Translation

Asymptote Contest Announcement

This is exciting! Asymptote​ is one of the greats in literary translation, a journal of wonderfulness. And they've announced a contest for emerging translators here. Want more details? Here you go, straight from their Facebook page:

Would you like to be published alongside translations by Lawrence Venuti, Lydia Davis, and Susan Bernofsky? Would you like your work seen and judged by Eliot Weinberger and Howard Goldblatt? Most importantly, is there an untranslated or little-translated writer that you are desperately, maddeningly determined to bring to the attention of the English-speaking world?
Then submit to "Close Approximations," Asymptote's first ever translation contest! Thanks to your generous support of our IndieGogo campaign, we can make it worth your while: the winner of each category will receive 1,000 USD, as well as the opportunity to publish with Asymptote.

They've given a great lead time, too -- submissions aren't due until September 1. So, get thee writing!​

On a related note...Asymptote​'s announcement is also a wonderful example of how to act after a big fundraiser. Their successful Indiegogo campaign closed at the end of April. And not even one month later, they're already following through on their promises in a big, public way. Kudos, my friends.

In Praise of Youth

Yes, I'm technically part of this demographic, at least when it comes to professional spheres. But I'm not so much tooting my own horn here, as staring awestruck and my brilliant, whip-smart, talented, super-accomplished peers. Who also happen to be my colleagues.

There are the people who have doctoral degrees. The ones who know five languages and are working on their sixth and seventh. The ones who know everyone, the ones who have lived everywhere.​ All of these people are still in their twenties.

There's the girl who runs a well-known review and cultural institution, and is now starting her own publishing house.​

There's the girl who's already been published five times over, volunteers for two journals, and works for a publishing house on the side.​

There's the guy who is well-established in a literary agency in New York City, and still manages to get his own brilliant work published.​

People sometimes tell me how much I impress them. How wonderful my enthusiasm is. How doggedly I seem to work. How much they love my fresh ideas. I'll accept the compliments, of course, and I thank them profusely for expressing their opinions. But there are so many people I know who do so much more.​

But don't think that this is to get down on myself. On the contrary! I think it's fascinating and fantastic how much energy we can all infuse into the world. To overgeneralize a bit: if young people can create so many new and wonderful things to enrich the world, and if young people can use their natural vibrancy to inspire everyone else to do more interesting things with their lives, then everyone benefits, and the world is a better place for it.

Now, to remember this lesson when my own hair starts turning gray...​

In Search of French Literary Magazines

UPDATED FOR 2021

As important as it is for literary translators to read widely in their source languages, French literary magazines are hard to find in the States. Pretty thin on the ground. ("Just generally pretty trim," as Eddie Izzard would say.) I found several magazines and literary reviews the last time I was living in France in 2013, but a lot has changed since then. And on the other hand, the Internet is even more wonderful, and there are many things that are now much easier to find, read, or subscribe to online.

After reading many things, over many years, please allow me to present to you my highly skewed, biased, and unscientific reviews:

Still running

Welcome to the weird times that are the plague years. Here’s a fun result: these first two magazines have merged! “LiRE magazine littéraire” now lives online here. And it’s pretty good. (Original reviews here:)

LiRE (March issue): This magazine has it all. Released by the same company as L'Express (a weekly news magazine), it's bursting with news, features, thematic segments, reviews, five excerpts from upcoming novels, a couple interviews, and editorial content. It covers French books, foreign books, historical non-fiction, scientific books, essays, graphic novels, YA and children's lit, paperbacks, the works. And everything in this issue is well-written, engaging, varied, intelligent, and well-thought-out, no matter how short. It should be extremely useful both in following industry trends and reading new fiction.
Le Magazine Littéraire (March issue): Maybe I shouldn't have read this directly after LiRE. All I could do was compare the two, as they both purport to serve the same purpose...and this one fell at the other end of the spectrum. The content wasn't as varied. There was only one excerpt, and it was middling. The news seemed stale, or not expansive enough, or devoid of emotion. The thematic content (this month: vampires....wheee.....) overshadowed everything else, and didn't leave enough room for what I really cared about. Even the layout was grating. I was disappointed when I tossed it into the trash can (no recycling here), but not too sad.

Longcours (Spring issue): A very pretty, thick journal. But, as I realized when I started reading it, dedicated almost exclusively to long-form journalism. Very well-done long-form journalism, from what I've read. But only one short story. And although it was fascinating, that one thing is not enough to warrant a subscription. Still, I'll be flipping through it whenever I walk into a French bookstore.

