LOST IN TRANSLATION: WHY CLASSIC BOOKS CAN SEEM BORING
Suppose you published a book, and the readers demanded that it be rewritten to be more funny, sexy, or "authentic." Add to that if readers felt the work failed to capture the true flavor of the era or situation and referred people to a fan fiction version of your book that was supposedly better.
That would strike most authors as outrageous, right? However, that happens all the time with translated classics, though in a slightly different way.
I recall checking out the reviews for a particular classic and saw that people would claim that this or that translation was the best. For example, one person claimed that none of the versions was perfect, but the one by an Englishman did the best to capture the satiric intent. Another felt that a more modern edition was more readable and more faithful to the original author's intent. The book was Don Quixote by Miguel De Cervantes, and personally, I've never particularly liked the book. However, the version by Tobias Smollett came the closest to being likable (for me). One reason is that I enjoyed his original novels, which were hilarious if you liked 17th Century humor.
I also admit that my view is skewed from watching the Mister McGoo cartoon version as a child.
When perusing translations, it can feel like reading different books, particularly with the Iliad. Due to the difficulty in interpreting ancient Greek, a translator can create a non-literal interpretation due to elements like different grammatical rules or cultural bias. I could describe how the Iliad has been translated, but the best way to illustrate the point would be to show some examples. So I picked several versions and will show you how the different opening paragraphs of Homer's work look. These excerpts say the same thing but with varying approaches to interpreting the original Greek.
Iliad Translations (in no particular order):
"Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly goddess, sing! That wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's gloomy reign The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain;
- Alexander Pope (1715 trans.)
"Of Peleus' son, Achilles, sing, O Muse, The vengeance, deep and deadly; whence to Greece Unnumbered ills arose; which many a soul Of mighty warriors to the viewless shades Untimely sent;
- Edward Earl of Derby (1864 trans.)
"Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs and vultures,"
- Samuel Butler
"Sing, goddess, the anger of Peleus' son Achilleus and its devastation, which put pains thousandfold upon the Achaians, hurled in their multitudes to the house of Hades strong souls of heroes, but gave their bodies to be the delicate feasting of dogs, of all birds,"
- Richmond Lattimore (1951)
"Sing, Ο goddess, the destructive wrath of Achilles, son of Peleus, which brought countless woes upon the Greeks, and hurled many valiant souls of heroes down to Hades, and made themselves a prey to dogs and to all birds [but the will of Jove was being accomplished],"
- Theodore Alois Buckley (1873)
"Sing, MOUNTAIN GODDESS, sing through me That anger which most ruinously Inflamed Achilles, Peleus' son, And which, before the tale was done, Had glutted Hell with champions—bold, Stern spirits by the thousandfold; Ravens and dogs their corpses ate."
- Robert Graves (The Anger Of Achilles 1959)
"Alpha the prayer of Chryses sings: The army's plague: the strife of kings. Achilles' baneful wrath resound, O Goddess, that impos'd Infinite sorrows on the Greeks, and many brave souls los'd. From breasts heroic; sent them far to that invisible cave That no light comforts; and their limbs to dogs and vultures gave;"
- George Chapman (1598)
"Anger be now your song, immortal one,
Akhilleus' anger, doomed and ruinous,
that caused the Akhaians loss on bitter loss
and crowded brave souls into the undergloom,
leaving so many dead men—carrion
for dogs and birds;"
- Robert Fitzgerald (1974)
"AN ANGRY MAN—THERE IS MY STORY: THE BITTER RANCOUR of Achillês, prince of the house of Peleus, which brought a thousand troubles upon the Achaian host. Many a strong soul it sent down to Hadês, and left the heroes themselves a prey to dogs and carrion birds,"
- W.H.D. Rouse (1938)
"Rage-Goddess sing the rage of Peleus' son Achilles, murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses, hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls, great fighters' souls, but made their bodies carrion, feasts for dogs and birds,"
- Robert Fagles (1990)
"I Thée beseech, O Goddesse milde, the hatefull hate to plaine,
Whereby Achilles was so wroong, and grewe in suche disdaine,
That thousandes of the Gréekish Dukes, in hard and heauie plight,
To Plutoes Courte did yéelde their soules, and gaping lay vpright,
Those sencelesse trunckes of burial voide, by them erst gaily borne,
By rauening curres, and carreine foules, in péeces to be torne.”
