Apropos of Ideology

Translation Studies on Ideology – Ideologies in

Translation Studies

Edited by
María Calzada Pérez
First published 2003 by St. Jerome Publishing

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ISBN 13: 978-1-900650-51-9 (pbk)

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Apropos of ideology : translation studies on ideology, ideologies in transla-
tion studies / edited by María Calzada Pérez.
p. cm.
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 1-900650-51-7 (pbk. : alk. paper)
1. Translating and interpreting. I. Pérez, María Calzada.
PN241 .A66 2002
418'.02--dc21
2002014787
I FORGET YOUR NAME
I DON’T THINK
I BURY MY HEAD
I BURY YOUR HEAD
I BURY YOU
(Jenny Holzer)
This page intentionally left blank
Contents

Introduction 1
María Calzada Pérez

Third Ways and New Centres 23

Ideological Unity Or Difference?
Christina Schäffner

‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’ 43

Reading Ideology in the ‘Bindings’ of Translations
Keith Harvey

(Mis)Translating Degree Zero 71

Ideology and Conceptual Art
Mª Carmen África Vidal Claramonte

Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation 89

Christiane Nord

The Translation Bureau Revisited 113

Translation as Symbol
Ôehnaz Tah¥r-GhrHa™lar

Submerged Ideologies in Media Interpreting 131

David Katan and Francesco Straniero-Sergio

The Manipulation of Language 145

and Culture in Film Translation
Peter Fawcett

The Power of Originals and the Scandal of Translation 165

A Reading of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Oval Portrait”
Rosemary Arrojo

Ideology and the Position of the Translator 181

In What Sense is a Translator ‘In Between’?
Maria Tymoczko
Contributors: A Short Profile 203

References 207

Subject Index 225

Author Index 227

Acknowledgements

Extracts of Jenny Holzer’s Truisms, Inflamatory Essays, The Living Se-

ries, Under a Rock, and Laments displayed at the Solomon R. Guggenheim
Museum for the 1989-1990 exhibition, © Jenny Holzer, VEGAP, 2001.
Introduction
MARÍA CALZADA PÉREZ

1. Why Ideology?
It is a truism that translation is as old as humankind. Ideology, for its part,
is hardly a new phenomenon either. Likewise, the combination of cross-
cultural encounters and ideological pressures has permeated history.
Examples abound. Goldenberg (2000), for instance, points out that – in
the Spanish-American War of 1898 – presses played crucial roles in the
construction of public opinion regarding their own countries and ‘the
Other’. Original (ST) and translated (TT) documents contributed to forg-
ing ideological stereotypes. These were intentionally sought to raise
support for a war that was to change the global order and the hegemonic
discourse of the time.
Therefore, the cross-cultural ideological tensions that mark the turn of
the millennium are actually nothing new, despite the growing concern
they are causing. However, they do contain certain features that make
them, in many ways, unusual and unique. Their idiosyncratic nature
mainly stems from what is known as globalization: a widely spread neolo-
gism that could be seen to designate a form of cultural and economic
colonialism.
Whereas, before, tensions were limited by geographical and chrono-
logical factors and mainly affected certain social strata directly, now the
homogenizing force of globalization is all the greater because it can reach
all places and all social levels very fast. To this end, new means of com-
munication (notably the Internet) and media (e.g. satellite and digital
television) are being put to use. It is this overwhelming strength of glo-
balization that worries thinkers like Maalouf (1999:152) when he argues:

I am convinced that globalization is a threat to cultural diversity,

especially to diversity of languages and lifestyles; and that this
threat is even infinitely greater than in the past [...]1

