯ [to see in a dream] which means “to be the one that encounters visual images in a dream” (ibid.). In the poem “Zemes mƯlestƯba” [Earthly love] from the collection Izplesti spƗrni [Spread wings], first published in 1920, the attraction of two human beings (they, the one, the other), as if intentionally liberated from their sexual identity, is hidden behind symbolic images (two counter streams, thorn bush, thunder, sun, rainbow, sky, grass stems), when “pƗr siržu malƗm knjso ilgu strƝgums” (Aspasia 2014: 219) in Lešinska’s translation: “the blocked desire spills over the two hearts or their longing trying to break free” (223) and “ilgas atkal rodas, jaunas ilgas…” (220; suspension points in original); “desire is born again, new desire…” (224; suspension points in original). The partial English equivalent “desire” in the final part of the poem is much closer to the variant of plain love misleadingly introduced by the English title of the poem “Earthly Love,” suggesting passionate sensual desire, which is not the essence of the poem. In the German translation by Valdis Bisenieks, the desire in the final line is more in accordance with the aspects of identity discussed above, since the German Sehnsucht “nostalgia/longing/yearning” (222) is a much closer concept to the Latvian ilgas than the English “desire.”

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5 Expressivity, Autobiography, Self-Translation Another peculiarity of Aspazija’s poetry worth considering in the context of its translations is the fact that her lyrical expression is usually perceived as very active, energetic, tireless, and frequently provocative. These effects are brought about by textual elements such as the symbolic images of spring or storm and by its syntax. At times, this character of her poetry is coded through a rising intonation marked in the Latvian language by an exclamation mark that is, however, not always copied by the translation. The poem “PastarƗ tiesa” [Doomsday] presents a scene characterised by a hypertrophy of emotion and impulsiveness characteristic of Aspazija’s early works. The poem bears the motto “Dies irae, dies illa / Solvet saeclum in favilla” (94) and the speaker of the poem judges the old world. The egocentric anaphoric es “I”, repeated in four of the poem’s lines, culminates in “Starp gavilƝm un lƗstiem / NƗk lielƗ nƗkotne.” [Among jubilance and curse / Comes the great future.] (95). In her own translation into German, Aspazija’s first person singular ich is not so striking and the final resolution “Geht auf der Zukunft Saat” [The seeds of the future germinate] (97) is less all-embracing and more concrete. Poems sometimes bear autobiographical features–the drama of a new woman entering the life of the speaker’s partner has been delicately

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encoded in the poem “MƝnessmeitiƼa” [Moonmaid]. The new moon featured as “spožs kƗ sudrabasmins” [bright as a silvery sabre] (Aspasia: 244; emphasis added), calls to mind Aspazija’s own life. Asmins “Sabre” stands for Rainis and the connection of images–the moon and the sabre– fused together in a neologism destroys the protective tree of love. In Matthews’s translation, this delicate personal emotional experience slips away as a simple rhetorical question about a natural phenomenon: “Whose the thought that ah! So soon / Leaf would follow petal?” (246). Several interesting changes that Aspazija introduced into her German self-translations raise the question of the dividing line between translation and a new version. It is impossible to tell which of the two–the Latvian or German text–is more successful, or, sometimes even which of them really is the original in the sense of having been written first. The way some of the poems travelled into the cultural space appears to be interesting as well. Aspazija’s poem “Alltagsmenchen” [Ordinary people] written in 1895 was included in her 1897 collection SarkanƗs puƷes [Red flowers] in German. However, in 1895, it had been translated into Latvian by Rainis as “Ikdienas cilvƝki.” The translation bears features of Rainis’s style–the strict form, concise style, proud self-distancing (I–you), and the final irony in the two rhetorical questions: “Kam cƯƼas, negaisu, kam kara? / Kam slavu gnjt un bojƗ iet?” (82); in Lešinska’s translation: “Why fight, why strive, why start a war? / Why try for glory and get killed?” (88). Aspazija ends the poem with an emotional stress mediated by the exclamation mark, which emphasises the dullness of everyday life: “Ihr wandelt so behaglich weiter / Im Schlafrock der Alltäglichkeit!” [You walk so comfortably on / In the nightgown of everyday life!] (85). Rainis does not preserve the exclamation mark and brings a different tone to the final part of the poem, highlighting details: “lƝti, silti, omulƯgi” [cheap, warm, cozy] (83). In 2014, the poem was back-translated from Latvian into German by Valdis Bisenieks. The result was a completely new poem, in which irony is emphasised by the idiomatic exclamation: “das alles ist nur für die Katz!” [it is all just for the cat!] (87).

6 Conclusion Reviewing what has been done so far in introducing the literary heritage of the Latvian poet Aspazija to foreign readers, it should be concluded that since not many of her texts have been translated–certainly not many into the language of global communication–, there has been little reaction to it from outside of her home culture in the form of reviews, papers or books. An important role in this lack of reception was played by the fact that most

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of the translations were published in Latvia and–presumably–did not reach the target audience. This is one of the most serious (but common) problems a small culture faces when trying to introduce elements of its cultural heritage into wider circulation. Making translations part of the wider context–e.g., including them in an anthology of writing from a larger geographical region–is one way of overcoming this obstacle, at least partially. One may also use an important anniversary to try to gain a wider audience for local events. However, cooperation with cultural agents in the target culture would certainly be more productive than any number of translations produced and published within the source culture. With a poet (and personality) like Aspazija, who embodies the spirit of the locale, bridges it with a wider European context, and also represents a highly published woman poet of the turn of the 20th century (certainly not a common thing in many cultures), the effort might be worth it. The present chapter looked at some features of her poetic voice (and its transformations in translations) future translators might want to be aware of in order to be able to resurrect the body of her writing in a new rendition. Hopefully, there will not be the need to wait until the 200th anniversary for it.

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References Apinis, PƝteris. 2006. 100 Latvijas personƯbu [100 great Latvians]. Riga: NacionƗlais apgƗds and Lauku AvƯze. Aspasia. 2014. Uguns lednj [The fire in the ice]. Ed. by Aija Magone and InƗra AndžƗne. Trans. Sergey V. Shervinsky et al. [Jnjrmala]: BiedrƯba “Aspazijas mantojums.” Baumgarten, Stefan. 2016. “The crooked timber of self-reflexivity: translation and ideology in the end times.” Perspectives. Studies in Translatology 24 (1): 115-129. Bendiks, Hermanis. Ed. 1972–1996. Latviešu literƗrƗs valodas vƗrdnƯca [Dictionary of Latvian literary language]. Riga: ZinƗtne. Also available at http://www.tezaurs.lv/llvv/. Bruno, Cosima. 2012. “The public life of contemporary Chinese poetry in English translation.” Target 24 (2): 253-285. Buceniece, Ella. 2015. “‘GudrƯbas asins ƷermenƯši’: Aspazijas metafiziskais kods [“The blood cells of wisdom”: The metaphysical code of Aspazija].” Punctum: laikmetƯgƗs literatnjras un filosofijas žurnƗls. Accessed May 2, 2016. http://bit.ly/2qvQOtr. Chesterman, Andrew. 2001. “Proposal for a Hieronymic Oath.” Target 7 (2): 139-154.

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CimdiƼa, Ausma. 2008. 100 Latvijas sievietes kultnjrƗ un politikƗ [100 Latvian women in culture and politics]. Riga: Latvijas UniversitƗte. Cirule, Astrida, Renate Berger, Marina Bohlmann-Modersohn, and Samia Bordji. 2011. Trois parfums de femmes [Three scents of women]. Paris: Democratic books. Makoni, KjƗra. 2004. SarkanƗ komƝta [The red comet]. Trans. Dace Meiere. Riga: Karogs. Ratniece, Sandra. 2010. “Jnjgendstila poƝtikas iezƯmes latviešu literatnjrƗ laika posmƗ no 20. gs. sƗkuma lƯdz pirmajam pasaules karam [Art Nouveau poetics features in Latvian literature from the 20th century till First World War].” PhD diss., Latvijas UniversitƗte. Torop, Peeter. 2011. “History of Translation and Cultural Autotranslation.” In Between Cultures and Texts, ed. by Antoine Chalvin, Anne Lange and Daniele Monticelli, 21-43. Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang GmbH. Viese, SaulcerƯte. 2004. MnjžƯgie spƗrni [Eternal wings]. Riga: JaunƗ Daugava. VƯƷe-Freiberga, Vaira. 1980 “DzejiskƗ iztƝle latvju dainƗs [The poetic imagination of the Latvian dainas].” JaunƗ gaita 25 (127; 128): 7-11; 15-18.

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CHAPTER EIGHT FRENCH CANADIAN IDENTITIES LOST IN TRANSLATIONS OF GABRIELLE ROY’S NOVEL BONHEUR D’OCCASION BARBORA OLEJÁROVÁ UNIVERSITY OF PREŠOV

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Abstract The chapter analyses Gabrielle Roy’s Bonheur d’occasion (1945) and its translations into English (The Tin Flute, 1947 and 1982) and Slovak (Príležitostné šĢastie, 1949). As the novel is quite specific and complex on both the cultural and linguistic level, the chapter will examine translation problems regarding the particularities of Canadian French (bilingualism, vernacular speech of the working class) and cultural elements (the influence of Anglophone culture in Quebec) as well as the ambiguous title of Roy’s literary work. The fact that translation techniques were often different when treating the problematic issues is partly the result of the differing nature of the two target languages and cultures and partly a matter of domestic tradition and the translation norms and conventions of the target culture. The present chapter will discuss the first set of issues.

1 Introduction The present chapter deals with translations of Gabrielle Roy’s novel Bonheur d’occasion (1945) into English and Slovak. The English version, published as The Tin Flute, was translated by Hannah Josephson in 1947 and retranslated by Alan Brown in 1982. The Slovak translation by Fedor Jesenský came out in 1949–only four years after the original–under the title Príležitostné šĢastie [Occasional happiness]. Bonheur d’occasion, being the first urban Francophone novel, holds an important place in the history of Quebec literature. Shortly after its publication, the novel became

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successful both in Canada and internationally. Nowadays, it is recognised as a modern classic of French Canadian fiction (Stratford 1988).1 As in most French Canadian writings, in Bonheur d’occasion too, we can find a characteristic feature of Quebec literature, i.e. bilingualism, which is an underlying factor in many identity problems discussed in cultural, linguistic and literary studies on Canada. The novel realistically depicts the multicultural city of Montreal during the Second World War. Roy offers her own representation of French Canadian identity that she embeds in her characters originating in the poor Francophone district of St Henri, making them believable representatives of the cultural and linguistic minority. She captures the whole socio-cultural dimension of minorities through her reproduction of local colour in her descriptions of poor dwellings, streets and other parts of Montreal and through the treatment of the linguistically specific speech typical for her working class characters. The latter is minutely revised in authentic dialogues where the vernacular aspect is indicated using graphical means, the use of Americanisms or bilingual expressions and other expressions typical for Quebec French. In my analysis, I will focus on the transformation of the linguistic and cultural specifics of the source text in two different target languages. As was already mentioned above, the main problem seems to be the translation of culture-specific items and the vernacular language spoken by French Canadian working class characters, whose speech shows their lack of education demonstrated in numerous misspellings stemming from mispronunciation, incorrect grammatical structures, etc. Their language also contains many slang expressions and Americanisms that caused significant problems for translators. Some of them resulted in misinterpretations or shifts in meanings in both target languages. The final part of this chapter will deal with the ambiguous title and its translation. As the French title has a three-facet signification that cannot be transferred into any of the two languages with the same conciseness as the original, different approaches were used in its translation. Finally, it shall be stated whether some of the semantic or cultural shifts could have influenced the overall interpretation of the novel by the readership in both target cultures.

1

The novel received the prestigious Prix Femina in 1947 (Paris), after Hannah Josephson’s English translation, it won recognition in the United States and the English version won the Governor General’s Award in Canada in the same year.