XXI (Winter issue): Ditto the above, with a heavy sigh. Really well-done long-form journalism (has apparently won scads of awards), including graphic novel journalism, but not what I'm looking for right now. Kudos to them on their Manifesto for a new media, though (if you understand French, it's a good read).

A new tip from commenter Jason: Transfuge, which as he says, has “lots of interviews with artists whose work I then seek out.” It is really well done! I think I’m in love with their covers.

 

New arrivals

As my focus has become more Francophone than just French, so too have my reading practices. The good folks at Boutique Laterit have been invaluable in actually being able to get some of these gems to my door in the States. (And not just magazines, either! Books, DVDs, graphic novels, music… They’re really wonderful. Go buy things from them.)

magazine-indigo-n4-april-2019.jpeg

Indigo Magazine (4 issues so far): A magazine of Madagascar, Réunion, and the rest of the Indian Ocean. Books, art, theater, poetry, culture in general…it’s packed with interviews, criticism, and creative works. It’s beautiful and has some powerhouse editors behind it. Well worth the cost.

Lettres de Lémurie (also 4 issues so far): Begun in 2018 by Malagasy-Réunnionais-French publishing house Dodo vole, it is perfect. (Perfect for me, at least. Maybe just perfect in general?) All literature, all Indian Ocean, French and Malagasy and Créole and translations, publishing new and already-successful authors alongside each other, with the most gorgeous covers… It’s the best. If you want to support the publication of the latest issue, check out their crowdfunding page.

 

The party’s over

Tigre.jpg

Le Tigre ended in early 2015. But all their archives are STILL free online!
Le Tigre (March issue): This is an interesting magazine. I almost didn't grab a copy because their editorial mission includes the warning that they don't publish fiction. But no matter; this is a fantastic selection of artistic prowess. Wordplay, photojournalism, illustrations, and twisted essays thrive alongside each other. One spread takes a roadmap, marks out a few towns that have "real word" names, and makes sentences out of them, haunting and sad. I've also just discovered that all their archives are free online. Looks like I won't be reachable for the next week while I read ALL OF THEM.

muze.jpg

Oof, friends, this was a hard one. Muze ended in 2009, tried a new format the following year, and ended for good in 2017. And now its publisher is…ultra-religious? I miss Muze.
Muze (Spring issue, April-June): Oh, how lovely this thick tome. Technically a female-oriented cultural revue, this journal really has its finger on the pulse of life. It seems. Everything includes a healthy dose of analysis, which I started skimming when it turned too philosophical, but it doesn't detract from the wonderful behind-the-scenes look we get at every single topic the journal undertakes. Every theme includes current happenings, cultural tie-ins, movies, psychology, art, poems, and fiction. And the physical thing is a beauty to behold. The cover is even embossed. A tactile and visual dream. Definitely going on the list of not-expensive-enough-to-prevent-me-from-ordering-an-international-subscription.

What else, friends? I’ve been stuck at home for two years now, so there has to be more that I don’t know. What have you found?

If you found this post helpful, you can buy me a tea (although it might say “coffee”).

Recap: SAND Journal's Found in Translation Workshop

There once was a guy from Berlin
Who went to a workshop on a whim
He had so much fun
That when it was done
The SAND Journal meant much more to him

Last weekend, I was lucky enough to attend the  Found in Translation workshop run by the SAND Journal, Berlin's English-language literary journal. Because of the support they received from Youth in Action, it was exclusively for translators under the age of 30. This meant that I was joined by a host of bright-eyed, bushy-tailed young translat0rs, raring to go. A little nervous about their blossoming or future careers, a little concerned that their work is very niche -- too niche, perhaps -- but brimming with wit and intelligence. We explored Berlin and ate marvelous food, of course, but the forums and workshops that the SAND team organized were the real highlight of the weekend.

In one workshop, we explored what characteristics of written texts could "give them away" as translations, and it was interesting to realize that even as translators ourselves, we have a notion of "bad" or "off" or "unnatural" vocabulary or punctuation as what marks a translation. And it is high praise for a translated text to read like it was originally written in the target language, that it flows well enough to be considered as belonging to that language's literature.

The next morning, we played with language. LimericksOulipo exercises, snowball poemsSpoonerisms, and anagrams were all fair game. Just to prove that yes, translating puns and humor are hard, but doable. We're all creative people.

On Saturday night, we joined Naris at Dialogue Books to introduce the new issue of SAND, and we read a little,
Then had a wandering discussion about the future of translation, ending with one guy who led a riddle

(Spoonerisms are hard.)