Concern about these globalized ideological tensions is resulting in increas-

ing interest on the part of a variety of disciplines ranging from political

1
All translations into English are my own.
2 Introduction

science and anthropology through sociology and cultural studies to lin-

guistics. Linguistics, for example, has developed a relatively new trend of
research – critical discourse analysis (CDA) – whose primary aim is to
expose the ideological forces that underlie communicative exchanges.
This is the common goal of an approach that is far from homogeneous.
According to Fairclough and Wodak (1997:262-268), there are at least
six main strands within CDA – French discourse analysis (e.g. Pêcheux);
the discoursal-historical method (e.g. Wodak); Van Dijk’s socio-cognitive
school; Fairclough’s emphasis on socio-cultural/discursive change; so-
cial semiotics (e.g. Kress) and critical linguistics (e.g. Fowler). All of them
use slightly different tools and methodologies for their work.
This, of course, does not exhaust the viewpoints from which cross-
cultural ideological phenomena may be – and are indeed being – examined.
Translation studies (TS) have a great deal to say about these issues. In
fact, it has been doing so for over a decade now. TS dig into ideological
phenomena for a variety of reasons. All language use is, as CDA con-
tenders claim, ideological. Translation is an operation carried out on
language use. This undoubtedly means that translation itself is always a
site of ideological encounters (which often turn ‘sour’). Fawcett (1998:
107), for instance, provides an eloquent illustration of how

throughout the centuries, individuals and institutions have ap-

plied their particular beliefs to the production of certain effects
in translation.

Ranging from the Middle Ages to the present day, Fawcett’s chosen cases
show that translations have been ideological simply by existing (like
Ælfric’s transfer of The Life of the Saints); by being subjected to various
forms of (religious) creeds, which ultimately took translators to be burnt
at the stake or to be threatened (and killed) by notorious fatwas; or by
echoing all sorts of value-related messages such as Marxism:

As in all good dialectical practice, the thesis (source language)

and the antithesis (target language) are resolved in the synthesis of
translation. (Fawcett 1998:110)

Furthermore, ideological phenomena may also be legitimately ap-

proached from a TS vantage point because, as Emily Apfer (2001)
argues, globalization is resulting in an in-built form of (Anglo-American)
translatability at which “global artists, video makers and writers con-
María Calzada Pérez 3

sciously or unconsciously” aim. If globalization is unleashing transla-

tional mechanisms even within monolingual artefacts, this seems to hint
at an ever-increasing need for TS expertise. It is not without reason, then,
that Apfer (2001:online) makes a point of stressing TS’s important contri-
bution to ideologically-related matters:

When the problem of a globalizing mass culture and public cul-

ture is approached from the perspective of translatability, new
and important questions of cultural commodification and thus,
ideology, arise.

Hence, both the present interest in today’s cross-cultural ideological phe-

nomena and their undoubted relation to the field of translation studies (of
which we have only presented a handful of arguments here) explain
the reason for a book like Apropos of Ideology. Translation Studies on
Ideology – Ideologies in Translation Studies. The main aim of this com-
pilation of articles is, thus, to encourage a debate on ideology in translation
studies which contributes to the discussion that is currently taking place
at various levels. However, to understand what this aim fully entails I will
now consider the concepts of ‘ideology’ (section 2) and ‘translation stud-
ies’ (section 3). A detailed structure of the volume, with an overview of
the articles it contains, follows (section 4).

2. On Ideology

There are so many definitions of ideology that it is impossible to review

all of them here.2 Such a profusion tends to confuse scholars and lay read-
ers alike. For the latter, “An ideology is a belief or a set of ideas, especially
the political beliefs on which people, parties, or countries base their ac-
tions” (Collins Cobuild s.v.). The common political slant of the term
often merges with negative undertones so that, for Van Dijk (1998:2), it
is sometimes “taken as a system of wrong, false, distorted or otherwise
misguided beliefs”. This is, of course, the legacy of a Marxist (and neo-
Marxist) tradition which saw ideology as tantamount to political
domination, in the form of covert manipulation, and always related to

2
For a brief outlook of the history of the term and copious bibliography on the topic,
see, for instance, Larrain (1979); Thompson (1990); Eagleton (1991); Hawkes (1996);
or Van Dijk (1998).
4 Introduction

the concepts of power and hegemony (in the Gramscian sense). Along
these lines, ideology is imposed surreptitiously. It gradually becomes
everyday, common thinking. The more naturalized it is, the more suc-
cessful it becomes amongst its subjugated citizens. This is precisely why,
according to Van Dijk (1998:2),

few of ‘us’ (in the West or elsewhere) describe our own belief
systems or convictions as ‘ideologies’. On the contrary, Ours is
the Truth, Theirs is the Ideology.