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2 Translating “le Québecois” Before plunging into any translation, a translator has to be sure that they understand the source text on several levels: lexical, semantic, and cultural, in order to recreate a target text that the readership of the receiving culture would understand as well as appreciate in a similar way the source text readers do. When inaccuracies occur in a translation, we tend to lay the blame on the translator only. However, some inaccuracies are simply caused by the fact that the target language does not contain the same linguistic material as the source language. Or as Catford (1978) puts it, “translation fails–or untranslatability occurs–when it is impossible to build functionally relevant features of the situation into the contextual meaning of the TL text” (94). From the point of view of linguistics, Bonheur d’occasion is a specific type of literary work containing several linguistic layers. Just as the typical features of bilingualism, present in many French Canadian writings, forms one of these layers, it also creates one of many dualities (English vs. French, the rich vs. the poor, happiness vs. misery, countryside vs. city) by means of which the author shapes the identity of her characters and builds the fictional world of the book. Another important set of contrasts within this category is represented by the language of the narrator and that of the characters. The narrator’s “correct” French is frequently invaded by the vernacular French spoken by the working-class characters (Gauvin 1999: 61-63). So as Roy minutely reproduces their speech, the “linguistic realism” of this particular variety of French, which Roy’s local French Canadians can easily identify with, poses one of the first problems to the translator (Dimitriu 2009: 149).

2.1 Vernacular Quebec French This variety of Quebec French, also called le joual is associated with the working class. It is characterised by informal contracted forms of words, misspellings or missing letters, and other grammatically less normalised structures. In this respect, we shall examine the treatment of the vernacular French spoken in Quebec and its further transformation into English and Slovak. In English, informal speech can be indicated by similar processes as in French. Contracted forms are typical for informal English too. Although it cannot be used, as we shall see in the following example, on the same lexical items and probably not with the same number of occurrences, the effect of orality can be well reproduced.

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An’ it’s almost five years since he left school with a good kick in the you know where an’ he’s still lookin’ for work. (Roy 1988: 55; emphasis added)

The same can be said about informal expressions such as: le gars, le truc that have their counterparts on the same linguistic level in English: “the guy,” “the stuff.” While in French and English, orality can be expressed on both the lexical and syntactical level more or less equally, in Slovak, the transposition of orality is almost exclusively realised on the lexical level. This means that the Slovak translator, Fedor Jesenský, reproduced the colloquial aspect through the choice of informal lexicon originating from the rural environment as urban slang was, at the time of translation, nonexistent–the rapid development of urbanisation in Slovakia was a phenomenon of the post-war period (Kaþírková 2006: 17). Hence, the typical setting for Slovak literary works was the rural environment. Replacing urban slang with rural expressions may result in naturalisation with comical effects–this is the case of the use of the word šuhaj “swain/young countryman” as one of the equivalents for the French expression le gar “the guy.” Not only is šuhaj closely bound to Slovak culture, it moreover does not fit the context of the modern urban environment of Montreal. Other means of rendering the text more colloquial in Slovak was through idiomatic expressions (sometimes even in situations where the source text remained neutral) or the frequent use of the conjunction že “that,” and particle ako/akože “like” that add a touch of informality to the text. Another characteristic feature of le joual are the frequent misspellings that accentuate the lack of education of its speakers. We can see that in the selected passage where the characters express their opinion on the war, discussing why they should enlist and help. Here they give their rather stereotypical, witless and far-fetched view of Central and Eastern European countries. Les Palonais, les Ukariens, c’est comme nous autres. Ça bat leurs femmes, ça se nourrit à l’ail. (Roy 1945: 65; les Polonais and les Ukrainiens are the standard names of the nationalities in codified French) The Polocks and them Ukrainians are just like us. Why, they beat their wives and they eat garlic. (Roy 1988: 53)

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Poliaci, Ukrajinci sú takí ako my. Bijú si ženy a jedia cesnak... [The Polish and Ukrainians are like us. They beat their wives and eat garlic…] (Roy 1949: 52; suspension points in original)

Although the author of the quoted English translation, Alan Brown, did not misspell the names of the nationalities, in the case of the Polish, he used the derogatory term “Polocks” that is often used in informal speech and through which he rendered the disdaining message of the source text quite well. By the addition of objective pronoun “them” before “Ukrainians,” he compensated for the lost orality on the lexical level. On the other hand, the Slovak translation, by giving the standard names of nationalities, sounds more neutral. Jesenský, unfortunately, refrained from modifying words to reproduce the effect of incorrectness or derogation. However, it is not surprising as, at the time of the Slovak translation, one of the aims of national literature and literary translations was to promote the correct use of Slovak language, therefore ungrammatical structures were considered improper.

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2.2 Bilingual Expressions Bilingual expressions such as c’est le fun, pour le speed, pour le fun or c’est swell are very common in the dialogues of Roy’s characters and quite naturally they do not create any difficulties related to their correct understanding for the English translator. Yet, as Rosemary Chapman (2009) argues, “Roy’s effective representation of the bilingual urban environment is somewhat weakened in the [English] translation, either because French is naturalised into English or because the original English is no longer marked.” (176). When translating bilingual phrases, Fedor Jesenský consulted a Slovak–English dictionary and most of the time he came with an adequate alternative. However, there were some instances when the Slovak–English dictionary proved to be useless and the cultural and geographical distance between Slovakia and Canada rendered the process of translation much more difficult than it would be nowadays. In 1949, there were no dictionaries or linguistic works dealing with different varieties of French and the continents were not as interconnected as they are now thanks to contemporary communication technologies. “Toi, t’as toujours été blood”, dit Pitou. (Roy 1945: 63) “You always were a soft touch”, said Pitou to Emmanuel. (Roy 1988: 52)

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The bilingual expression être blood “to be blood” and its meaning has nothing to do with blood as such. Its origin probably comes from the English expression “bleeding heart,” describing a person who is overly compassionate or empathetic. Brown proposed an idiomatic expression “soft touch.” Although he added a slightly negative feature to the meaning, this idiom fits the character of Emmanuel who is indeed very charitable and does not hesitate to help. Furthermore, it complies with the context of the following line in which Pitou explains Emmanuel’s generosity by saying: “you’ve always got a cigarette to lend a guy” (Roy 1988: 52). The Slovak translator misinterpreted the expression by changing the generous Emmanuel into a handsome guy, which gives the proposition a new semantic aspect.

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2.3 Faux-Amis Another type of misinterpretation occurs when a translator is dealing with Canadian French and does not recognise it. As has already been mentioned, Canadian French differs from the codified version of French spoken in France not only in the frequent use of Americanisms or slang expressions, but in the specific meanings of certain words which in codified French can mean something else. Translators then deal with the issue of faux-amis. An interesting misinterpretation of that kind happened to Hannah Josephson, the author of the first English version of the novel. When interpreting the description of a blustery day in late winter, she mistook poudrerie in the sentence “Vers huit heures du soir, la poudrerie se déchaînait.” (Roy 1945: 177), which in Canadian French signifies “a tingling storm of fine powdery snow” (Kelly 2005: 107), for “powderworks,” i.e. explosives, which is the meaning of the word in normative French. Josephson’s unfortunate slip “powderworks exploded” (Roy 1947: 117) was later redressed in Brown’s version into “the powdery snow was loosed on the city” (Roy 1988: 144). Although Brown’s translation is, without doubts, semantically closer to Roy’s description, it, however, sounds more poetic than the original poudrerie se déchaînait “drifting snow started to blow” and–perhaps deliberately–does not conform to older norms of a “good” literary translation, i.e. that the translator should “never embellish” (Belloc 1931: 182). Fedor Jesenský succeeded, in this case, in interpreting the context when he translated poudrerie as metelica “blizzard.” Although just as the word blizzard is not

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the best English counterpart for poudrerie, as it describes a more intense snowstorm, the same can be said about the word metelica. Yet, it still works well in the target context as it does not create any major negative shifts or misinterpretations. In other respects, the Slovak translator committed several misinterpretations of that type in other places, e.g., when he translated a typical expression, frequently used by many French Canadians–ma blonde “my girlfriend”–as moja blondýnka “my blond,” even though further in the novel we learn that the character has brown hair. Another slip can be found in the passage, in which the main character, Florentine, orders “une bouteille de liqueur douce, un hot-dog” (Roy 1945: 312); “coke and hot dog” (Roy 1988: 255). In Slovak version, the Quebecism liqueur douce is transformed into sladký likér “sweet liqueur.” However, the expression stands for a non-alcoholic beverage. Although the first slip could have been detected by Jesenský and his contemporary readers themselves through attentive reading, the second context was completely unknown to him, since both hot dogs and fizzy drinks like coke were unfamiliar or non-existent in Slovak culture in the years following the Second World War.

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3 Translating Culture-Specific Items While the previous chapter dealt with the linguistic layer of Roy’s literary work, especially the treatment of specific features of Canadian French, which has greatly contributed to the realistic aspect of the novel, this chapter will analyse the translation of some expressions connected to culture-specific items and their contribution. Different culture-specific items related to the urban environment of Montreal and other places within Francophone Canada is what enriches the authenticity of the whole realism of Bonheur d’occasion. It is through these different places and characters, their names and their typical activities that the target reader learns about and experiences the unfamiliar source culture. Therefore it is crucial to transform those elements into the target texts carefully. Yet, the interpretation and the subsequent transformation of such cultural elements can sometimes cause a real problem for the translator. It is either due to the inability of the translator to comprehend or even recognise the cultural expression in the source text, or, as Catford (1978) explains, it might be a case of “cultural untranslatability” which occurs “when a situational feature, functionally relevant for the SL text, is completely absent from the culture of which the TL is a part” (99).

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Despite the fact that most of the story takes place in the Francophone part of Montreal and focuses on poor minority French Canadian characters, the economic and cultural influence of the United States on Quebec, or Canada in general, and the superior position of English are strongly visible in Roy’s realistic depiction of the whole Montreal. The entire text is saturated by English words denominating different streets (Workman Street), bars or restaurants (Two Records) that could be found in both the Anglophone and Francophone part of Montreal. Moreover, English expressions of culture-specific items bound to American culture and society (jazz, jitter-bug, hot dog, sundae, etc.) are also very common and many of them have naturally entered the vocabulary of Canadian French without any graphical and other modifications. Here comes the question whether or not or to what extent the translator wishes to recreate the bilingual nature of the source text in his/her translation. In the history of translating practice, as Lawrence Venuti (2004) describes, translators have tended to hide cultural difference in the interest of a fluent strategy to provide a text that “reads fluently . . . giving the appearance that . . . the translation is not in fact a translation, but the ‘original’” (1). Such was also the case of the Slovak translator, Fedor Jesenský, who, in compliance with the tendency of the period to naturalise translation, substituted many toponyms and anthroponyms with Slovak calques–he translated the street name La Rue Notre Dame as Mariánska ulica [Marian Street], the neighbourhood of St Henri as Svätý Henrich and the name of the main character Florentine Lacasse as Florentína Lacassová (-ová is a typical suffix in female Slovak surnames). As for the translation of first names, if there was an onomastic analogy between the foreign and the Slovak name, the Slovak counterpart was applied (Jean– Ján, Marguerite–Margita). However, when the analogy was not found, the translator kept the original names (Azarius, Pitou). This incoherent strategy risks creating a culturally hybrid setting that can be confusing for the target text readers when it comes to recognising the particular origin of the characters, especially in the setting of the novel that was intentionally bilingual (Dimitriu 2009: 153-154). Other culture-specific items of both French and American provenance were substituted with Slovak equivalents that nowadays sound a little clumsy, archaic or unnatural, e.g., hot dog was translated as safaladka, meaning a kind of sausage similar to knockwurst, juke-box as elektrický gramofón “electric gramophone,” and le grille-pain was described as strojþek na opekanie chleba “a device for toasting bread.” Most of these expressions–the Americanisms–are now present in Slovak vocabulary and so could be retained–sometimes with slight orthographical changes–in their original forms (hot dog, jukebox).

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However, there are also various cases of exoticisation in Jesenský’s translation–in these he used textual devices like italics, or additions and explanatory notes to emphasise the foreign nature of the original as in “do kina Cartier” [to the Cartier cinema], where he kept the original cultural item and added the word kino “cinema” to explain the meaning. Interestingly, those techniques were used with English words mostly, probably to partially preserve the bilingual character of the novel. As for the American translators and their translation techniques regarding culture-specific items, in both versions, the transformation of street names into English varies. Some are “integration of French names, as in the reference to ‘the rue du Couvent,’ but references to better-known streets or places in Montreal are generally anglicised as in ‘St. Henri Square’” (Chapman 2009: 174). Names of the French Canadian characters, contrarily to the Slovak version, keep their original names. Yet, as was mentioned in the previous section, the English translation suffers from the effacement of the bilingualism. The restaurant Quinze cents (literally meaning Fifteen cents), where the main protagonist Florentine works, is transformed into “Five and Ten” in English. Unfortunately, the translator did not keep the French name to emphasise the bilingual environment inherent in the novel. Certainly, “the strategy of retaining certain words in French can be seen as an effective way of resisting the process of assimilation that translation into English represents” (172). However, the application of this selective technique of keeping French words requires a very careful translator who would not foreignise the text too much, blurring the understanding of certain passages. Another example of translation shift regarding culture-specific items is an interesting case of the American lexeme “jitter-bug,” which was perceived as new in Canadian culture at the time of book’s publication.2 In the source text, Roy describes a scene where the main character plays the “jitter-bug étourdissant” [deafening jitter-bug] (Roy 1945: 312) on the nickelodeon. Here, the lexeme jitter-bug, meaning “a very lively type of dance from the 1940s,” was used incorrectly.3 Roy probably meant the music played to accompany such a dance, the phrase results in a slip describing the dance that has the quality of deafening you. The American translator, Alan Brown, therefore replaced the expression, rendering the phrase as deafening boogie-woogie. By using this expression, he not only 2

Some of the American expressions denoting American culture-specific items, which were newly imported to Canada and its culture are italicised in the source text. 3 Merriam-Webster OnLine, s.v. “jitterbug.” Accessed December 8, 2016. http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/jitter-bug.