- Arthur Hall (1581)
"Anger--sing, goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that accursed anger, which brought the Greeks endless sufferings and sent the mighty sould of many warriors to Hades, leaving their bodies as carrion for the dogs and a feast for the birds;"
E.V. Rieu (1950)
As you can see, these excerpts say the same thing, but most writers can tell that most of these aren't literal translations but phrases that the translator felt expressed Homer's intent in modern English. Those who aren't used to reading classics might even think these guys are writing a new story but making sure the essential plot points are covered, which is probably true.
For example, Pope's version isn't literal, but he intended to change Homer's verses into modern poetry (for his era). Rieu intended to create a prose version as he felt it'd be more accessible to readers. Graves wanted to capture what he felt was the way the story was told back then, which was as a satire. Some of the writers reinterpreted an earlier translation, and so on.
Generally, if I find that a particular classic seems dry or (gasp) boring, my first step is to see if another translation is available. Many classics that started as non-English literature are only as good as the translator, and that can mean that one is looking for one that pleases you just as much as being true to the original author's work.
I had that problem with the Odyssey or the Tale Of Ullyses as some know it, in finding the various versions a bit dry or dull. Many people prefer it to the Iliad as the complex story appeals to modern readers. It might have struck a different chord if the story was more like Graves' assertion that the translations are bowdlerized from earlier, very rowdy folk versions.
It's plausible that the Odyssey was originally a ribald tale like Chaucer's work. Most people know "1001 The Arabian Nights" as a collection of fairy tales, but the translation by Sir Richard Burton (the explorer, not the actor) is a saucy, erotic version that makes more sense if the woman was telling the stories to distract the King who married women and executed them the next morning. Burton's bacchanalia, or romantic Hollywood love story, is technically a translation, and a reader can pick one or both.
One thing that can make a classic seem dull is if you see a movie version first. The stories in older literature often unfold at a slower pace, and films often stress action, insert values from a different culture, focus on stars, or do not even bother with being faithful to the book. For example, the movie "Decline And Fall Of The Roman Empire" (and "Gladiator" which had similar plot elements and characters) is only vaguely similar to the book, which was a non-fiction history book by Edward Gibbon, whose interpretation of events was in turn considered inaccurate by some critics.
One interesting situation is where the book and movie are different but excellent. "Ben Hur" by Lew Wallace is a good example. The movie version starring Charlton Heston is considered a classic, but most who've read the book find Wallace an excellent storyteller. I say "most" because there'll always be someone who won't like it.
One classic example of the book and movie having a different interpretation is "Last Of The Mohicans" by James Fenimore Cooper. The film was a hit, and I remember one review that claimed that it modernized and breathed new life into a "hoary old book."
As someone who loves the book so much that I've always kept a copy in my library, there are a few problems with that critic's statement:
1. The real Pathfinder was an older man who had an atavistic, almost pagan view of Christianity and had constant debates with a young preacher who wasn't in the movie. Those debates were unusually philosophical for the era. The older man was a crack shot and an experienced frontiersman who was eccentrically philosophical and entertainingly feral. He was a fascinating character.
2. The two Mohicans were, in many ways, the real heroes of the book. The father was extremely smart and proficient in hand-to-hand combat, and his son, Uncas, was dynamic and heroic. His death was a significant event. The Pathfinder character in the movie was a combination of the three, particularly Uncas, and the two Native Americans were transformed into stock sidekicks like Tonto of the Lone Ranger TV show. Add a little horniness and Braveheart-like macho, and you have the movie version in a nutshell.
3. The book was also about Mohican culture's extinction, represented by Uncas' death. Cooper did fall into the trap of having good and bad Indians, which corresponded to which tribes were allied with the British or Americans. Still, many book scenes featuring detailed conversations with or within the tribes were left out. It was very much a book about Native Americans.
Of course, that's my opinion. You might feel differently about the book and movie. However, the difference in interpretation between the movie and book examples isn't unlike the process of translation of classics. The English version can result from many factors, including the translator's command of the foreign language, what they think is the author's intent, any bias (like inserting a Christian view), how literal it should be, and the agenda.
