Not lost in translation, but found!

Translated from Norwegian

 

I always feel a little proud when I wander into a bookshop in Berlin or Paris and see the cover of a novel by a Norwegian author. Almost a bit surprised. Even if Norway isn’t a small country, Norwegian is definitely a small language.

Lacking language can make absolutely anyone feel small. Just like the main character, Bob, in Sofia Coppola’s film Lost in Translation, who arrives in Tokyo, doesn’t understand a thing, and feels completely “lost”. He utters a single word, then a short sentence in English, and the interpreter translates this into a stream of expressions and sentences in Japanese. He becomes an alien.

The late major general Bjørn Egge talked about his assignments in Africa and the struggle to develop a relationship with the local authorities. Major General Egge spoke and the interpreter interpreted. But his African counterpart just shook his head and said that the “soul” of his message was lost on the way.

Good translation of literature involves making sure that the soul doesn’t get lost on the way. It may be banal, but it is worth repeating: language is important, in fact crucial for interpersonal relationships. And for that reason language is also crucial for relations between cultures, nations and states. We need to make ourselves understood. We need arenas, languages and good conditions for dialogue. That is why we need other countries’ literature, other voices and perspectives. They give us insight. And just as importantly, we need independent, critical voices from outside.

So our ambition is as follows: We, too, need to be understood in a way that goes beyond the messages of official authorities and embassy websites. We need people from outside to gain insight into what Norwegian authors are writing. In our interconnected world, cultural understanding, our international reputation and what we communicate outwardly are becoming ever more important.

Recently 124 translators were gathered at a conference in Norway, hosted by the foundation for promoting Norwegian literature abroad, Norla. It was the largest gathering of translators of Norwegian to date, with experts in translating Norwegian texts to Arabic, Russian, English, French and other world languages. But it was equally fascinating to see that Norwegian is translated into other small languages: Icelandic, Estonian, Lithuanian, Catalonian. Altogether, 31 different languages were represented. A veritable Tower of Babel – but without the confusion.

When I met them, it struck me that a broader picture of Norway is taking shape abroad. Norway has 109 diplomatic and consular missions – and at least 124 translators. Which of these is most important for conveying the essence of what is Norwegian?  Both, I would say. Together, they say something about our presence abroad; our ability to communicate Norwegian interests, Norwegian culture, Norwegian voices, and to convey an impression of Norway as a country. Translated Norwegian literature that is available abroad makes us visible, and leaves footprints, or keystrokes, internationally.

Translators are a select group that seldom “get lost”. It would be more correct to say Found in Translation. They are not lost, but rather they are path-finders. We can appreciate, for instance, the challenges involved in recreating the atmosphere of Lars Saabye Christensen’s novel The Half Brother in other languages. In this way, translators are industrious: they discover good texts, convey their soul, the various levels of meaning words have, the context, the inner logic, they master the codes, the keys. For the rest of us. They are the special envoys of our language – and there are at least 124 of them. Nobel Prize winner José Saramago has apparently commented that authors write national literature, but translators write world literature.

In Salman Rushdie’s The Enchantress of Florence: A Novel, Rushdie describes how the world 400 years ago seemed to be so much “larger” than people had believed it to be, and how people for a long time, and quite literally, had feared the end of the world. In our era, what is dramatic is perhaps the fact that the world seems much “smaller” than we had thought, that all the world’s conflicts seem so close to us. But perhaps we have something in common even so, because in the face of today’s major global problems there are still people who fear that the end of the world is nigh.

Literature makes the world both larger and smaller at the same time. Literature gives us a deeper understanding of time and space, and provides arenas for communication, contact and the exchange of experience. That is why international politics needs art and culture. Not to serve a particular political ideology – the author’s absolute freedom of opinion must be safeguarded – but as a means of gaining insight. Literature provides a route to self-knowledge. And perhaps most importantly of all: it allows others to see us.

In order for this to happen, the great literature of the small languages must also find its way out into the world. In 1872, Henrik Ibsen wrote from his home in Dresden to Edmund Gosse, the first of his translators to English:

“...nor is there any public into whose world of reading I should be prouder to be introduced than the English. (...) – for which reason it has been especially painful to me that language should set a barrier between my writing and the whole of this great related world.” [Unofficial translation, based on Michael Meyer]

 

Much can be said about the first translations of Ibsen’s works to English, but whatever their shortcomings, Ibsen quickly became international ­ – or rather, universal. Because of his writing. But without the translators, “this great related world” would have remained out of his reach.

The challenge, then, is to be “introduced” into another “world of reading”. This is happening to an increasing number of authors. Norwegian literature is once again becoming international, greatly aided by the fact that our leading authors are attracting media attention and winning prizes. The results of systematic efforts are becoming apparent: the number of translations has grown significantly, from 100 translations in 2005 to almost 300 successful translation applications in 2008. Fifty countries received funding for translation in 2008, twenty more than in 2007. Over the last three years, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs has increased its funding for cultural cooperation with other countries – including funding for literature projects – and it has made a major effort to internationalise Norwegian literature, as part of the Government’s arts promotion programme.

But people count for more than money. For many years, Norla and Norwegian publishers, often with the help of embassies and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, have sought out capable translators. They have given them support and helped with their studies, their further training and their visits to Norway. And they have helped provide contacts and facilitated the translators’ participation at courses, seminars and book festivals. In other words, they have helped them develop to their full potential. Translators are often the key links in a value chain. Quite apart from their language skills, they also act as points of contact for foreign publishers. They know the authors, publishing agents and markets at local level. They are foot soldiers and talent scouts in the literary landscape that we must nurture.

For, as Salman Rushdie makes plain, all human beings, all peoples, have a deeply-felt need to have their stories and narratives told. We also want to reach others with our stories. We may then find that our stories resemble those from quite different corners of the world. That Norwegian culture does not differ so greatly from that of other countries. And that we are all part of a single global “we”. I am reminded once again of a perceptive quote from Lost in Translation:  “Sometimes you have to go half way around the world to come full circle.”