In this sense, ideology is a pernicious, destructive force that should be

opposed, fought, and conquered. However, the political definition of ide-
ology does not need to be tied to these ‘negative’ (destructive) echoes.
Kellner (in Illuminations. The Critical Theory Website) explains that,
within the Marxian tradition itself, more ‘positive’ (constructive) ap-
proaches, have also developed. These are particularly associated with
Lenin, who described Socialist ideology as a force that encourages revo-
lutionary consciousness and fosters progress. Merging the negative/
destructive and positive/constructive connotations Kellner (online: 3) de-
scribes the term as:

‘Janus-faced’, two-sided: it contains errors, mystifications and tech-

niques of manipulation and domination, but it also contains a
utopian residue that can be used for social critique and to advance
progressive politics.

The political definition of ideology has indeed had a direct influence on

today’s academia. Some theorists remain ‘faithful’ to ideology’s most
political undertones because, as Fairclough (1995:16) for instance explains:

My view is that the abuses and contradictions of capitalist society

which gave rise to critical theory have not been diminished, nor
have the characteristics of discursive practices within capitalist
society which gave rise to critical discourse analysis.

Sometimes these scholars underline the negative connotations of the term,

in which case they link ideologies to the dominant social power and sup-
port the following definition (reproduced by Eagleton 1991:30):

Ideas and beliefs which help to legitimate the interest of a ruling

group or class by distortion or dissimulation.
María Calzada Pérez 5

On other occasions, however, they put an emphasis on ideology’s most

positive side. Ideology is now viewed as a vehicle to promote or le-
gitimate interests of a particular social group (rather than a means to
destroy contenders).
The political definitions of ideology have also had a refracted impact
upon other members of the language-related and TS academic commu-
nity. These scholars realize the importance of the concept as a set of ideas,
which organize our lives and help us understand the relationship to our
environment. They contend that certain ideologies become naturalized or
common, whereas others are pushed aside to the edges of our societies.
For them, some ideologies are dominant, they are more useful to succeed
in public spheres while others remain chained to more domestic settings.
However, they refuse to constrain the term to its purely political meaning.
So they open it up to a wider definition. For Verschueren, editor of a
compilation on Language and Ideology:

Ideology is interpreted as any constellation of beliefs or ideas,

bearing on an aspect of social reality, which are experienced as
fundamental or commonsensical and which can be observed to play
a normative role. (1999:Preface)

After reviewing various definitions, Van Dijk (1998:48-9) agrees with

Verschueren:

[...] an ideology is the set of factual and evaluative beliefs – that

is the knowledge and the opinions – of a group [...] In other words,
a bit like the axioms of a formal system, ideologies consist of
those general and abstract social beliefs and opinions (attitudes)
of a group.

Briefly, the definition of ideology I want to put forward and pursue in this
volume is – like Verschueren’s or Van Dijk’s – not limited to political
spheres. Instead, it allows researchers to investigate modes of thinking,
forms of evaluating, and codes of behaviour which govern a community
by virtue of being regarded as the norm.
There is a final issue that often causes confusion amongst scholars;
that is, the distinction between culture and ideology. Whereas the latter,
as we have just argued, consists of “the set of ideas, values and beliefs
that govern a community by virtue of being regarded as the norm”
(Calzada-Pérez 1997:35), culture is commonly taken to be “an integrated
6 Introduction

system of learned behavior patterns that are characteristic of the mem-

bers of any given society” (Khol 1984:17). Both definitions certainly
overlap and the difference between them may be so subtle that academ-
ics such as Fawcett (1998:106) openly ask: “When is something ideology
rather than culture?”.
Just answering this question to the full would probably entail a vol-
ume on its own and it is not our intention to provide any definite answers
to this specific question in this introduction. Suffice it here to say that we
have foregrounded ‘ideology’ rather than ‘culture’ for two main reasons.
Firstly, everyday ‘culture’ is normally related to what is conventionally
known as ‘society’, in its ethnic sense of “the community of people living
in a particular country or region and having shared customs, laws and
organizations” (New OED 1998 s.v.). Our definition of ideology aims at
enlarging this ethnic framework. Ideology, as is understood here, not only
affects ‘societies’. It permeates (identity) groups of the most varied na-
ture, which would not always relate to the conventional meaning of
‘society’. Disparate communities such as the gay scene or TV interpreters
may be the setting of ideological phenomena which would not strictly
qualify as cultural.
And secondly, in the same way that ideology has been traditionally
associated with negative – political – connotations, culture is normally
tied to positive – ‘philanthropic’ – features. Looking into the former seems
to encourage greater ‘critical thinking’. Cultures are often regarded as
traditions, pasts, roots or knowledge; in short, heritages. Being ‘critical’
with our own cultures can be seen by some as ‘risky’ and ‘inappropriate’
as it is ‘politically incorrect’ to criticize other cultures openly. By
foregrounding ‘ideology’ rather than culture we want to encourage (self)-
criticism from various standpoints within translation studies.