The agenda is an essential factor. For example, the book and movie about "Spartacus," the Gladiator who led a rebellion against Rome, portrays him as a sensitive, monogamous Freedom Fighter who fought against the tyranny of Rome. The intent was to create a good versus evil tale. But, like most ancient wars, the real battle was probably brutal, as Spartacus must have understood what would happen if he lost.
My point is that's how Spartacus was portrayed in the 60s. I'm sure the tale was told differently in that era. If one sees how the perception of Native Americans evolved from barbarians to human beings, the different attitudes in each stage would be a bias that could affect the translation of any tribal stories or philosophies.
So, if that classic book you're reading seems a little dull, it may not be the original author's fault. But, on the other hand, don't get me started on Balzac or Tolstoy; I'm not sure any translation will make me want to read those books. Sometimes, you're just not going to like the author.
ON THE ROAD WITH AL & IVY: THE NOVEL
Reprint of Episode 2: Police Manhunt And A Visit From A God
Eleven-Thirty Saturday Night
Your face presses down on dirty wood,
dodging hot lead skimming over the dance floor
very sudden like,
A lead slug can show you quick
if the preacher's right on questions
you don't want answered right now,
One scared young dude
caught in bad company
in a juke joint full of souls running drunk.
- Manuscript Excerpt from Jook (June 1986)
Gleemon Street is lit up like grand opening night at a used car lot. The levee fence looks like an eerie grey screen with a black curtain behind it. No flood light can pierce the darkness behind it.
Another patrol car skids to a stop at the edge of the grass area surrounding the entrance. The cop is there to close it off as an escape route.
There are only two ways to go. If you're camped out on the West Bank of the Slough, then there's a dirt road heading west towards the orchards that run along the bank further down. If you're on the east bank side next to the fence, it's foolish to try and go down a 20-foot slope to cross the creek bed in the dark, so you head south and cut right at the fork towards the water pump station next to Highway 152 a half mile away.
You can hop the fence into a large cabbage field that borders the next shopping center, but the cops know this and already have a car stationed there. There's no point in coming back out. If you stay in the dark, you can move faster than the police can search.
My night vision returns along with a regular pulse; it wasn't me they were looking for. There are over a dozen police cars now. Some are in the adjacent parking lot with officers on foot searching with shotguns. Others are about a hundred yards off near the access gate, sealing off the main levee road entrance. I see flashlight beams moving south into the Slough, some stopping as they begin to come across the camps.
It's a manhunt, probably another armed robbery downtown. The police will try to herd the fugitive back into the parking lots or farm fields further south. Leaving isn't a bright idea. There'd just be more cops and lights in my face, each one having to decide whether to search me or shoot. If they're looking for a suspect on foot, then I'm safer parked between two police cars than driving off and possibly running into an armed dude who needs an escape vehicle.
The search continues for half an hour. Finally, I decide it's a good time to move into the North parking lot of the store but see that several other homeless have already done so. Too many, including one I suspect is a dealer, so I head over to the other side and patiently wait out the cop there that puts me under surveillance.
There's no point in moving about; I'll keep running into police screens. The best thing to do is just act like the homeless person I am, so the window shades go up, and sure enough, that's routine looking enough to satisfy the cop, who then drives off. Only a homeless person would sack out in the middle of a dragnet.
I can't stay here. This lot section is a transit route for the druggies who come out to begin the early morning ice or ecstasy ritual of whooping and hollering, throwing off clothes, and getting into arguments with truckers and third-shift store employees out collecting carts.
As I begin to leave, a tall young-looking homeless guy comes through a break in the fence line, known around here as the south gate, walking towards me and mouthing some nonsensical words. I don't stare or do anything that could be interpreted as aggression.
The angry ones are easy to avoid, you can hear them coming, and they're already pissed off at something else. The ones that just stare and smile scare me; they're still looking for trouble. I watch as he saunters away, taking off his shirt, throwing it on a small tree, and singing some song at the top of his lungs. Molly's got his blood boiling, and he'll keep stripping until the cops pick him up.
I return to Gleemon Street and see that the squad cars are gone, so I park in the same place. I don't have a better plan anyway. Besides, after all the excitement, the area should be quiet.
I look over and see that Ivy has fallen asleep, which means no trouble. She stays wired if there's any disturbance within fifty yards. This isn't a good night to stretch out in a sleeping bag, so I curl up in the front seat and stare at the old cloth canopy starting to come down like a big brown bubble.