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improved the original text, but also simplified the reading for his contemporary readers. Even though it was claimed earlier that Roy had built her fictional world on the characters and places relating to the urban environment of Montreal, in this part of the chapter, we shall examine a cultural feature connected to the rural environment. The last example of translation problems regarding culture-specific items is an interesting expression inherently bound to Canadian rural culture, i.e. les sucres or aller aux sucres. “Sugaring off” or “going to the sugar shack” is a traditional early springtime activity in Quebec when maple trees release their sap, which is then collected, boiled and finally made into maple sap or syrup, and tire d’érable “maple taffy.” Families then gather and enjoy a “Québec-style meal” composed of several local dishes in which the maple syrup is an important ingredient (Corbeil 2004: 67). This particular Canadianism was rendered differently in the two target languages. Chut! Je pense qu’on va chez grand-mère, aux sucres. (Roy 1945: 217) Shh! I think we’re going to grandmother’s to eat maple sugar! (Roy 1988: 176)

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ýit! Myslím, že pôjdeme k starej mame na cukor. [Shh! I think we’ll go to the grandmother’s to have sugar.] (Roy 1949: 181)

While the English version suggests eating maple sugar, but does not mention other activities related to it, the translator, at least, made it clear that it is not any kind of sugar, but that of maple trees. On the other hand, the Slovak translation sounds a little awkward when one of the children says that they are going to their grandmother’s to get some sugar. Nevertheless, both translations failed in transforming this trip to the countryside within the cultural context of Canada. Some cultural elements deserve to be explained or clarified by textual devices such as additions or (intratextual) explanatory notes, even though they are perceived by many translators and critics as inadequate in prose translations for they disrupt the fluency of reading or the reader’s attention (Bednarczyk 2009: 166).

4 Ambiguous Title Translating titles is an important part of translation. Book titles represent the first contact with their potential readers and so they should attract them by creating a kind of linguistic and cultural link (Barral 2006: 127). Since

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the choice of title is many times a crucial aspect and step for the writers themselves, its translation should be just as careful. Firstly, before a translator chooses his/her approach, he/she should decide whether the original title is “reader-oriented” (if it directly addresses the reader) or “content-oriented,” which can be related to the main character, to the key event or idea (theme) of the book (Briffa and Caruana 2009: 3). The next step involves choosing from several types of translation strategies. As proposed by Briffa and Caruana (3-5), there are 4 types of translated titles: (1) transferred or loan titles with original orthography, (2) naturalised loan titles, (3) literal titles, and (4) alternative titles with a translation shift. Finally, it should be noted that even though the author of the book can choose the title for his/her book at any stage of the writing process, translators should be first familiar with the whole content of the book, and then start working on the translation of the title. Before we proceed to an analysis of the strategies employed by the Slovak and American translators, it should be emphasised that Roy’s title of Bonheur d’occasion not only describes the main theme of the book (content-oriented), but it is a rather complex title, as it accommodates more meanings. The three-facet signification of Bonheur d’occasion was indeed a tough nut to crack for its translators. Since it cannot be rendered into either of the target languages with the same conciseness the original bears, the translators had to choose which of the following possible meanings of the title–the meaning they thought would best correspond with Roy’s idea–to transfer into their target languages. It was not the word bonheur “happiness” that would have caused the problems for the translators, but rather the expression d’occasion which gives the former a specific implication. The first meaning of d’occasion describes something occasional, scarce or temporary. So this signification would suggest an idea of temporary happiness, the only happiness the characters get at a time of misery caused by the poor conditions French Canadians had to live in during the period of the Depression. Florentine, the main protagonist, after being abandoned by her beloved Jean Levesque, a self-made man for whom this girl with no money or future was only an obstacle, finds momentary happiness in the arms of Emmanuel before the war separates them. Another meaning offers the notion of an object that is not new, that has already been used by someone else. It can be something we find in second-hand or antique shops. This meaning would lead us to the interpretation that even though Florentine likes Emmanuel, he is only her second choice. On the other hand, Emmanuel, without being aware of it, gains a woman another man has “used” and rejected. However, she still seems to be a “good bargain” for

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him. The last possible view of the ambiguous title is when we understand the phrase as a kind of chance or unique opportunity for Florentine to give her child a father (Emmanuel) and erase her imprudent behaviour with Jean Levesque who seduced her and left her pregnant. As this triple sense cannot be transformed into one single title in any of the two target languages, the translators had to come up with different solutions. The Slovak translator opted for a combination of the 1st and 3rd meanings by translating the expression d’occasion as príležitostné (“occasional” in the sense of something temporary or connected to a unique opportunity). To compare, the Czech translator, Eva Strebingerová, whose translation was published in 1979, chose a meaning close to the 2nd option and so rendered the title into ŠtČstí z výprodeje [Bargained happiness]. Finally, the translator of the first American version, Hannah Josephson, decided not to use either of the two literal translations (using neither “Occasional happiness,” nor “Second-hand happiness”). She preferred to invent a title–The Tin Flute–that has, at first glance, nothing to do with the original. However, the imagery of the tin flute carries an important symbolic value in the novel. It is connected to the character of Daniel, Florentine’s brother, who is suffering from leukaemia. Although he is about to die in a hospital situated in the Anglophone part of Montreal, which is out of his comfort zone as he speaks no English and he is separated from his family, it is right there, with this very object that he finds his momentary happiness. The flute his mother bought him with all the money she had left is of great value to him, both monetary and sentimental. Despite the initial semantic incoherence between the original title and the one proposed by Josephson, the idea of the symbolic title remains very close to the first meaning, i.e. the temporary happiness that the flute certainly represents. The American title is thus a perfect example of an alternative title, which is justifiable and still economic (it uses the same number of words as the original). In order to invent an alternative title that would sound attractive in the target language and yet perfectly correspond to the main idea of the book, the translator has to be very closely familiar with the content, be a great interpreter of the literary text and be considerably creative.

5 Comparison of the Slovak and American Translations A comparative analysis of the American and Slovak versions of Bonheur d’occasion showed that in both target languages it was indeed very difficult to preserve the bilingual aspect of the novel as well as to

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adequately transform the vernacular speech of the working class characters, which was so crucial in Gabrielle Roy’s formation of the French Canadian identity in her novel. The American version of the novel seems to have succeeded more in recreating the colloquial character of the text as its informal register was and still is much more developed than the Slovak one. Moreover, English allows for creation of informal contracted forms–a process which is impossible in Slovak. Furthermore, the weakened transposition of informal register in the Slovak text stems also from the literary tendency of the period, i.e. the tendency to use grammatically correct language in national literature, including translations. Yet, this problem could be eliminated today as this tendency is weaker now. Exoticisation is much more common and today’s Slovak informal register is incomparably richer than in 1949. Moreover, the Slovak language has also borrowed many English lexemes since the 1940s. In addition, it should be noted that none of the translators opted for the regional dialects to reproduce the vernacular French, which was a common technique at that time, especially in Slovak context (e.g., in Zora Jesenská’s 1950 translation of Sholokhov’s novel And Quiet Flows the Don). They rather applied forms and expressions that were used and were familiar to all the readers of their target languages. As for the representation of the bilingual nature of the novel which would be difficult to reproduce in any target language, both target languages have been proved to be dealing with translation problems, however, the nature of the problems was not always the same. The Slovak translator followed the rule of “fluent strategy” and naturalised the text on purpose, erasing both Francophone and Anglophone facets of the novel. Nevertheless, by scarcely keeping certain English expressions, Roy’s intentional bilingualism can be occasionally glimpsed. In the American version, on the other hand, English can no longer represent a foreign element, so the translators focused on foreignising the text by keeping most of the French expressions like street names or names of the characters. However, by the application of the selective technique of retaining more French words denominating other Francophone culturespecific items or French expressions whose meanings can be easily inferred from the context, the bilingual character of the novel could have been emphasised even more. This selective technique of retaining French words in the target text was often applied with care by Joyce Marshall, who translated many of the subsequent works of Gabrielle Roy. Finally, with regard to the translation of such a complex title as that of Bonheur d’occasion, again the Slovak and English translators chose different strategies for rendering the three-facet title into their target

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languages. While Fedor Jesenský chose the approach of literal translation, drawing on two possible interpretations of the original title (the meanings of momentary happiness and unique opportunity), the American translator, Hannah Josephson, came up with an alternative title, which at first sight deviates from the idea of the original, but after close analysis proves its point and coherence with the original idea of the title, i.e. momentary happiness, it functions perfectly well in her target culture.

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6 Conclusion Despite several misinterpretations and semantic shifts described above, none of the three translated versions shifted the overall interpretation of the novel in a significant way. Nevertheless, the most substantial loss in the analysed target texts, and probably in other target languages as well, seems to be caused by the “neutralisation” of the vernacular speech of Quebec French, in some versions more visible than in others. Such urban language, significantly modern for the period, was introduced for the first time into the literary context of Canada in such complexity. And this was what brought Gabrielle Roy national success. Moreover, this dynamic speech together with the choice of the characters and the social problems treated in the novel created something that Roy’s Francophone contemporaries could easily identify with. On the other hand, the role of the translations was to introduce these foreign elements, new social and cultural realities as faithfully as possible into the target cultures and texts. In either way, as the development of Translation Studies since the 1980s has shown, perfect equivalence is just an illusion which, nevertheless, translators still strive to draw closer to, because “no two languages, [nor two cultures] are ever sufficiently similar to be considered as representing the same social realities” (Sapir 1958: 69).

Acknowledgements This chapter is an output of the research project KEGA 027 PU-4/2015 French Culture and Francophone Cultures Taught at the Virtual University of Prešov.

References Barral, Jacqueline. 2006. “Le problème de la traduction des titres: le cas de Gabrielle Roy en allemand [The problem of translating titles: the case of Gabrielle Roy in German].” In Gabrielle Roy traduite [Gabrielle

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Roy translated], ed. by Claude La Charité, 127-140. Québec: Éditions Nota Bene. Bednarczyk, Anna. 2009. “Quelques observations sur la traduction russe de Bonheur d’occasion de Gabrielle Roy [Some observations on the Russian translation of Bonheur d’occasion by Gabrielle Roy].” In L’écho de nos classiques: Bonheur d’occasion et Two Solitudes en traduction [The echo of our classics: Bonheur d’occasion and Two Solitudes in translation], ed. by Agnès Whitfield, 159-168. Ottawa: Les Éditions David. Belloc, Hilaire. 1931. “On Translation. Part Two.” The Bookman 74 (2): 179-185. Briffa, Charles and Rose Marie Caruana. 2009. “Stylistic Creativity when Translating Titles.” Presented at the PALA 2009 Conference, Roosevelt Academy in Middleburg, The Netherlands. Accessed January 3, 2016. http://bit.ly/2rqaJZs. Catford, John C. 1978. A Linguistic Theory of Translation. An Essay in Applied Linguistics. Oxford: Oxford University Press Chapman, Rosemary. 2009. Between Languages and Cultures: Colonial and Postcolonial Readings of Gabrielle Roy. Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press. Corbeil, Pierre. 2004. Canadian French for Better Travel. Trans. Cindy Garayt. Montreal: Ulysses. Dimitriu, Rodica. 2009. “Le rencontre de deux écrivaines: Gabrielle Roy et Elvira Bogdan, la voix roumaine de l’auteure canadienne [The encounter of two female writers: Gabrielle Roy and Elvira Bogdan: the Romanian voice of the Canadian author].” In L’écho de nos classiques: Bonheur d’occasion et Two Solitudes en traduction [The echo of our classics: Bonheur d’occasion and Two Solitudes in translation], ed. by Agnès Whitfield, 137-158. Ottawa: Les Éditions David. Gauvin, Lise. 1999. Les langues du roman. Du plurilinguisme comme stratégie textuelle [The languages of the novel. Plurilingualism as a textual strategy]. Montreal: Les Presses de l’Université de Montréal. Kaþírková, Mária. 2006. “Urbanizácia [Urbanisation].” In Megatrendy– dôsledky zmien v demografickom vývoji a urbanizácii na Slovensku [Megatrends–the consequences of changes in demographics and urbanisation in Slovakia], ed. by Jaroslav Vokoun, 13-18. Bratislava: Ekonomický ústav SAV. Kelly, Darlene. 2005. “Lost in Translation: The English Versions of Gabrielle Roy’s Early Novels.” Studies in Canadian Literature 30 (2): 96-113.