In the end, we had a lovely brunch on the last day. Because really, what is a weekend of working without brunch? It was a lovely and delicious brunch.

Most important, though, is the network we created. Literary translators from many different languages, all on the cusp of their careers, all looking for jobs to do and magazines to submit to and new things to write and friends to commiserate with. Our support groups have just exploded exponentially. Such connections are even more important for people like us, who work very solitary jobs. It's reassuring to know that real people are out there on the other side of your Internet connection, who are all going through similar challenges and wonders.

I'm very honored to have been a part of the inaugural year of workshops, and I'm confident they will continue to be an annual event.

I
no
now
more
about
lovely
written
artistry,
wonderful
enchanting
translation,
gloriously
beguiling,
soothing
sparked
energy...
makes
glad
the
me.

(Yeah, okay. Snowball poems are hard, too.)

Author photos

They bug me. They're just too staged. You, with your perfect life, in your country cottage where it's always either a warm spring or a cool autumn (but never chilly), trees without leaves falling, flowers without bees stinging, a beautiful dog of show quality with no hair or drool or musk or poop. Yes, your bio says you divide your time between Chicago and the country cottage in Colorado, but we don't see the stress of the city, nor the lonesomeness of the country.

Most importantly, though, we don't see you writing.

And because of this, many adoring children and idolizing adults think that writing is easy for you. Without any evidence to the contrary, writing must slide neatly into place within your perfect life, where sweaters drape just so and tweed is cool again. You must just sit on your porch where it never rains, where wind never blows your research and scribbled notes away, and type away until dinnertime. No blocks, no grief, no heartaches. No sight of how dreadfully hard writing is. Every. Single. Day.

How hard it is to find your characters' voices. How hard it is to create perfect descriptions of a place you've never seen. How much you ache to see words appear on the blank page. How desperate you feel when you can't figure out what happens next -- or worse, how to get to somewhere you know exists.

But look. I'm just as guilty of this as the rest of you. I've got my nature-filled shot up on my website, because it's the only thing I feel comfortable with. Because there's an image to control. Because writing is also private. No one is allowed in our zone, in our soul, let alone someone armed with and hiding behind a camera. Just...

Just know, readers and admirers and all the curious, that it's hard. Don't judge a book by its cover. Don't be deceived.

Dear bilingual dictionary,

You and I have been partners for a long time. Some might even say friends. (Maybe frenemies.) But we have a decent, cordial, mutually respectful relationship, and have for years. But enough with the formalities. You and I need to have a heart-to-heart. Right here, right now.

See, there are times when I feel you're limiting me. Like you're cornering me into a little box of conventions and traditions, of the way it's always been done, perhaps even the way it's supposed to be done. Says you. I come to you with a question, an open-ended question. This is not a yes or no, black or white question. There are shades of beautiful gray, shadows in the dark and streams of dust-filled light. This question invites research, discussion, discovery. I'm looking for the many different facets and shades of meaning, the many different turns and tunes of how to say something, how to sing or mumble or cry or shout or threaten something, in my own tongue. I come to you on my knees, ready to learn.

And lately, it seems that you see this delicate and luxurious Fabergé egg that I present before you, a treasured gift on a velvet pillow, and you just slap it out of my hand. And then you shove a dull cube of lead in front of my face, and I almost choke on this unimaginative, unpolished lump. Too familiar. I've seen it dozens of times before. The one word that is the only possible translation of this word I've brought before you.

But no. No. NO! Never! There is not ever only one right answer! This translation I am doing, it is not a machine, a mechanized process that takes input and spits out deadened, predetermined outputs out, day in and day out, forever until the end of time, never changing, never growing, never creating things of beauty. This is a creative process, a process of creation, of breathing new life into something already lovely, of using a new prism of clear cut glass to catch the sunlight in a new way and spurt forth new colors to send out into the world, scattering and dancing as they go. This is not a process of boxing in, of limiting the possibilities, but one of springing the lock on Pandora's box, and watching as all the wonderful and strange and unknown and terrifying and beautiful things go flying out of your control.

The paths that have been trodden before me are good, and solid, and reliable, and have their place. I pad and stomp over them often myself. But you must not build fences of cold steel and barbed wire, penning me in from ever leaving them! I will be forced to break free, tearing down the iron gates much as I tear apart your whisper thin papyrus sheets.

So I will slam you shut, and I will shove you off of the table in a fit of frustration, and I will curse as I stub my own toes in an attempt to injure your pages and your pride.