3. On Translation Studies

Apropos of Ideology. Translation Studies on Ideology – Ideologies in

Translation Studies has a twofold aim, represented by its two running
titles. On the one hand, it is a compilation on ideology, in the sense we
have already specified in the previous section. On the other, it is a book
clearly conceived within TS. It revolves also, therefore, around ‘Ideolo-
gies in TS’. This section tackles the latter.
Holmes’ (1988) mapping of our discipline has arguably become a stand-
ard amongst TS (theoretical and practical) communities. However, this
María Calzada Pérez 7

does not mean that TS is either unified or homogeneous. On the contrary,

it is a conglomerate of dissimilar approaches or trends to which Snell-
Hornby et al. (1994), for example, has referred as an ‘interdiscipline’.
Each of these approaches or trends favours its own set of ideas and be-
liefs about the translating task and about the world that surrounds it, and
each has its own mechanisms to perpetuate itself amongst (would-be) fol-
lowers. Ultimately, translation scholars become ideological channels that
(re)produce and (re)create translational behaviour to its most minute de-
tail. Translators qua translators build their identities upon the (artificial)
‘certainties’ that they grasp in these different ideological ‘niches’. Robinson
(online) makes critical remarks about the ideological certainties of both
our discipline and practice:

Translators know certain things: how to regulate the degree of ‘fi-

delity’ with the source text, how to tell what degree and type of
fidelity is appropriate in specific use contexts, how to receive and
deliver translations, how to charge them, how to find help with
terminology, how to talk and generally act as a professional, and
so on. Translators are those people who know these things, and
who let their knowledge govern their behavior. And that knowl-
edge is ideological. It is controlled by ideological norms [...]. If
you want to become a translator you must submit to the transla-
tor’s submissive role, submit to being ‘possessed’ by what
ideological norms inform you [...]

In sum, translators translate according to the ideological settings in which

they learn and perform their tasks. These settings are varied and have
resulted in a rich ‘concoction’ of ideologies. Feminists, functionalists,
descriptive and polysystemic scholars, sociolinguistic researchers,
postcolonial exegetes, corpus studies propounders, critical linguistic
theorists, gay and lesbian academics, semioticians, contrastive linguists
embody some of the very many ‘ideologies’ that make up TS. Neverthe-
less, throughout history, the varied range of TS has often been reduced to
series of polar opposites. Studies in our discipline have been presented as
in favour of either literal or free strategies; scholars have been classified
into literary or non-literary traditions; approaches have been segregated
as theoretical or practical; and so on and so forth. TS’s ideological com-
plexity has also been jeopardized by the latest of these academic
simplifications: strands are either located within cultural studies or ‘pure’
linguistics. It is already well known that, in its most extreme version, this
8 Introduction

dichotomy would claim that linguistically-orientated approaches to trans-

lational phenomena are mainly descriptive studies focusing on textual
form and failing to address wider, ideological issues. Cultural studies,
for its part, targets these issues but would have no systematic formal
framework of analysis.
Furthermore, these two sides – as Baker (1996) shows – have been
depicted as isolated contenders that can neither communicate nor work
together; that constantly attack and exclude each other, disregarding the
numerous instances of research in which they do indeed come together.
However, more and more voices are currently being raised to contest
the dichotomy. Amongst them, Maria Tymoczko (1999:140) has always
worked to propound that “seemingly divergent or antithetical transla-
tion traditions can function in complementary and symbiotic ways”. For
example, both in Tymoczko (1999) and (2000) she uses descriptive tools
to uncover explanatory, ideological material via the analysis of textual
and paratextual data.
This compilation of papers on ideology is born out of both centripetal
and centrifugal forces. On the one hand, because of centripetal forces, we
want to claim that TS is much richer than the binomial opposites men-
tioned above would suggest. With Ulrych and Bollettieri Bosinelli
(1999:238), we believe that:

[...] there now exists a variegated and consolidated core of transla-

tion scholars working within a variety of approaches and with a
variety of methodologies but all focusing on the ultimate aim of
furthering their knowledge and understanding of translation as a
phenomenon per se.