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Roy, Gabriela. 1949. Príležitostné šĢastie [Occasional happiness]. Trans. Fedor Jesenský. Turþ. sv. Martin: Živena. Roy, Gabrielle. 1945. Bonheur d’occasion. Paris: Flammarion. Roy, Gabrielle. 1947. The Tin Flute. Trans. Hannah Josephson. New York: Reynal & Hitchcock. Roy, Gabrielle. 1988. The Tin Flute. Trans. Alan Brown. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. The Canadian Publishers. Royová, Gabrielle. 1979. ŠtČstí z výprodeje [Bargained happiness]. Trans. Eva Strebingerová. Prague: Svoboda. Stratford, Philip. 1988. “Introduction.” In Roy, Gabrielle. The Tin Flute. Trans. Alan Brown, 3-5. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Sapir, Edward. 1958. “The Status of Linguistics as a Science.” In Culture, Language and Personality, ed. by D. G. Mandelbaum, 65-77. Berkeley (Calif.): University of California Press. Venuti, Lawrence. 2004. The Translator’s Invisibility. A History of Translation. London and New York: Routledge.

APPENDIX A BIBLIOGRAPHY OF SLOVAK TRANSLATIONS OF HISPANIC AMERICAN FICTION (1948–2016)

1948 Gálvez, Manuel. Defilé hriechu. Trans. from the Spanish original Miércoles santo by Tibor KobáĖ. Trnava: Spolok Sv. Vojtecha. Gálvez, Manuel. Noc už pominula. Trans. from the Spanish original Perdido en su noche by Tibor KobáĖ. Trnava: Spolok Sv. Vojtecha. Wast, Hugo. Cesta lám. Trans. from the Spanish original El camino de las llamas by Tibor KobáĖ. Bratislava: Tatran.

1950 Díaz Sánchez, Ramón. Nafta. Trans. from the Spanish original El petróleo by Rudolf Barát. Poetry trans. Vojtech Mihálik. Bratislava: Dukla.

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1951 Varela, Alfredo. Temná rieka. Trans. from the Spanish original El río oscuro by Vladimír Oleríny. Poetry trans. Štefan Žáry. Bratislava: NakladateĐstvo Dukla 1951; 2nd edition: Bratislava: VydavateĐstvo politickej literatúry, 1968.

1954 Fallas, Carlos Luis. Mamiþka Junaj. Trans. from the Spanish original Mamita Yunai by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ.

1955 Gravina, Alfredo. Hranice vo vetre. Trans. from the Spanish original Fronteras al viento by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: SVKL.

1958 Wernicke, Enrique. Pobrežie rieky. Trans. from the Spanish original La ribera by Alexander Kunoši. Bratislava: SVKL.

1961 Gallegos, Rómulo. DoĖa Bárbara. Trans. from the Spanish original Doña Bárbara by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ; 2nd edition: 1983.

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Appendix A

Portuondo, José. Ed. Žraloþie plutvy. Antológia kubánskych poviedok. Trans. from the Spanish original Cuentos cubanos contemporáneos by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: SVKL. Vallejo, César. Volfrám. Trans. from the Spanish original El tungsteno by Izabela Václavíková. Bratislava: SVKL.

1962 Teitelboim, Volodia. Syn liadku. Trans. from the Spanish original Hijo del salitre by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: VydavateĐstvo politickej literatúry.

1963 Icaza, Jorge. Na uliciach. Trans. from the Spanish original En las calles by Tibor KobáĖ. Bratislava: VydavateĐstvo politickej literatúry.

1964 Espinoza, Leonardo. Prístav podvodníkov. Trans. from the Spanish original Puerto engaño by Jozef Škultéty. Bratislava: VydavateĐstvo politickej literatúry. Sábato, Ernesto. Tunel samoty. Trans. from the Spanish original El Túnel by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: SVKL. Tejera, Nivaria. PriepasĢ. Trans. from the Spanish original El Barranco by Ladislav Holdoš. Bratislava: SVKL 1965

1968 Asturias, Miguel Ángel. Zelený pápež. Trans. from the Spanish original El papa verde by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Copyright © 2017. Cambridge Scholars Publisher. All rights reserved.

1969 Moretiþ, Yerko. Ed. Dni a noci Latinskej Ameriky [Days and nights of Latin America]. Trans. from the Spanish originals by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ.

1970 Rulfo, Juan. Pedro Páramo. Trans. from the Spanish original Pedro Páramo by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Tatran.

1971 Carpentier, Alejo. Stratené kroky. Trans. from the Spanish original Los pasos perdidos by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Pravda. Cortázar, Julio. V každom ohni oheĖ [Fire in every fire]. Trans. from the Spanish originals Las armas secretas, Cuentos, Final del juego, Bestiario, Todos los fuegos el fuego, Ceremonias by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Tatran.

1972 Cofiño López, Manuel. Posledná žena. Trans. from the Spanish original La última mujer y el próximo combate by Jarmila Srnenská. Bratislava: Tatran.

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Güiraldes, Ricardo. Don Segundo Sombra. Trans. from the Spanish original Don Segundo Sombra by Elena Raþková. Bratislava: Mladé letá.

1973 García Márquez, Gabriel. Sto rokov samoty. Trans. from the Spanish original Cien años de soledad by Ivan Puškáþ. Bratislava: Tatran; 2nd edition: Tatran 1984, 3rd edition: Bratislava: Ikar, 1999; 4th edition: Bratislava: Ikar, 2002; 5th edition: Bratislava: Ikar, 2004; 6th edition: Ikar, 2008. Scorza, Manuel. Vírenie bubnov. Trans. from the Spanish original Redoble por rancas by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Pravda. Travieso, Julio. Zabime vlka. Trans. from the Spanish original Para matar al lobo by Milan Gúþik. Bratislava: Tatran.

1974 Galeano, Eduardo. Otvorené žily Latinskej Ameriky. Trans. from the Spanish original Las venas abiertas de América Latina by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Pravda.

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1975 Asturias, Miguel Ángel. Víkend v Guatemale a iné prózy. Trans. from the Spanish original El Señor Presidente by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ; 2nd edition: Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ, 1976. Benedetti, Mario. Vćaka za oheĖ. Trans. from the Spanish original Gracias por el fuego by Jarmila Srnenská. Bratislava: Tatran. Bullrich, Silvina. Rodinná slávnosĢ. Trans. from the Spanish original Los Burgueses by Nelida Noskoviþová. Bratislava: Tatran. Bullrich, Silvina. Záchrancovia vlasti. Trans. from the Spanish original Los salvadores de la patria by OĐga Lajdová. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Gallegos, Rómulo. Canaima. Trans. from the Spanish original Canaima by Jarmila Srnenská. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Roa Bastos, Augusto. Syn þloveka. Trans. from the Spanish original Hijo de hombre by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Pravda. Viñas, David. Muži na koĖoch. Trans. from the Spanish original Los hombres de a caballo by Emília Obuchová. Bratislava: Tatran.

1976 Cardoso, Onelio Jorge. ýas pre dvoch. Trans. from the Spanish original Abrir y cerrar los ojos by Jarmila Srnenská. Bratislava: Tatran. Carrión, Miguel de. Poþestné ženy. Trans. from the Spanish original Las honradas by Marta KobáĖová. Bratislava: Smena; 2nd edition: 1982.

166

Appendix A

Rivera, José Eustasio. Vír. Trans. from the Spanish original La Vorágine by Milan Gúþik. Bratislava: Tatran. Rojas, Manuel. Syn zlodeja. Trans. from the Spanish original Hijo de ladrón by OĐga Lajdová. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ.

1977 Alegría, Fernando. Dostihový kôĖ. Trans. from the Spanish original Caballo de copas by OĐga Lajdová. Bratislava: Tatran. Neira Samanez, Hugo. ýo rozprával peruánsky roĐník. Trans. from the Spanish original Huillca, habla un campesino peruano by Marta KobáĖová. Bratislava: Pravda.

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1978 Carpentier, Alejo. Vojna s þasom. Trans. from the Spanish original Guerra del tiempo by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Carpentier, Alejo. Diktátor v Paríži. Trans. from the Spanish original El recurso del método by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Pravda. García Márquez, Gabriel. Patriarchova jeseĖ. Trans. from the Spanish original El otoño del patriarca by Peter Brabenec. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ; 2nd edition Bratislava: Ikar, 2009. Isaacs, Jorge. María. Trans. from the Spanish original María by Jarmila Srnenská. Bratislava: Smena. Prieto, Jenaro. Spoloþník. Trans. from the Spanish original El socio by OĐga Lajdová. Bratislava: Smena. Puig, Manuel. Tango s Panchom. Trans. from the Spanish original Boquitas pintadas by OĐga Lajdová. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Villaverde, Cirilo. Cecilia Valdés alebo Anjelský pahorok. Trans. from the Spanish original Cecilia Valdés o la Loma del Ángel by Emília Obuchová and OĐga Hlaváþová. Poetry trans. Milan Richter. Bratislava: Pravda.

1979 Arguedas, José María. Hlboké rieky. Trans. from the Spanish original Los ríos profundos by OĐga Lajdová. Poetry trans. Ján Majerník. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Asturias, Miguel Ángel. Oþi pochovaných. Trans. from the Spanish original Los ojos de los enterrados by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Pravda. Gasulla, Luis. Odsúdenie plukovníka Montoyu. Trans. from the Spanish original Culminación de Montoya by Alexandra Ruppeldtová. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Nogueras, Luis Rogelio and Guillermo Rodríguez Rivera. Štvrtý kruh. Trans. from the Spanish original El cuarto círculo by Dagmar Brullová. Bratislava: Smena.

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1980 Borges, Jorge Luis. Kniha z piesku. Trans. from the Spanish original El libro de arena by Nelida Noskoviþová. Bratislava: Tatran. Bueno, Salvador. V objatí trópov [In the arms of the tropes]. Ed. by Vladimír Oleríny. Trans. Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Pravda. Guevara, Ernesto Che. Bolívijský denník. Trans. from the Spanish original El Diario del Che en Bolivia by Ján Jurišta and Jozef Škultéty. Bratislava: Smena. Martínez Moreno, Carlos. Kruh sa uzaviera. Trans. from the Spanish original Tierra en la boca by OĐga Hlaváþová. Bratislava: Tatran. Sabato, Ernesto. O hrdinoch a hroboch. Trans. from the Spanish original Sobre héroes y tumbas by OĐga Hlaváþová. Poetry trans. Milan Richter. Bratislava: Pravda.

1981 Cortázar, Julio. Výhercovia. Trans. from the Spanish original Los premios by Peter Brabenec. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Spota, Luis. Ako v raji. Trans. from the Spanish original Casi el paraíso by OĐga Lajdová. Bratislava: Tatran. Vargas Llosa, Mario. Zelený dom. Trans. from the Spanish original La casa verde by OĐga Hlaváþová. Bratislava: Pravda.

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1982 Cortázar, Julio. Solentinamská apokalypsa [Apocalypse at Solentiname]. Trans. from the Spanish originals Alguién que anda por ahí and Octaedro by Nelida Noskoviþová. Bratislava: Tatran. Nogueras, Luis Rogelio. A ak zajtra umriem. Trans. from the Spanish original Y si muero mañana by Elena Raþková. Bratislava: Smena.

1983 García Márquez, Gabriel. Príbehy z Maconda. Trans. from the Spanish original Todos los cuentos de GGM by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Pravda. Otero Silva, Miguel. Príhody a nehody Lopeho de Aguirre. Trans. from the Spanish original Lope de Aguirre: Príncipe de la libertad by Marta KobáĖová. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Woodward, Miguel Cossío. Hmlistý mesiac. Trans. from the Spanish original Brumario by Alexandra Ruppeldtová. Bratislava: Tatran.

