Found in Translation

Lítost in Translation
The Czech author Milan Kundera is known for being very particular about his translations. Given
that he himself was deeply involved in his own translation between Czech and French, that may not
be surprising. In fact, Kundera’s Book of Laughter and Forgetting questions the concept of
translation itself: “Lítost is an untranslatable Czech word. Its first syllable, which is long and
stressed, sounds like the wail of an abandoned dog. As for the meaning of this word, I have looked
in vain in other languages for an equivalent, though I find it difficult to imagine how anyone can
understand the human soul without it” (translation by Aaron Asher). Some describe it as a
combination of grief, sympathy, remorse, and longing, but Kundera’s translators wisely followed
the author’s instructions and left lítost untranslated.
Pick a Name, Any Name
Denys Johnson-Davies has a different take on the translator ’s role in writing
literature. He is the most well known and prolific Arabic-into-English literary
translator as well as the first translator into English of the works of another
Nobel Prize winner, Egyptian author Naguib Mahfouz.
When he was working on the translation of Mahfouz’s Conjurer Made off
with the Dish, Johnson-Davies came to the final paragraph and could not make
sense of the meaning. He asked an Egyptian friend for help, but the friend was
equally stymied. Finally he called Mahfouz himself, and the author admitted
that the printers had omitted an entire line of essential text in the story’s
conclusion. Johnson-Davies was the first to notice the omission.
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It’s not an isolated experience for Johnson-Davies, who is quick to point out
that the blame lies squarely with the young and inexperienced Arabic
publishing industry, which he believes is not as well staffed with editors as it
should be. However, even authors are not immune to the general prevailing
sloppiness. While translating a short Mahfouz novel called The Journey of Ibn
Fattouma, a sort of Egyptian Pilgrim’s Progress, he realized that the hero’s
name abruptly changes in the middle of the book. Again he called Mahfouz,
who seemed amused at his discovery.
“So which name shall I call him?” Johnson-Davies asked.
“Choose whichever you like best,” Mahfouz replied with a laugh.
Though the author ’s apathy may have frustrated Johnson-Davies, he still
recommended him as the premier Arabic author when the Nobel Prize
committee representative came calling for a short list of nominees. It’s a
revealing story of the extraordinary cultural power wielded by a translator,
even though, as Johnson-Davies often bemoans, “Translation is real hard
work. It’s also not appreciated.”
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