On the other hand, centrifugal pressures lead us to argue that all these
different ideological trends need to approach each other in order to foster
dialogue and fusion. The merging of dissimilar issues and approaches
around the notion of ideology is one of the main contributions of this
book. In effect, whereas it focuses on ideological phenomena of various
kinds and from various TS perspectives, it nevertheless, gathers material
that up until now would probably be found in separate volumes. We ad-
mit the inspiration of three previous volumes: Dingwaney and Maier
(1995); Bowker et al. (1998); and Simms (1997).
Dingwaney and Maier’s work is an exciting project owing especially
to its multidisciplinary nature. Amongst its varied range of contributors
are poets and writers, social and community workers, sculptors and lec-
María Calzada Pérez 9

turers in diverse fields: literature, anthropology, law, applied linguistics,

cultural studies and religion. It is precisely this multidisciplinarity which
has served as a model for Apropos of Ideology. As mentioned above, the
work seeks to merge different traditions in order to give a richer, more
dynamic view of ideological matters in translation. At the same time, we
propose to draw on the interdisciplinarity of TS itself, rather than to re-
sort to external disciplines.
In turn, Bowker et al. (1998) is really a book on the various ideologies
within TS and it inspires our theoretical/ideological scope. It approaches
a wide variety of topics (e.g. feminism, bilingualism, nationalism, sub-
titling, machine translation, etc.) from dissimilar ideological viewpoints.
Cultural studies, descriptive translation studies, computer-aided transla-
tion, and interpreting are represented in this compilation. Our contributions,
for their part, seek to maintain TS ideological variety. However, they fo-
cus on ideologically related matters only.
Finally, Simms (1997) is, in many ways, a similar product to the
present compilation. It includes articles on ideology from different TS
traditions. Nevertheless, while it concentrates on linguistic descriptions
of legal, religious, political,… products, it excludes other forms of re-
search, such as – for example – poststructuralist criticism. Apropos of
Ideology sets off with the intention of providing an eclectic, though clearly
not exhaustive, picture of the topic.

4. About this book

Apropos of Ideology follows a specific to general approach regarding the
notion of ideology. It starts off with the definition of this concept as po-
litical thinking, but gradually incorporates other sites of ideological
engagement like gender, sexual identity, religion, secularity, technology
and translation studies self-criticism.
The political focus is provided by Christina Schäffner who, in ‘Third
Ways and New Centres – Ideological Unity or Difference?’, examines
a joint manifesto produced by the British Labour Party and the German
Social Democratic Party in 1999. Schäffner moves from establishing the
political background through analyzing ideological features of text pro-
duction to probing the ideological considerations reflected by the text itself.
As far as the political background is concerned, she briefly introduces
the British and German status quo and then reviews the process of co-
writing (as the result of either parallel work or ‘traditional’ translation).
10 Introduction

When examining text production, the author discusses the extratextual

factors which surround the document under scrutiny and which make
up this ‘peculiar’ form of translational event combining parallel writing
and translation. The agents of this mixed process are not individual con-
ventional translators, but a team of (unknown) writers who, though
politically minded, are not normally connected to translating tasks. Both
the British and German versions were ultimately supervised by the then-
influential Peter Mandelson and Bobo Hombach and were designed to
behave as equifunctional texts, theoretically aiming at comparable ad-
dressees with comparable needs and expectations. In effect, the texts
ended up fulfilling different functions in what were indeed very differ-
ent social (and linguistic) contexts. These contextual dissimilarities are
clearly portrayed by textural features of the manifestos. Straightforward
concepts such as ‘social justice’, ‘state’, ‘community’, ‘partnership’ have
different (semantic) histories in Britain and Germany and this has clear
effects on final translations.
Schäffner’s paper may, consequently, be seen as the classical top-down
approach to ideological phenomena. There are certain elements that make
the text innovative. Firstly, while focusing her definition of ideology on
politics, she broadens the most traditional descriptions of translation, in
order to incorporate cross-cultural practices, such as parallel writing, that
some voices (within TS) would leave outside its scope. Admittedly, this
is not an entirely new stand, since other TS scholars – notably Bassnett
and Lefevere – have supported this theoretical ‘enlargement’ for some
time now. Schäffner shows that linguistic-oriented voices actively con-
tribute to this enlargement. Secondly, like the other contributors to this
volume, Schäffner implicitly argues against the pure and neat categoriza-
tion of TS schools when she borrows, for her study, tools from critical
discourse analysis (the textual/contextual link, for example), descriptive
translation studies (translational events), German functionalism (empha-
sis on TT clients and reception; Nord’s extra- and intra-textual components)
and cognitive and text linguistics (frames, schemata, metaphors,...).
Finally, if linguistically-oriented research on translation has been ac-
cused of being detached from the real world, Schäffner proves this criticism
wrong when she presents a linguistically-oriented article full of names
that were certainly internationally recognized at the time when the mani-
festo was produced (i.e. Mandelson, Hombach, Lafontaine). As Vidal
Claramonte (1998:8) suggests, the author shows that translation studies
‘is in this world’.
María Calzada Pérez 11