And yet.

Although. Still.

As it happens, lumps of lead can be beautiful, too...if combined in a new way, stacked on top of each other in precariously swaying towers, sculpting the likeness of a new creature that no one has ever seen before, nor even imagined. Even as a limited and limiting tool, you are useful. Of constant, and yes, essential use.

We shall remain partners.

Warily and forever yours,

Allison

 

P.S. I did not originally mean for this to be an ode to this creative process, something dearly loved. I have learned something new, that you are inspirational in a muse-like way I did not imagine before. You still have some surprises and tricks up your binding.

Tailored to your audience

"Hello," I say to the 6-year-old French boy.
"Hello! How are you?"
"I'm good. And how are you?"
Shy, silent stare.
"Are you good, too?"
Nodding.
"What did you want to ask me?"
"Uh...do you want to play with me?"
"Sure! What should we play?"
Mulling, and more mulling.
"Do you want to play Uno? Or foosball? Or something else?"
Eyes light up.
"A match!"
"Foosball, then? A foosball match?"
Vigorous nodding.
"Okay! Let's go!"

"What's up?" I ask his 7-year-old brother.
"Do you know the game that you play on the computer, it's called cup-eet."
"Cup Eat? A cup, like a glass that you drink out of?"
"NO! CUP! Like a police!"
"Oh, a cop," I emphasize. "Cop is a policeman, cup is a glass you drink from."
"Cop...mais je peux pas le dire en anglais, moi..."
"Yes, you can figure it out in English. You figured out how to say 'cop' to me by saying 'police,' you can figure other stuff out, too..."

"Howdy, pardner," I drawl to their 12-year-old brother, who picks up accents astonishingly quickly. Scarily fast, even.
Giggles. "Caooooowww," he tries.
I giggle, too.
"Oh, remember, you told me you'd do a Scottish accent, too."
"Haha, no, I said I'd find you an example of a Scottish accent. That one, I can't do."
"But what does it sound like?"
"Dude, I can't explain it."
"Do a British accent again."
"Oh yes," I quip, pinkie in the air, "this is the accent of the Brits and the BBC newscasters, and Monty Python and all the rest..."
"Nyewscahstahs?"
"Yep, that's it." Now if only you'd stop imitating your parents' French-accented English so well...

As for the oldest, their 13-year-old brother, he and I sit in silence. He's a teen, and he's trying to figure out how to deal with that. But if I'm patient enough, I can earn his respect. And it doesn't take long. By the time we reach the theatre, we've bonded over "hiding from the old people," since we're the two youngest there by a couple decades. Then, we're spies. Then, he steals my cookies, my pen, my glasses -- and always gives them back, so long as I let him have his fun. And then whole night has been in English, which he struggles with as much as his identity. This is a good thing.

 

You just have to know who you're talking to, who you're writing for. Talk to them like you would a small child or a teen, write to them like you would your best friend or that college professor you were terrified of. And in translation, it's almost easier. The decision has already been made for you -- you just have to figure out which audience the author was writing for, what kind of audience that corresponds to in your own tongue and culture, and write appropriately.

"Dancing isn't creative."

What. I'm sorry, what??

Last night, as has become my Wednesday habit, I went out swing dancing at a studio in Rochester. There's a good scene here, nice people, lots of beginners, and a solid contingent of experienced teachers. There's also a dearth of male leads, which means it's very common for girls to ask guys to dance (and/or snatch them away from the 20 other girls also looking for a partner...which is fine, it hasn't become cutthroat yet...).

So I went up and asked a guy to dance that I hadn't seen before. Wearing a nametag, so probably a beginner from the earlier lesson, and looked like he had a good head on his shoulders. He agreed readily. And as he was leading me out onto the dance floor, he said:

"I really don't get this dancing thing."

Sorry? What do you mean?

"Well, it's not creative at all."

...Sorry?

"You're not creating anything, you're just doing the same steps everybody else is. I'm a musician."

Oh. Wait, what?

"Every time I sit down to play, I'm creating something. There's something new."

And I just let my mouth hang open in flabbergasted astonishment for a few moments.

But wait! I have rebuttals! I dabble in both dance and music. And just last month, I was lucky enough to attend a day-long workshop put on by the current International Lindy Hop champions, Todd and Ramona, where they talked at great length about how every dance is different, because everyone dances with their own style, and putting two people together as partners will create something wonderful and fresh. I hunkered down and started probing deeper. Mostly out of morbid curiosity. And probably a little masochism.