1984 Carpentier, Alejo. Harfa a tieĖ. Trans. from the Spanish original El arpa y la sombra by OĐga Hlaváþová. Bratislava: Tatran. Carpentier, Alejo. KráĐovstvo z tohto sveta. Trans. from the Spanish original El reino de este mundo by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ.

168

Appendix A

García Márquez, Gabriel. Kronika vopred ohlásenej smrti. Trans. from the Spanish original Crónica de una muerte anunciada by Jarmila Srnenská. Bratislava: Smena; 2nd edition: Bratislava: Ikar, 2000; 3rd edition: Bratislava: Ikar, 2007. Martini, Juan Carlos. Nahý život. Trans. from the Spanish original La vida entera by OĐga Hlaváþová. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Valero Pérez, Rodolfo, Armando Cristóbal Pérez, and Alberto Molina. Nie je þas ceremónií; NaháĖaþka za rubínmi; Muži farby ticha. Trans. from the Spanish originals No es tiempo de ceremonias; La ronda de los rubíes; Los hombres color del silencio by OĐga Hlaváþová, Ladislav Franek, and Vladimír Ruppeldt. Bratislava: Pravda. Vargas Llosa, Mario. Panataleón a jeho ženský regiment. Trans. from the Spanish original Pantaleón y las visitadoras by Emília Obuchová. Poetry trans. Štefan Moravþík. Bratislava: Tatran.

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1985 Benedetti, Mario. Jar v puknutom zrkadle. Trans. from the Spanish original Primavera con una esquina rota by Vladimír Ruppeldt. Poetry trans. Viera Dubcová. Bratislava: Tatran. Cofiño López, Manuel. Láska na slnku a v tieni. Trans. from the Spanish original Amor a sombra y sol by Alexandra Ruppeldtová. Bratislava: Smena. Eguren, Gustavo. Dobrodružstvá Gašpara Péreza z Nehryzova. Trans. from the Spanish original Aventuras de Gaspar Pérez de Muela Quieta by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Pravda. García Márquez, Gabriel. Zlá hodina. Trans. from the Spanish originals La hojarasca, La mala hora, El coronel no tiene quien le escriba by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Otero Silva, Miguel. Keć mi je do plaþu, neplaþem [When I feel like crying, I don’t cry]. Trans. from the Spanish originals Casas muertas, Oficina No. 1, Cuando quiero llorar, no lloro by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Pravda. Pereira, Manuel. VeliteĐ Veneno. Trans. from the Spanish original El comandante Veneno by Elena Raþková. Poetry trans. Miroslav Neman. Bratislava: Smena.

1986 Benedetti, Mario. SmrĢ a iné prekvapenia. Trans. from the Spanish original La muerte y otras sorpresas by Vladimír Ruppeldt. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Bioy Casares, Adolfo. Spánok na slnku. Trans. from the Spanish original Dormir al sol by Marta KobáĖová. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ.

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Castro Ruz, Fidel. Výber z prejavov. Trans. from the Spanish original Discursos by Milan Gúþik and OĐga Hlaváþová. Bratislava: Pravda. Meza, Ramón. Carmela. Trans. from the Spanish original Carmela by Eva Palkoviþová. Bratislava: Smena. Núñez Jiménez, Antonio. Prvý rok s Fidelom. Trans. from the Spanish original En marcha con Fidel by Želmíra Pinterová. Bratislava: Obzor. Paz, Senel. KráĐ v záhrade. Trans. from the Spanish original Un rey en el jardín by Roman Brat. Bratislava: Smena.

1987 Fuentes, Carlos. Vzdialení príbuzní. Trans. from the Spanish original Una familia lejana by Alexandra Ruppeldtová. Bratislava: Tatran. Vesmírne hry. Antológia kubánskych sci-fi poviedok. Trans. from the Spanish original Juegos planetarios by Erika Mináriková and Rastislav Vartík. Bratislava: Mladé letá.

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1988 Allende, Isabel. Dom duchov. Trans. from the Spanish original La casa de los espíritus by Jarmila Srnenská. Bratislava: Tatran; 2nd edition: Bratislava: Slovart, 2000. Allende, Isabel. Láska a tieĖ. Trans. from the Spanish original De amor y de sombra by Eva Palkoviþová. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Ibargüengoitia, Jorge. Dva zloþiny. Trans. from the Spanish original Dos crímenes by Katarína Jusková. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Navarro, Noel. Vodné hladiny. Trans. from the Spanish original El nivel de las aguas by Vladimír Ruppeldt. Bratislava: Pravda. Onetti, Juan Carlos. Hlboþina. Trans. from the Spanish original El pozo. Para una tumba sin nombre by Marta Biskupiþová. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ.

1989 Martini, Juan Carlos. Nedokonalý prízrak na letisku. Trans. from the Spanish original El fantasma imperfecto by Roman Brat. Bratislava: Tatran. Ramírez, Sergio. Viva Sandino! Trans. from the Spanish original Augusto C. Sandino. El pensamiento vivo by Martina Slezáková. Bratislava: Pravda.

1990 Allende, Isabel. Eva Luna. Trans. from the Spanish original Eva Luna by Jarmila Srnenská. Bratislava: Smena. Otero, Lisandro. Bolero. Trans. from the Spanish original Bolero by Martina Slezáková. Bratislava: Smena.

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Appendix A

1995 Esquivel, Laura. Ako vriaca þokoláda. Trans. from the Spanish original Como agua para chocolate by Eva Palkoviþová. Bratislava: Smena 1995; 2nd edition as Ako voda v þokoláde: Bratislava: GU100, 2004. García Márquez, Gabriel. DvanásĢ príbehov z cudziny. Trans. from the Spanish original Doce cuentos peregrinos by Eva Palkoviþová. Bratislava: Hajko a Hajková; 2nd edition: Ikar, 2010.

1997 Allende, Isabel. Paula. Trans. from the Spanish original Paula by Martina Slezáková. Bratislava: Slovart; 2nd edition: Bratislava: Slovart, 2001. García Márquez, Gabriel. O láske a iných démonoch. Trans. from the Spanish original Del amor y otros demonios by Eva Palkoviþová, Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ; 2nd edition: Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ, 2003.

1998 Allende, Isabel. Skazené dievþa. Trans. from the Spanish original Cuentos de Eva Luna by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Slovart. Sepúlveda, Luis. O starcovi, þo rád þítal Đúbostné romány. Trans. from the Spanish original Un viejo que leía novelas de amor by Martina Slezáková. Bratislava: Slovart.

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1999 Cortázar, Julio. Krk þiernej maþky. Trans. from the Spanish original Cuentos completos by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Slovart. García Márquez, Gabriel. Oþi modrého psa. Trans. from the Spanish original Ojos de perro azul by Vladimír Oleríny. Bratislava: Slovart; 2nd edition: Bratislava: Slovart, 2016. Vargas Llosa, Mario. Rozprávaþ. Trans. from the Spanish original El hablador by Roman Brat. Bratislava: Slovart 1999

2000 García Márquez, Gabriel. Láska v þasoch cholery. Trans. from the Spanish original El amor en los tiempos del cólera by Martina Slezáková. Bratislava: Ikar; 2nd edition: Bratislava: Ikar, 2007, 3rd edition: Bratislava: Ikar, 2008. Rulfo, Juan. Planina v plameĖoch. Trans. from the Spanish original El Llano en llamas by Eva Palkoviþová. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ.

2001 Allende, Isabel. Dcéra šĢasteny. Trans. from the Spanish original Hija de la Fortuna by Eva Palkoviþová. Bratislava: Slovart. Bambarén, Sergio. Delfín. Putovanie za snom. Trans. from the English version Story of a Dreamer by Miriam Ghaniová. Bratislava: SOFA.

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García Márquez, Gabriel. Generál v labyrinte. Trans. from the Spanish original El general en su laberinto preložila by Martina Slezáková. Bratislava: Ikar; 2nd edition: Bratislava: Ikar, 2008.

2002 Allende, Isabel. Sépiový portrét. Trans. from the Spanish original Retrato en sepia by Eva Palkoviþová. Bratislava: Slovart. Vargas Llosa, Mario. Kto zabil Palomina Moleru? Trans. from the Spanish original ¿Quién mató a Palomino Molero? by Roman Brat. Bratislava: Slovart.

2003 Quiroga, Horacio. Príbehy z pralesa. Trans. from the Spanish original Todos los cuentos by Eva Palkoviþová. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ.

2004 García Márquez, Gabriel. Román môjho života. Trans. from the Spanish original Vivir para contarla by Martina Slezáková. Bratislava: Ikar. García Márquez, Gabriel. Spoveć stroskotanca. Trans. from the Spanish original Relato de un náufrago by Eva Palkoviþová. Bratislava: Ikar; 2nd edition: Bratislava: Ikar, 2008.

2005

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Borges, Jorge Luis. Borges ústne [Borges orally]. Trans. from the Spanish originals by Paulína Šišmišová. Bratislava: Kalligram. García Márquez, Gabriel. Spomienka na moje smutné pobehlice. Trans. from the Spanish original Memoria de mis putas tristes by Eva Palkoviþová. Bratislava: IKAR.

2007 Martínez, Guillermo. Oxfordské vraždy. Trans. from the Spanish original Los crímenes de Oxford by Alexandra Ruppeldtová. Bratislava: Slovenský spisovateĐ. Nervo, Amado. Diamant nepokoja. Trans. from the Spanish original El diamante de la inquietud by Milan Kolcun. Košice: UnitedPartners.

2008 Chaviano, Daína. Ostrov nekoneþných lások. Trans. from the Spanish original La isla de los amores infinitos by Elena Raþková. Bratislava: Slovart. Díaz, Jesús. Zrodení z prachu. Trans. from the Spanish original Las iniciales de la tierra by OĐga Hlaváþová. Bratislava: Slovart. Siles del Valle, Juan Ignacio. Posledné dni Che Guevaru. Trans. from the Spanish original Los últimos días del Che by Eva Palkoviþová. Bratislava: Ikar.

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Appendix A

2010 Bambarén, Sergio. Hviezdne príbehy. Trans. from the English version Tales from the Heavens by Marián Dujniþ. Bratislava: Gardenia.

2015 Peri Rossi, Cristina. Stav Exilu. Trans. from the Spanish original Estado de exilio by Lucia Paprþková. Prešov: FACE.

2016

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Bolaño, Roberto. Lumpen románik. Trans. from the Spanish original Una novelita lumpen by Peter Bilý. Bratislava: Inaque. Bolaño, Roberto. Vzdialená hviezda. Trans. from the Spanish original Estrella distante by Peter Bilý. Bratislava: Inaque.

APPENDIX B SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY OF TRANSLATIONS OF ASPAZIJA’S WORKS

1 Translations into a Single Target Language Czech Parolek, Radegast. Ed. 2001. Les duší: antologie lotyšské poezie 19. a 20. století [The forest of souls: an anthology of Latvian poetry of the 19th and 20th century]. Trans. Radegast Parolek. Praha: Bohemika. Parolek, Radegast. Ed. 2006. Zlatý fond baltických literatur [Golden fund of Baltic literatures]. Praha: Univerzita Karlova. Filozofická fakulta.

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English Aspazija. 2003. Ragana; The silver veil. Trans. Astrida B. Stahnke. Riga: Pils. Aspazija. 2015. Aspazija. A Latvian Writer 1865–1943. Her Lyrical Prose. Trans. Astrida B. Stahnke. Jnjrmala: Art and Cultur Society. Baumanis, Arturs. Ed. 1946. Latvian poetry: An Anthology of Latvian Lyrics in English Versions Including The Story of Latvian Poetry with Sidelights on the History of Latvia, by Professor J. Burtnicks. Trans. William Kleesmann Matthews et al. Augsburg: A. Baumanis.

Matthews, William Kleesmann. Ed. 1936. The Tricolour Sun. Latvian Lyrics in English Versions, an Essay on Latvian Poetry, and Critical Commentaries. Trans. William Kleesmann Matthews. Cambridge: W. Heffer. Matthews, William Kleesmann. Ed. 1957. A Century of Latvian poetry. Trans. William Kleesmann Matthews. London: John Calder. Stahnke, Astrida B. 1984. Aspazija: her life and her drama. Trans. Astrida B. Stahnke. Lanham, New York, and London: University Press of America.

Esperanto ƶurzƝns, Nikolajs. Mia spektro: latvaj poemoj [My vision: Latvian poems]. Trans. Nikolajs ƶurzƝns. 1985. Toronto: Esperanto-Rondo.