TS’s active involvement in the world remains a constant in this book

and is clearly endorsed by Keith Harvey’s “‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’:
Reading Ideology in the ‘Bindings’ of Translations”. Here, after re-
viewing the apparently antithetical concepts of individual agency and
social determinism, the author synthesizes them by drawing on the works
of Fairclough and Berman in his discussion of the translations of three
American gay novels: John Rechy’s Rushes; Larry Kramer’s Faggots
and Andrew Holleran’s Dancer from the Dance. Harvey concentrates
on their translated titles, cover photos, and blurbs (his ‘binding’ or ‘per-
ipherals’) to examine the repercussions in the receiving environment of
what he calls “agency of the translation as event” (versus the responsi-
bility of individual translators).
While complementing Schäffner’s definition of ideology with issues
related to gay identity, the author fully coincides with the latter in the use
of eclectic sources to enrich the scope of translation studies.
Harvey’s contribution is, in fact, a fitting illustration of how TS schol-
ars can promote a multifaceted (methodological and formal) alternative
agenda from a relatively ‘traditional’ point of departure. In other words,
when the author initially takes up the theoretical challenge of reconciling
agency and determinism, events and systems, human behaviour and his-
tory, he is hardly taking on a new task. However, in the actual analysis of
his corpus he implements an ‘interactional/interventionist’ working pro-
tocol, which sets his ‘alternative agenda’ in motion.
Harvey’s agenda is alternative firstly because his actual methodology
is alternative. He favours the exploration of what Tymoczko (2000:26)
would call ‘the perlocutionary dimension’ of target texts; that is their ef-
fects amongst the target readership. While today’s TS on ideology is
basically dominated by – much needed – causal studies of translations
(see Schäffner in this volume, for example), he chooses to do otherwise.
In other words, Harvey not only isolates plausible reasons for his textural
material. He also identifies (potential) repercussions on the readership.
Furthermore, he manages to avoid essentialist divisions between causations
and repercussions (systems and agency) (cf. Chesterman and Arrojo 2000).
In this sense, Harvey shows that translation agency – his focus of study –
is a complex concept which has systemic causes and, at the same time,
leaves a constitutive imprint on the target site.
Harvey’s agenda is alternative secondly because his subject of analy-
sis – translating American gay fiction into French – differs from other,
more ‘conservative’ topics. Consequently, he shows an interest in
12 Introduction