He plays guitar. Okay. Chords. There are basic chords to playing guitar. Everything builds off of those. Everything that is "creative" is created upon that foundation. Yes?

"But nobody leaves the foundation here. Look around. Everyone's doing exactly the same steps."

BUT NOT IN THE SAME WAY! I don't actually scream that, though. Instead, I continue that sure, many of them are, but they're just learning. Lots of beginners in this scene. Here, let me point out the more advanced dancers, who are doing their own thing with their partners, more "creatively," as you say.

"Yeah, but it's still all the same steps. They have to know what steps they're going to do ahead of time."

GAH. No. That's the difference between social dancing and choreography. New tack. "Okay, you've been playing guitar for how long?"

"Ten years."

"And how many years of those ten have you been done with the basics, creating something new every time you sit down to play?" (As a side note, I know most musicians -- and dancers -- are never really "done with the basics." It was for the sake of the argument.)

"Ten."

What. Fine. But dude. All those chords have been played before, and they will all be played again.

No real point in trying to explain to him that there are people like that in the dance world, too, even in the world of partner dances.

Why are you even here? Being a really good friend with a car to his buddy with a girl. Who now owes him big time. Seriously? Dude, go to the bar, there's a nice one across the street. Which he likes. Fine. I'd suggest not sharing your opinions, your vitriol, with any of the other dancers here. You may incur their ire. Their wrath. Don't do that.

In conclusion...yep. Good (read: solid) head on his shoulders. Actually, just solid. Solid, rock-hard, and stubborn. I wish him all the best at his bar. Because his friends, the lovebirds, were adorable, and really interested in dancing.

He better not have driven them home drunk.

 

But look. There's another story in this. These are the same arguments that people use to support the theory that translation isn't creative (albeit in different clothing).

"It isn't writing, you're just copying what other people have said."

"It's all the same words, found by flipping through the dictionary. You don't create anything."

"Maybe literary translation is kinda creative, but those boring legal documents and medical texts aren't." (Don't ever tell me this. I'll grant that literary translation can be more creative than pharmaceutical reports, but writing is still writing. There's an element of creation in all of it.)

Sure, think they're wrong. But what would you tell people who express such opinions? More ideas are always welcome.

Hey! You won!

Specifically, two of you: First book goes to JUAN MARROQUIN! Congratulations! He wrote: "My favorite 'strong woman' is Elizabeth Bennet, from 'Pride and Prejudice'. She is strong and does her best with the resources she had at hand, gracefully but without giving up."

Second book goes to LIZ W, who is @westbynorth on Twitter. Congratulations to you, as well!

Juan, Liz, I'll be in touch later today to get your mailing addresses.

Now, for the rest of you amazing people who indulged this little game, you can still win a copy of the book, in a sense. It just requires a purchase -- of the book.

(Sorry. It's the opposite of "No Purchase Necessary." I had to.)

Anyway, The Last Love of George Sand is officially on sale from all your favorite sellers (disclaimer: first two are affiliate links, but you can bypass them if you so desire):

Amazon Barnes & Noble Indiebound ...or your favorite local bookshop

Spread the word! George Sand is here, in English, as you've never seen her before.

And now, THE GIVEAWAY

And ain't she a beauty?

And ain't she a beauty?

*doot doodoodoo doot doot doot doooooooooooo*

As promised. I wouldn't let you down.

The Prize: Two (2) randomly-chosen people will each receive one (1) hardcover copy of The Last Love of George Sand, by Evelyne Bloch-Dano, translated by yours truly, published by Arcade Publishing, released February 6, 2013. Each book will be signed by me and inscribed however you'd like.

The Entry(-ies): There are two ways of entering, each of which grants you one entry (so every person can enter up to twice).

  1. In honor of George Sand, leave a comment on this post of who your favorite strong woman is. Bonus brownie points for explaining why.
  2. To help spread the word, tweet a link to this post. Must either tweet at me (@sunshineabroad) or include this hashtag: #GeorgeSandGiveaway

The Deadline: Tonight! Wednesday, February 6, 2013, at 11:59 p.m. EST.

The Rules: After the contest, I will randomly select two entrants (by assigning a number to each comment and Twitter account and using a random number generator), and announce the winners on this blog on Thursday, February 7. I will then contact the winners for their mailing address. Anyone with a valid mailing address anywhere in the world may enter. Limit two entries per person.

The Why: George Sand is freaking cool. And I loved working on this book. I'd like to share it with people.

Good luck to all!