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Appendix B

German Eckardt-Skalberg, Elfriede. 1924. Lettische Lyrik: eine Anthologie [Latvian poetry: an anthology]. Trans. Elfriede Eckardt-Skalberg. Riga: A. Gulbis. Schweizer, Max. Ed. 2002. Zwischen Riga und Lugano: schweizerischlettisches [Between Riga and Lugano: Swiss-Latvian reader]. Zürich: Werd Verlag / Šauliai: Saulơs Delta.

Icelandic Harðarson, Hrafn Andrés. Ed. 1999. Vængstýfðir draumar [Dreams with clipped wings]. Trans. Hrafn Andrés Harðarson. Kópavogur: Hlér.

Italian Alsupe, Marta. Ed. 1946. Poeti lettoni contemporanei [Contemporary Latvian poets]. Trans. Diego Valeri, Ettore Serra, and Eugenio Adami. Roma: Sandron.

Lithuanian Jakštas, Adomas. 1998. Rinktinơ: lyrika, satyros, vertimai ir sekimai, feljetonai [Selected lyrics, satyrs, translations and imitations, feuilletons]. Trans. Adomas Jakštas. Vilnius: Vaga. Vaikystơs rytmetơliai: latviǐ vaikǐ poezija [Children’s poetry: Latvian children’s poetry]. 1988. Vilnius: Vyturys.

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Russian Aspazija. 2014. Sadegt un spƯdƝt=Svetit’, sgoraya [To burn and shine]. Trans. Ruta Marjaša. Riga: J. L. V. Auzins, Imants. 1988. Na veshnikh vetrakh latyshskaya klassicheskaya poeziya [Spring winds: Latvian classical poetry]. Moscow: Khudozhestvennaya literatura. Bryusov, Valery, and Ɇaksim Gorky. Eds. 1946. Sbornik latyshskoy literatury [Collection of Latvian literature]. St. Petersburg: Parus. Kupriyanova, Nina I. 1987. Stikhi poetov narodov dorevolyutsionnoy Rossii [Poetry of pre-revolutionary nations of Russia]. Moscow: Detskaya literatura. Latiševa, Inese. 2014. Solntse s nami: stikhi, perevody s latyshskogo [The Sun with us: poems, translations from Latvian]. 2014. Riga: Inessa Latysheva. Magidson, Svetlana. 1991. Gimn lyubvi: lirika poetov narodov SSSR [An anthem of love: lyrics of nations of the USSR]. Moscow: Molodaya gvardiya. Osipova, L. K. Ed. 1985. V vechnom sozvuchii [In eternal harmony]. Moscow: Sovremennik. Petersone, Olga. Ed. 2015. Krylja budnei [Everyday wings]. Trans. Olga Petersone. Jnjrmala: Art and Cultur Society.

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Romanenko, Larisa. Ed. 2003. Bozhiy priemysh [God’s adoptee]. Trans. Larisa Romanenko. Riga: Daugava. Tret’yakov, Viktor. Ed. 1931. Latyshskie poety [Latvian poets]. Trans. Viktor Tret’yakov. Riga: Valters un Rapa. Zapoƺs, Aleksandrs. Ed. 2011. Latviešu/krievu dzeja: krƗjums = Latyshskaya/russkaya poeziya [Latvian/Russian poetry]. Riga: Neputns. Zhuravlëv, Sergey Anatol’evich. 2003. Latviyskiy listok v venke slavy A.S. Pushkina [Latvian leaf in Pushkin’s glorious garland]. Riga: Uley.

Swedish Aspazija. 1991. SarkanƗs puƷes = De röda blommorna [Red flowers]. Trans. Gun Friedner. [Stockholm]: G. Friedner.

Ukrainian Yurchonok, Galina. Ed. 2007. Latviya poetichna [Poetic Latvia]. Trans. Kost’ Gavrilovich Overchenko. Riga: DIAC. Zavgorodniy, Yuriy. 2007. Z Latviys’kogo berega [From the Latvian coast]. Trans. Yuriy Zavgorodniy. Lviv: Kal’variya.

2 Multilingual Editions

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Czech, Russian, and German Lapinska, Indra and Sigita Kušnere. Eds. 2015. Atrasts tulkojumƗ. Rainis un Aspazija. RaiƼa un Aspazijas 150. gadadienai veltƯtais projekts. Ɩrvalstu augstskolu studentu tulkojumu un eseju konkursa laureƗtu darbi/Found in Translation. Rainis and Aspazija. Project devoted to the 150th anniversary of Rainis and Aspazija. The winning works of the translation and essay contest of foreign university students. Riga: UNESCO Latvijas NacionƗlƗ komisija.

German, Russian, and English Aspasija. 2014. Uguns lednj [The fire in the ice]. Ed. by Aija Magone and InƗra AndžƗne. Trans. Sergey V. Shervinsky et al. BiedrƯba: Aspazijas mantojums.

Ukrainian and Georgian Chilachava, Raul. Ed. 2007. Trikol’orovoe sontse [A three-coloured sun]. Trans. Raul Chilachava. Riga: Hekate.

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CONTRIBUTORS

Michael Cronin is a leading European Translation Studies scholar. He is a Full Professor with a Personal Chair at the Faculty of Humanities and Social Sciences at Dublin City University, Ireland. As a distinguished specialist in translation and culture, he is a Member of the Academia Europaea/Academy of Europe, Honorary Member of the Irish Translators and Interpreters Association, Member of the Royal Irish Academy, and Officier de l’Ordre des Palmes Académiques. He has held visiting professorships at KU Leuven (2015), Université Paris 8 (2014), University of Moncton (2004–2006), and Universidad Ricardo Palma (Honorary Visiting Professorship, 2001). In 2016, he was the Nida Professor of Translation Studies and in 2004, CETRA Professor of Translation Studies. He has published a number of research monographs, journal articles, book chapters, encyclopaedia entries, and reviews and edited and co-edited joint volumes as well as a special issue of the journal Translation Studies (“The City as Translation Zone,” 2014). His books on translation among others include Eco-Translation: Translation and Ecology in the Age of the Anthropocene (2017), Translation in the Digital Age (2013), Translation Goes to the Movies (2009), Translation and Identity (2005), and Translation and Globalization (2003). Michael Cronin is the Series CoEditor for New Perspectives in Translation and Interpreting Studies (Routledge) and General Editor of MTM. A Translation Journal. Martin Djovþoš is a lecturer at the Department of English and American Studies at Matej Bel University in Banská Bystrica, Slovakia. He holds a PhD in Translation Studies with dissertation on the status of translators in the Slovak market. His teaching and translation/interpreting research currently focuses mainly on sociological aspects of translation, patterns in intercultural communication, translation criticism, and cognitive aspects of interpreting. He is also a practicing translator and interpreter. His publications include Mýty a fakty o preklade a tlmoþení na Slovensku [Myths and facts about translation and interpreting in Slovakia] (2017; with P. Šveda), “Translators and social context: the case study of Slovakia” (Meta 59 [2]), “Power and shifting paradigm in translation” (Mutatis Mutandis 3 [1], with ď. Pliešovská), and many others.

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Contributors

Miroslava Gavurová is Assistant Professor at the Institute of English and American Studies, University of Prešov, Slovakia. Her research interests include linguistics with focus on lexicology and Cultural and Interpreting studies. She has published two monographs, one on cultural and linguistic specifics of essay translation, Lingvokultúrny aspekt v preklade eseje [Linguistic and cultural aspects of essay translation] (2012) and one on abbreviations, Skratka ako lexéma [Abbreviation as a lexeme] (2013). She translates fiction from English into Slovak.

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Ivana Hostová is Assistant Professor of Translation and Slovak Studies at the University of Prešov, Slovakia. She has authored numerous papers and reviews on contemporary Slovak poetry and translation, including “Of ecosystems and translations: some ways of translating non-traditional texts” (World Literature Studies 8 [1]), “On contemporary Slovak poetry in English translation” (in Preklad a kultúra 5, ed. by Edita Gromová and Mária Kusá, 2015), and a 2013 book on the Slovak translations of Sylvia Plath’s poetry Haugovej Plathová, Plathovej Haugová [Haugová's Plath, Plath’s Haugová]. She has edited and co-edited four volumes on translation/interpreting and literature and concentrated on the twentiethcentury and contemporary poetry in her translation activities. Her latest academic book Medzi entropiou a víziou [Between entropy and vision] was published in 2014. She is a member of the Editorial Advisory Board of Poem: International English Language Quarterly. Lada Kolomiyets is a Doctor of Science in Translation Studies, Full Professor and Head of the Department of Theory and Practice of Translation from English at the Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv, Ukraine. Her main research interests lie in literary translation and the history of translation, in particular translation and (post)communism. Her books include several monographs, among others the 2004 monograph Kontseptual’no-metodolohichni zasady suchasnoho ukraiins’koho poetychnoho perekladu (na materiali perekladiv z anhliis’koii, irlands’koii ta amerykans’koii poezii) [Conceptual and methodological grounds of Ukrainian translations (on the material of British, Irish, and North American poetry)] and several textbooks on literary translation for graduate students, in particular Ukraiins’kyi khudozhnii pereklad ta perekladachi 1920-30-kh rokiv [Ukrainian literary translation and translators in the 1920s-30s] first published in 2013. She is also the coeditor and co-author of several monographs, among the most recent ones belongs the 2014 book Shevchenkoznavstvo v suchasnomu sviti [Shevchenko studies in the modern world].

Identity and Translation Trouble

179

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Zuzana Malinovská is Professor of Francophone Literatures at University of Prešov, Slovakia. In her research, she focuses on issues of modern and contemporary French novels and novels written in French, theory of literature, intersections between philosophy/ethics and literature, and questions of reception. She is the author of the books Rodina v premenách románu [The family in the transformations of the novel] published in 2013, Puissances du romanesque. Regard extérieur sur quelques romans contemporains d`expression française (2010), and Román ako mimesis a mathesis [The novel as mimesis and mathesis], which came out in 2001. In addition to the three published monographs, she has authored about a hundred research papers, textbooks, and reviews and edited and co-edited numerous volumes and translated fiction from French. As a respected scholar on Francophone literature, she has accomplished a number of research and lecture stays at various universities in Canada, the Czech Republic, France, Hungary, Switzerland, and Turkey and delivered papers on multiple conferences in and outside Europe (Angers, Ankara, Brno, Budapest, Clermont-Ferrand, ýeské BudČjovice, Gdansk, Katowice, Lyon, Moncton, Olomouc, Opole, Paris, Pécs, Piliscsaba, PoznaĔ, Prague, etc.). She is also a visiting professor at the University of Ostrava and member of the reviewing committee of Echo des études romanes. Barbora Olejárová is a doctoral student at the University of Prešov, Slovakia. Her research focuses on literary translation with a special emphasis on Quebec literature and the literary works of Gabrielle Roy. She also works as a Lecturer at the Institute of Language Competences (University of Prešov), where she teaches English and French. She is the author of “Knižný titul v preklade (Bonheur d’occasion) [Literary title in translation (Bonheur d’occasion)]” published in the 2016 volume KĐúþové kompetencie pre celoživotné vzdelávanie V [Key competences for lifelong education V] and “Preklad Fedora Jesenského s odstupom þasu [Fedor Jesenský’s translation in retrospect]” which was published in 11. študentská vedecká a umelecká konferencia [11th student research and artistic conference]. Eva Palkoviþová is Assistant Professor at the Department of Romance Studies of Comenius University in Bratislava, Slovakia. Her research interests include the history of translation, translation criticism, and the reception of Hispanophone literatures in the Slovak cultural space. Besides numerous research papers, she authored the 2016 book Hispanoamerická literatúra na Slovensku [Hispanic American literature in Slovakia] and the 2015 textbook Úvod do štúdia umeleckého prekladu (pre hispanistov) [An

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Contributors

introduction into literary translation (for Hispanic Studies students)]. She has published more than twenty book translations, mostly of Hispanic American fiction. Her translation of Carlos Ruiz Zafón’s novel El juego del ángel, published as Anjelská hra in 2009 received the most prestigious Slovak prize for translation, Cena Jána Hollého [Ján Hollý prize].

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Astra SkrƗbane is Associate Professor at Ventspils University College in Latvia and an active translator and conference interpreter. In her research, she focuses on French–Latvian literary contacts and translation as intercultural process, especially on the basis of French–Latvian examples. She is a member of the Association of Translators of Latvia and of the Latvian Section of FIPF (Fédération internationale des professeurs de français).