‘minoritized’ translational realities while again escaping essentialist

thinking. He underlines the fact that majorities and minorities are not
clear-cut, monolithic categories, but that they change with time and ap-
pear intermingled: minorities within majorities and vice versa. The topic
chosen by the scholar brings to the fore his academic affiliation with
gay/queer studies and increases the already high level of multidiscip-
linarity his research usually displays.
Harvey’s agenda is alternative finally because of the specific corpus
chosen for analysis. With the aid of semiotics (amongst other tools), he
dissects the ‘peripherals’ of covers (i.e. title and photo) and blurbs to “a
degree of detail and systematicity that I am suggesting is new within trans-
lation studies”. Furthermore, in his subversive attempt to overturn ‘normal’
practices, he describes this material as paradoxically the “obvious place
to begin an analysis of the translation as interface” (Harvey in this vol-
ume), when such research does not abound.
The normalization of marginalized (women’s) ideologies and the ad-
vocacy of alternative, subversive aims are also the main topic of María
del Carmen África Vidal Claramonte‘s ‘(Mis)translating Degree Zero
Translation and Conceptual Art’.
Vidal Claramonte complements the political view of ideology with
(postmodern) philosophical matters, which, she claims, are also a subject
of analysis for translation studies. In this way, she presents living as con-
stant translating; she highlights the ideological dangers of language (hence
translation) and calls for a debate about our practitioners’ ethical respon-
sibility towards society. She applies her theoretical thinking to the potential
rendering of a postmodern mode of expression – conceptual art – which,
like Harvey’s ‘bindings’, can also be described as alternative translational
matter. Vidal Claramonte refers to Barbara Kruger, Glenn Ligon, Sue
Williams, Shirin Neshat, but she particularly concentrates on works by
Nancy Spero and Jenny Holzer. She discusses the radical nature of their
artistic proposals, which aim at exposing and opposing patriarchal ide-
ologies through popular – deconstructive – formats such as posters, stickers
on phone booths, t-shirts, or electronic signs. She then wonders about the
options that are open for translators in dealing with this radical input (that
depends entirely on language) and even considers financial matters, since
conceptual art – for example Weiner’s phrases on walls – has been sold at
astronomical prices: “Can anybody imagine translating a word”, asks Vidal
Claramonte in this volume, “that has cost somebody 10,000 dollars?”.
This contribution leaves us with a large series of questions – rather than
María Calzada Pérez 13

certainties – that bring the author back to the philosophical tone with
which the paper starts.
The material Vidal Claramonte looks into, as has been said already, is
as ‘marginalized’ and ‘subversive’ as Harvey’s. However, there is a ma-
jor difference between the two scholars. While the latter focuses on the
ideological causes and repercussions of translated material, the former
prefers to investigate the ideological potential of the original artefacts.
The rest of her paper comprises hypotheses about translations that, as far
as we are concerned, do not yet exist. For what the Spanish theorist may
be advocating here is the need for a translational ethos that precedes the
translating task itself. This reminds us of the fact that translation studies
is currently devoted to the most varied range of interests that legitimately
fall within its scope. In the same way translators explore the repercus-
sions of their work amongst the audience, they also decide about their
own ethical stance. In the same way they analyze the representation of
politics, they debate the politics of representation.
Vidal Claramonte is as multivocal as previous contributors, though
this time she brings into our discipline her preferred inspirational sources,
which are connected to postmodernism, poststructuralism, and decon-
struction. She also puts into question the cultural studies vs. linguistics
dichotomy. When she expresses the need to overcome the view of trans-
lating as a solely linguistic practice, she quotes (linguistic-oriented)
Schäffner to support her arguments. Whereas cultural studies proponents
have often been attacked for their mainly theoretical standpoints (versus
the more empirical or pedagogical tones of certain linguists), she is care-
ful to explain that the paper’s philosophical and ethical questions respond
to her concerns as a practising translator. She has to decide on ethics with
the same urgency that she faces many other aspects of her profession.
So far, the definition of ideology as political thinking has been com-
plemented by Harvey’s and Vidal Claramonte’s different – yet symbiotic –
approaches to gay and gender issues. With the next two papers, by
Christiane Nord and Ôehnaz Tah¥r-Gürça™lar respectively, other sites of
ideological engagement are visited through the consideration of religious
and secularizing forces.
Christiane Nord, one of the main defenders of the increasingly influ-
ential ideology of German functionalism within TS, explains, in
‘Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation’, how she faced the convey-
ance of biblical and apocryphal early Christian texts. In order to do so,
she formed part of a two-person translating team, which worked on the
14 Introduction