After a few months in the car, I've begun to hear voices, like a conference call with God, Ivy, and others speaking in and out of turn. I don't get disturbed hearing them, I've talked to myself often enough to know which one is me, but God help me the day I can no longer tell. There are a lot of people like that out there on the levee.
I carelessly open a window to let in cool air. A tall, muscular bald guy, kinda biker-like, suddenly comes to view in front, stands off about ten feet, then shows his hands and hails me, "Hello Car," in the old Wild West Style of approaching a strange camp, begins to approach slowly. That's how a stranger tells another on the street that they mean no harm. If it was an attack, it'd have come suddenly from behind.
I silently curse; it's a rookie mistake to open a window without checking, but suddenly closing it could be seen as a sign of fear or panic. You never know how a stranger will react to that. I act nonchalant, which is a safe move as it won't trigger any defensive reaction. He's probably scared, too. Even the big bulls can get humbled right quick out here. I smile and greet him with the casual air of a fellow street urchin but don't show my hands. It's better to leave a little doubt, and that makes him hesitate and stop a few feet away.
It's just a meth head still in high gear, and now comes a ten-minute speech about how harmless he is, which is good to hear from someone who looks strong enough to twist my head off. He continues with a long monologue punctuated with broad sweeping hand gestures and, at one point, pretending to run somewhere. It sounds like he's having a good night; the verbal riffing moves along like a rock and roll anthem with a great guitar solo in the middle.
I lay back in the seat, right hand discreetly covering a metal bar and pepper spray, listening to Ivy's snoring, and gazing at the stars as he drones on and on. It's stupid to use a knife out here. If I bruise his head or hands with the baton, that's the end of it. He probably wouldn't even remember how he got it. A stab wound gets reported, and we both end up in jail.
The meth must be nice and soft because he's soaring, feeling like a benevolent God, and tonight we're under his protection. The monologue slows down, and I sense it's safe to pretend to yawn and close the window. He nods and moves on, still talking, and the night becomes quiet.
I'm drifting off, beginning to dream, regret, blame, and wish for things. I'm exhausted but prepared to drive off if I see the guy coming back. He'd be coming from the rear this time and had a good look at the car and its contents. I only average three hours of sleep a night, so staying vigilant's a struggle. Sometime during that process, sleep comes, and then it's just the dreams.
This one dream comes often enough that I remember it after waking. I'm on a stage, playing music, and there's no audience, just blackness. The band members vary over time; sometimes, friends or family, strangers, the faces change. Other times I can see an audience, but I'm alone, playing this acoustic guitar with my ear pressed to the sound hole, listening to the echo. Lately, it's been with past friends with a packed audience, all in a happy mood, but I'm standing there, indifferent to it all, and there's just silence. Finally, I walk off the stage and then wake up, and for the rest of the day, the music that usually runs through my head is absent, with no desire to hear any.
A few months ago, a night like this would have made me look elsewhere for a place to sleep, but now, in the sticky hot summer of 2016, I know that this is as good a place as any, and settle down for a stay that'll last until this seam closes and it's time to scatter with the other homeless to find another crack in the wall.
END OF EPISODE
UPDATE ON ON THE ROAD WITH AL & IVY: THE ANTHOLOGY VOL. 1 (2016-2018)
I’ll be pulling this ebook off Kindle Unlimited sometime this month and will resume free distribution on other sites. The main reason, besides shifting the focus to wider readership is that this Anthology will come out as a revised version sometime this year. I’ve obtained most of the social media posts from this period and will insert edited versions into the book in chronological order. This adds the day to day observations and activities which will add continuity and many of the blog entries will make more sense in context. Also, I’ll add new commentary to make this volume feel like a chronological account of the period. Until then, it makes sense to make this version free to increase interest in the new edition.
Here's info on each of my Vella books:
The Quitters
https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B09PC3L6PC
I, Ivy
https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0B3RCBT4D
The Forbidden Lost Gospels Of Murgatroyde
https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0BJ2TW4P1
The Boogie Underground Think Tank: How To Survive The End Of Civilization
https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0BG6LNXTG
The Adventures Of Queen Khleopahtra: Ruler Of Egypt, Time Traveler, and Literary Detective
https://www.amazon.com/kindle-vella/story/B0BJC122G7