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INDEX

Ɩbele, Inga, 135 Acadian diaspora, 93 Acadian paradox, 93 Adami, Eugenio, 174 adaptation, 61 Adichie, Chimamanda Ngozi, 26 Aeneid, 37, 44, 55 agency of the translator, 9, 10 Akhtar, Salman, 111 Alegría, Fernando, 166 Alexander, June G., 125 Allende, Isabel, 169, 170, 171 allusiveness in translation, 35, 37, 40, 43, 46, 52, 53, 55 Alsupe, Marta, 174 Anatomy of Melancholy, The, 21 Andrukhovych, Yurii, 11, 35–37, 44–55 AndžƗne, InƗra, 175 Apinis, PƝteris, 135 Arguedas, José María, 166 Aspazija, 133–44, 173–75 Asturias, Miguel Ángel, 164, 165, 166 attention as a resource, 19 automated versus live, 23 centre of, 59, 66, 75, 76 ecology of, 10, 11, 19, 25, 26, 31 economics of, 20, 24, 25, 30 periphery of, 63, 66 translational, 10, 11, 19, 31 attentional capital gain, 23 attentional capitalism, 26 attentionscape, 21, 23, 25, 28, 31 auto-censorship, 67, 71, 105 Auzins, Imants, 174 Aviv, Rachel, 39 back translation, 40–44, 52, 124, 141, 143

back-calquing, 42 Ballard, Michel, 94 Bambarén, Sergio, 170 Barát, Rudolf, 163 Barral, Jacqueline, 156 Barthes, Roland, 94 Basque, Maurice, 85, 86, 96 Bassnett, Susan, 6, 9 Bauman, Zygmunt, 84, 125 Baumanis, Arturs, 173 Baumgarten, Stefan, 134 Beck, John, 20, 21 Bednarczyk, Anna, 156 Bell, Thomas, 12, 111–29 Belloc, Hilaire, 152 Bendiks, Hermanis, 141 Benedetti, Mario, 165, 168 Benjamin, Walter, 4 Berardi, Franco “Bifo”, 26, 27 Berko, John F., 112, 116 Berman, Antoine, 98 Bertrand, Pierre, 81 bestseller, 60, 74 Bhabha, Homi, 35, 36 Bílik, René, 59 Bilý, Peter, 172 Bioy Casares, Adolfo, 168 Bisenieks, Valdis, 142, 143 Biskupiþová, Marta, 169 Blair, Ann, 21 Blum-Kulka, Shoshana, 35, 48 Bolaño, Roberto, 74, 172 Bonheur d’occasion, 83, 147–49, 153, 157–59 book market, 8, 10, 59, 72, 74, 75, 134 Borges, Jorge Luis, 167, 171 Borisova, Marina, 140 Bourdieu, Pierre, 2, 9, 12, 103, 104, 105, 107, 108

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182 Brabenec, Peter, 166, 167 Bradley, Finnbarr, 28 Brat, Roman, 169, 170, 171 Briffa, Charles, 157 Brinkley, Alan, 113 British Council, 28, 29 Brown, Alan, 147, 151, 152, 155 Brullová, Dagmar, 166 Bruno, Cosima, 134, 137 Brynjolfsson, Erik, 20 Bryusov, Valery, 174 Buceniece, Ella, 138 Bueno, Salvador, 167 Bullrich, Silvina, 165 Burton, Robert, 21, 22 Business Victoria, 26 Butler, Judith, 7, 9 ýajak, Ján, 88 calquing, 43, 52, 96, 154 Camus, Albert, 71 Cardoso, Onelio Jorge, 165 Carpentier, Alejo, 69, 70, 164, 166, 167 Carrión, Miguel de, 165 Caruana, Rose Marie, 157 Casa de las Américas, 72 Casanova, Pascale, 81, 84 Castro Ruz, Fidel, 169 Catford, John C., 149, 153 censorship, 67, 71, 87 Cervantes, Miguel de, 61, 62 Çevik, Y ld ray, 38 Chalupka, Ján, 62 Chamberlain, Lori, 4, 9 Chapman, Rosemary, 151, 155 Chaviano, Daína, 171 Chesterman, Andrew, 134 Chilachava, Raul, 175 Chorváth, Michal, 62 CimdiƼa, Ausma, 135 Cirule, Astrida, 135 Citton, Yves, 23, 25, 26, 30 Cixous, Hélène, 6 Cofiño López, Manuel, 164, 168 Collier, Gordon, 6 Common Sense Advisory, 22

Index communism, 40 computer-assisted translation, 23 construction novel, 67 consumer society, 38, 39 consumerism, 39, 41, 43 conventions, 9, 67, 147 Corbeil, Pierre, 156 Cormier, Yves, 86 Corso, Gregory, 36, 48–54 Cortázar, Julio, 70–72, 164, 167, 170 creolisation, 97, 105 Crime and Punishment, 45, 54 Cristóbal Pérez, Armando, 168 Cronin, Michael, 10, 11, 19, 28, 111, 112, 126, 177 cultural diversity, 10, 13 cultural heritage, 134, 144 cultural turn, 2, 6 cultureme, 67 culture-specific item, 67, 148, 155, 159 culture-specific items, 153–56 Curtis, Ben, 3 cyberspace, 26, 27 cybertime, 27 Daigle, France, 85 Darbelnet, Jean, 3 Davenport, Thomas, 20, 21 Deleuze, Gilles, 81, 84 Delisle, Jean, 7, 8 Demarest, David P., 113, 116 Derrida, Jacques, 4, 5 Díaz Sánchez, Ramón, 163 Díaz, Jesús, 171 Dictionnaire du français acadien, 86 digital culture, 27 Dimitriu, Rodica, 149, 154 Dizdar, Dilek, 10 Djovþoš, Martin, 10, 12, 101, 104, 177 Dobšinský, Pavol, 89 domestication, 37 dominant locality, 80 Don Quixote, 61, 62

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Identity and Translation Trouble Dostoyevsky, Fyodor, 45, 54 Draga Alexandru, Maria Sabina, 120, 122, 124, 125, 128 Dubcová, Viera, 63, 65, 168 Dujniþ, Marián, 172 Ćurišin, Dionýz, 69, 75 Eckardt-Skalberg, Elfriede, 174 editorial plan, 60, 65, 67, 70–72, 74 editorial practices, 72 ego identity, 5 Eguren, Gustavo, 168 emigrant, 38, 39 emigration, 114, 119 émigré, 111, 112, 114, 115 Empiricism, 24 equivalence, 2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 92 functional, 3 the illusion of, 4, 160 translational, 3 Erikson, Erik, 5, 6 Espinoza, Leonardo, 164 Esquivel, Laura, 170 ethics of communication, 140 of representation, 134, 140 ethnic author, 80 Even-Zohar, Itamar, 8 existentialism, 26, 67 exoticisation, 68, 80, 93, 96, 97, 105, 155, 159 experiential complex, 2, 12, 103, 104 Falkinger, Josef, 20 Fallas, Carlos Luis, 163 fantastic realism, 70 fast seller, 60 Felix, Jozef, 62, 64, 68 field (Bourdieu), 5, 10, 11, 59, 107 Flemish Literature Fund, 27, 28 Flotow, Luise von, 9, 10 foreignisation, 4, 155, 159 Foucault, Michel, 2 Fouin, Christophe, 135, 136 Franck, Georg, 23 Franco dictatorship, 68 Franek, Ladislav, 168

183

Frawley, William, 3, 4 Freud, Sigmund, 103 Friedner, Gun, 175 Fuentes, Carlos, 70, 169 Fukari, Alexandra, 103 Galeano, Eduardo, 165 Gallegos, Rómulo, 163, 165 Gálvez, Manuel, 65, 163 Gamboni, Aurélien, 10, 25 García Márquez, Gabriel, 70, 72– 74, 170, 171 Gasulla, Luis, 166 Gauvin, Lise, 82, 84, 89, 149 Gavurová, Miroslava, 9, 10, 12, 111, 178 Ghaniová, Miriam, 170 Godard, Barbara, 4, 7 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 135 Goldberg, David J., 112, 113, 116, 117 Goldhaber, Michael, 19, 20, 26 Google, 20, 30 Gorky, Ɇaksim, 174 Görözdi, Judit, 75 Gounavic, Jean-Marc, 9 Gravina, Alfredo, 163 Great Upheaval, 86 Guattari, Félix, 81, 84 Gúþik, Milan, 165, 166, 169 Guevara, Ernesto Che, 167 Guillén, Nicolás, 65, 66 Güiraldes, Ricardo, 165 habitus, 2, 5, 9, 10, 12, 101, 103–8 Hamlet, 35, 37, 44–48, 48 Happy Birthday of Death, The, 36, 48 Harðarson, Hrafn Andrés, 174 Hartley, David, 24 Harvey, Keith, 7 hegemonic non-translation, 134 Heidegger, Martin, 5 Hermans, Theo, 9 Hispanic American fiction, 59, 64– 65, 67, 69, 74, 75, 163 Hispanic Studies, 60, 61, 63, 64 Hlaváþová, OĐga, 166–69

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184 Holdoš, Ladislav, 164 homo sovieticus, 37, 41, 51 Hostová, Ivana, 1, 178 Hronský, Jozef Cíger, 64 Hume, David, 24 hybrid language, 40, 84, 85, 89, 97, 122 Ibargüengoitia, Jorge, 169 Icaza, Jorge, 164 identity Acadian, 84, 85 and difference, 4, 5 and equivalence, 3 and gender, 6, 7 Central European, 12, 101, 102, 105 collective, 5, 6, 112 concept of, 1–2 constructionist character of, 6 cultural, 5, 8, 10, 37, 101, 108 deconstruction of, 35 ego, 5 ethnic, 8, 12, 81, 84, 119 European, 8 expressive, 3 feminist deconstruction of, 4 French Canadian, 148, 159 gender, 7 human, 10, 11 hybrid, 2, 6, 8, 10, 12, 13, 44, 83–85, 111, 116, 122, 123, 127, 129 individual, 5, 6, 111, 112, 115 interlingual, 3 linguistic, 8, 11, 12, 119 liquid, 84 majority, 8 manipulation of, 10 minority, 6, 8 national, 8, 12 numerical, 3 of Hispanic American literature, 11 of the original, 3, 111 of the target culture, 10, 11

Index of the translator, 2, 5, 7, 9, 10, 12, 104, 107 of translation as a process, 10 of Translation Studies, 104, 107 performative, 7 postcolonial, 55 post-national, 11, 19 post-Soviet, 11, 43 qualitative, 3 quantitative. See identity: numerical religious, 12 Soviet, 11, 35, 37, 43, 54, 55 syncretic, 70 textual, 5 identity politics, 6 ideology and literary life, 66 immigrant, 12, 38, 39, 111–29 immigration, 22, 111–13, 115, 123, 125 informational economy, 24 Inghilleri, Moira, 5, 103 Ingold, Tim, 29, 30 Intrigue and Love, 45 invariant, 3 invisibility, 26, 27 Irigaray, Luce, 6, 7 Isaacs, Jorge, 166 Izenberg, Gerald, 3, 5, 6 Jablonický, Viliam, 117 Jakešová, Elena, 114 Jakštas, Adomas, 174 James, William, 24 Jaroš, Peter, 73 Jesenská, Zora, 159 Jesenský, Fedor, 147, 150–55, 160 Jettmarová, Zuzana, 103, 104 Jimenez-Crespo, Miguel A., 22 Joly, Jean-François, 9 Josephson, Hannah, 147, 148, 152, 158, 160 Joyce, James, 71 Jurišta, Ján, 167 Jusková, Katarína, 169 Kaþírková, Mária, 150 Kafka, Franz, 71

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Identity and Translation Trouble Kariková, SoĖa, 106 Kasík, Pavel, 125 Kelly, Darlene, 152 Kennelly, James J., 28 Kessous, Emmanuel, 20 Kierkegaard, Søren, 54 Klimt, Gustav, 136 KobáĖ, Tibor, 64, 65, 163, 164 KobáĖová, Marta, 165, 166, 167, 168 Kochur, Hryhorii, 46 Koáakowski, Leszek, 40 Kolcun, Milan, 171 Kolomiyets, Lada, 8, 10, 11, 35, 178 Komzala, František M., 63 Kosofsky Sedgwick, Eve, 9 Kotliarevsky, Ivan Petrovych, 37, 44, 55 Kristeva, Julia, 6 Krššáková, Elena, 79–81, 88–98 Kubáni, ďudovít, 61 Kukuþín, Martin, 64 Kundera, Milan, 81, 82, 84 Kunoši, Alexander, 163 Kupriyanova, Nina I., 174 ƶurzƝns, Nikolajs, 173 Kušnere, Sigita, 175 Lajdová, OĐga, 165, 166, 167 Lamansky, Vladimir, 62 Language Commons, 11, 19, 31 language of limited diffusion, 11, 134 Language Scientific, 22 Lanham, Richard, 21 Lapinska, Indra, 175 large context, 84 large culture, 87 Latin American Boom, 59, 70, 71, 73 Latiševa, Inese, 174 LázĖovský, Matouš, 125 Lešinska, Ieva, 137, 139, 140, 142, 143 Levý, JiĜí, 72, 104 Lewycka, Marina, 35, 38–44 LiepiƼš, Zigmars, 140

185

lieux de mémoire, 96 linguistic ecosystem, 11 LinkedIn, 26 literary canon, 45, 54, 133 literary generals, 69, 75 literary life, 71, 75, 134 localisation industry, 22, 29 Locke, John, 24 Lotman, Jurij M., 105 Lviv Forum of Publishers, 44 Macconi, Chiara, 135 machine translation, 22, 23 MacLennan, Hugh, 81, 83 magic realism, 11, 70, 73, 75 magic reality, 70 Magidson, Svetlana, 174 Magone, Aija, 175 Magová, Gabriela, 71 Maillet, Antonine, 79–80, 82, 83– 85, 87, 89, 90, 92, 93, 95–97 Majerník, Ján, 166 major language, 8, 29 Malena, Anne, 2, 111, 112 Malinovská, Zuzana, 8, 10, 11, 79, 80, 82, 83, 84, 179 Maliti-FraĖová, Eva, 67 Marjaša, Ruta, 137, 174 Martínez Moreno, Carlos, 167 Martínez, Guillermo, 171 Martini, Juan Carlos, 168, 169 Matte, Neusa Da Silva, 5 Matthews, William Kleesmann, 137, 138, 140, 143, 173 maximisation, 24 McAfee, Andrew, 20 median context, 84 Melby, Alan, 23 Mellet, Kevin, 20 metatext, 61 Meza, Ramón, 169 migrant, 10, 12, 38, 112 economic, 12 migration, 8, 38, 114 Mihálik, Vojtech, 163 Miko, František, 2, 12, 103, 104 Mill, John Stuart, 24

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186 Mináriková, Erika, 169 minor literature, 10 minority language, 8 linguistic, 148 literature, 8, 80, 82 Mistral, Gabriela, 66 Molina, Alberto, 168 Moravþík, Štefan, 168 Moretiþ, Yerko, 164 Mounin, Georges, 98 Naess, Arne, 25 naturalisation, 68, 80, 88, 92, 96, 97, 105, 150 Navarro, Noel, 169 Nehrebetsky, Oleksa, 11, 35, 36–38, 40–44, 54, 55 Neira Samanez, Hugo, 166 Neman, Miroslav, 168 Nepveu, Pierre, 83 Neruda, Pablo, 65, 66 Nervo, Amado, 171 new Soviet Man, 40 Nice, Richard, 103 Nida, Eugene, 3 Niranjana, Tejaswini, 4, 9 Nogueras, Luis Rogelio, 166, 167 non-equivalent vocabulary, 66, 67 non-seller, 60 Noonan, Harold, 3 Nora, Pierre, 96 normalisation, 70, 73, 75, 87, 129 normality, 101, 103, 105, 106 norms, 9, 11, 92, 101, 104, 105–7, 147, 152 Noskoviþová, Nelida, 165, 167 Nouss, Alexis, 81 Núñez Jiménez, Antonio, 169 O’Hara, Frank, 48 Obuchová, Emília, 64, 165, 166, 168 Olejárová, Barbora, 9, 10, 13, 79, 147, 179 Oleríny, Vladimír, 62–69, 71, 72, 163–68, 170 Oles’, Oleksandr, 46

Index One Hundred Years of Solitude, 72, 73 Onetti, Juan Carlos, 169 Osipova, L. K., 174 Otero Silva, Miguel, 167, 168 Otero, Lisandro, 169 otherness, 81, 82, 97 Out of This Furnace, 111–15, 116, 118, 119, 128, 129 Overchenko, Kost’ Gavrilovich, 175 Palkoviþová, Eva, 8, 10, 11, 59, 107, 169–71, 179 Pangeanic, 22, 23 Paprþková, Lucia, 172 paratext, 9, 11, 66, 71, 73 Parker, Andrew, 9 Parolek, Radegast, 173 Passia, Radoslav, 75 Paz, Senel, 169 Pélagie-la-Charrette, 79–80, 83–85, 87, 92–94 Peregrin, Jaroslav, 105, 106 Pereira, Manuel, 168 Peri Rossi, Cristina, 74, 172 peripheral literature, 75, 80 Petersone, Olga, 174 Pinterová, Želmíra, 169 Pliešovská, ďubica, 107 poet’s version, 11 Poirier, Pascal, 96 PoĐaková, Lenka, 59 political ecology, 30 Pope, Alexander, 5 Popoviþ, Anton, 2, 3, 105, 129 Portuondo, José, 164 post-communism, 38 post-sovok, 37–41, 44, 53 Pratt, Mary Louise, 30 Prieto, Jenaro, 166 Prix Femina, 148 Prix Goncourt, 79 professional translator, 2, 23 Proust, Marcel, 71 publishing policies, 11 publishing strategies, 87 Puig, Manuel, 166

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Identity and Translation Trouble Puškáþ, Ivan, 165 Pym, Anthony, 5, 103 Quiroga, Horacio, 171 Race Against the Machine, 20 Raþková, Elena, 165, 167, 168, 171 Rafael, Vicente L., 30 Rainis, 133, 135, 137, 143 Rakšányiová, Jana, 82 Ramírez, Sergio, 169 Rasy, Elisabetta, 6 Ratniece, Sandra, 136 Renaissance, 21 re-reading, 7 re-writing, 7 Richter, Milan, 166, 167 Rivera, Guillermo Rodríguez, 166 Rivera, José Eustasio, 166 Roa Bastos, Augusto, 165 Robin, Régine, 83 Robyns, Clem, 6 Roediger, David R., 118 Rojas, Manuel, 166 Romanenko, Larisa, 175 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 26 Roy, Gabrielle, 13, 83, 147–57, 159–60 Rozenberga, Elza. See Aspazija rules, 72, 89, 90, 98, 103, 105, 134 Rulfo, Juan, 70, 71, 164, 170 Ruppeldt, Miloš, 64 Ruppeldt, Vladimír, 168, 169 Ruppeldtová, Alexandra, 166–69, 171 Rytsarev, Boris, 47 Sabato, Ernesto, 63, 70, 71, 164, 167 Sabatos, Charles, 113, 116, 119, 121–23, 125, 128 Sapir, Edward, 160 Sartre, Jean-Paul, 71 Schiller, Friedrich von, 45 Schleiermacher, Friedrich, 3 Schweizer, Max, 174 Scopus, 1 Scorza, Manuel, 165 Scott, Joan Wallach, 6

187

Searle, John R., 94 self-translation, 13, 137, 140, 142, 143 semi-calquing, 50 semiocapitalism, 26 Sepúlveda, Luis, 170 Sergeyev, I. M., 45 Serra, Ettore, 174 Shakespeare, William, 35, 37, 44– 48 Shervinsky, Sergey V., 138, 175 Shevchenko, Taras, 55 shift negative, 129 of allusiveness, 35–37, 40, 46, 52, 55 of coherence, 35, 36, 48 semantic, 91, 148, 160 Shlesinger, Miriam, 103 Sholokhov, Mikhail, 67, 159 Short History of Tractors in Ukrainian, A, 35, 38 Siles del Valle, Juan Ignacio, 171 Simeoni, Daniel, 9, 103 Simon, Sherry, 5, 7, 8, 81 Šišmišová, Paulína, 171 SkrƗbane, Astra, 9, 10, 12, 133, 180 Škultéty, Jozef, 164, 167 Slavík, Jan, 105, 106 Slezáková, Martina, 169–71 small context, 84 small culture, 87, 97, 144 small literature, 80, 82, 87 Snell-Hornby, Mary, 2, 4 social media, 26, 75 socialist collectivism, 67 socialist realism, 11, 70, 71 socialist-realist schematism, 70 sovok, 37, 38, 39, 41, 44, 51 Spencer, Herbert, 24 spirit of the original, 3 Spota, Luis, 167 Srnenská, Jarmila, 71, 72, 164–66, 168, 169 Stahnke, Astrida B., 173

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188 standardisation of translation practices, 129 Stárková, Blanka, 60 steady seller, 60 Stiebra, Roze, 140 Stolarik, Mark, 113–15, 117 Stratford, Philip, 80, 148 Štúr, ďudovít, 61 supply-driven export, 13 Šútovec, Milan, 66 Šveda, Pavol, 104 SvetoĖ, Ján, 113 syncretic culture, 70 Systran, 23 Tablic, Bohuslav, 5 TAM ratings, 23 Taylor, Charles, 26 Teitelboim, Volodia, 164 Tejera, Nivaria, 164 third individuation, 112 title, 92 alternative, 157 content-oriented, 157 literal, 157 naturalised loan, 157 reader-oriented, 157 transferred or loan, 157 Töngür, A. Nejat, 38 Torop, Peeter, 134 Toury, Gideon, 9, 106 Trachta, Ján, 12, 128 translated being, 2, 111, 112 translation and dialect, 49, 66–68, 85, 88– 90, 92, 128, 159 and gender, 7 and minority language, 8 and national identities, 8 and patination, 90 as a political action, 10, 11 as action, 36 as criticism, 36 as experiment, 36 as performative nature of cultural communication, 35, 36 didactics of, 10

Index domesticating, 4, 8 ecology of, 30 editor of, 54, 72, 74, 75, 90 facetious, 35, 36, 37, 44, 53 farcical, 11, 35, 36, 54 feminist, 7 fluent strategy of, 154, 159 instrumentalist concepts of, 30 intercultural approach to, 79, 80, 82, 83, 97 literal, 40 of proper names, 94–96 polemic on, 67 postmodern, 36 shift, 3, 22, 155 substitute for, 63 the “time” of, 36 transcultural approach to, 79–84, 88, 89, 94, 95, 97, 98 translation automation, 23 Translation Studies (TS), 1–7, 9, 68, 81, 103, 104, 107, 111, 160 Descriptive, 5 Feminist, 7 transliteration, 49 Travieso, Julio, 165 Tret’yakov, Viktor, 175 TruhláĜ, BĜetislav, 63 Tychyna, Pavlo, 45, 46 untranslatability, 79, 149, 153 Václavíková, Izabela, 164 Vajdová, Libuša, 60, 87 Valeri, Diego, 174 Valero Pérez, Rodolfo, 168 Vallejo, César, 164 Varela, Alfredo, 66, 68, 163 Vargas Llosa, Mario, 70, 167, 168, 170, 171 Vartík, Rastislav, 169 Venuti, Lawrence, 4, 9, 10, 26, 27, 154 Viese, SaulcerƯte, 135 VƯƷe-Freiberga, Vaira, 138 Vilikovský, Ján, 71, 88, 105 Villaverde, Cirilo, 166 Vimr, OndĜej, 13

Identity and Translation Trouble

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Viñas, David, 165 Vinay, Jean-Paul, 3 Virgil, 37, 44, 55 visibility, 26–28 Vorderobermeier, Gisella. M., 103 Vychovalá, ďubica, 90 Wark, McKenzie Kenneth, 20 Wast, Hugo, 65, 163 wayfaring of language, 30, 31 Web of Science, 1 Welsch, Wolfgang, 81 Wernicke, Enrique, 163 Willson, Patricia, 69 Wolf, Michaela, 103 womanhandling, 7 Woodsworth, Judith, 8 Woodward, Miguel Cossío, 167

189

world literature, 10, 27, 69, 70, 72, 75, 134 Wright, Richard, 113, 116 Yerko, Vladyslav, 44 Yurchonok, Galina, 175 Yuste Frías, José, 81, 82 Záborský, Jonáš, 61 Zajacová, Anna, 116, 117, 119 Zapoƺs, Aleksandrs, 175 Žáry, Štefan, 163 Zavgorodniy, Yuriy, 175 Zechenter-Laskomerský, Gustáv Kazimír, 61 Zhuravlëv, Sergey Anatol’evich, 175 Žižek, Slavoj, 105 Zouinar, Moustafa, 20