basis of ‘split competence’. While she took care of the cross-linguistic

aspects of the joint venture, her male colleague was in charge of the theo-
logical and linguistic understanding of the original source. Hence, like
Schäffner or Harvey, Nord distances herself from a (canonical?) descrip-
tion of translation as a one-person’s task. She argues that co-translating is
a common practice that deserves our theoretical attention.
As a convinced functionalist, Nord begins by revealing the three-fold
purpose that underlies her article. Firstly, she intends to consolidate func-
tionalism in TS academia. Secondly, she wishes to investigate ‘sensitive’
texts. Now that Skopostheorie has been acclaimed with regard to techni-
cal and literary genres, religious documents are further material to test
her theoretical framework. Thirdly, she sets out to unveil the way in which
both her colleague and she have been affected by their theological and
functional stances.
Nord continues with a brief definition of Skopstheorie’s main concepts
– ‘function plus loyalty’ and ‘skopos’ – in order to inform an account of
the joint experience of translating sacred texts. From that moment on,
the scholar resorts to Fillmore’s semantic scenes-and-frames model to
illustrate nodes of ideological conflict, the team’s preferred solutions
and a comparison with other (canonical) versions of the same texts. This
paper culminates in a series of theological and feminist debates that are
clearly ideological.
Nord’s proposal offers translation studies a clear-cut, organized frame-
work, which is not only applicable to pedagogical settings, but which is
also relevant to the study of ideological mechanisms and goals. As has
been seen, this framework takes the scholar from definitions, through
statements of intentions, to the analysis of the actual process/product of
translation. Furthermore, it illustrates how traditional concepts in (cogni-
tive) linguistics (such as Fillmore’s model) may be used to reach ideological
conclusions. The combination of Fillmore’s familiar and unfamiliar frames
and scenes with reference to source and target texts results in a highly
structured identification and explanation of ideological shifts that guide
the translators’ own decisions.
Equally noteworthy is Nord’s overt sincerity when it comes to acknowl-
edging her academic and translating intentions. Her open attitude may be
compared to that of other (cultural studies) researchers who set their own
(often radical) agendas, revealing their intentions from their very first
moves. Finally, the paper challenges the rigid dichotomy of canonical vs.
non-canonical translational phenomena. Whereas Skopostheorie is gradu-
María Calzada Pérez 15

ally occupying the centre of translation studies (and is indeed setting many
a teaching curriculum within training institutions) the transfer choices
Nord justifies in this paper are still seen to be competing against a well-
established (Bible Studies) tradition that makes it unadvisable to talk lightly
about ‘canonical’ behaviour.
While Nord’s paper revolves around the Christian religion, Ôehnaz
Tah¥r-Gürça™lar’s ‘The Translation Bureau Revisited: translation as
symbol’ deals with secularizing forces in Islamic Turkey. From 1839
onwards, Western literature has been imported by this country, via trans-
lation, with a view to promoting secular European Humanism and
Renaissance thinking. This translating activity was part of some form of
culture planning that has had institutional support, gained ground in na-
tional conferences, and depended on governmental bodies like the
Translation Bureau. The Bureau was founded in 1940 and prolonged its
work until 1966. Tahir-Gürça™lar describes the periods that preceded, co-
incided with, and followed its production. She examines historical events
such as the replacement, in Turkey, of the Arabic alphabet by Latin charac-
ters in 1928; the celebration of the First Turkish Publishing Congress; the
creation and disappearance of the Bureau; the change of government in
1946, etc. At present, after some decades of descriptive research, Tur-
key’s academia is still intrigued by this translational experience, which is
an appealing topic for further research. Tahir-Gürça™lar herself points to
the Bureau’s norms of transfer as the next potential stage of analysis.
In an increasingly anglicized academic environment, Tah¥r-Gürça™lar
opens a window to ‘other’ traditions. She claims, not without reason, that
TS scholars from all over the world can learn from the Turkish experience,
not just about translation, but also about nationhood, culture planning,
shifting ideologies and ideological symbolism. She exposes the fact that
translation participates in a wider process that is made up of micro-level
agents (e.g. translators, authors, critics, publishers, editors, individual
politicians, ...) and macro-level agents (institutions). A critical analysis of
this complex process reveals that it is hardly innocent. On the contrary, it
actively contributes to the creation and perpetuation of artificial ideolo-
gies that are absorbed as natural. Approaching Harvey’s conception of
agency, Tah¥r-Gürça™lar implicitly argues that both micro and macro-level
agents are responsible for ideological repercussions.
These investigations, according to the author, may benefit from
the research tools developed by descriptive translation studies (DTS), an-
other centre of our translation polysystem. In contrast with previous (or
16 Introduction

following) papers that examine actual translated material of a more or

less conventional type (e.g. traditional texts, conceptual art, ‘bind-
ings’,…), Tah¥r-Gürça™lar reviews the extratextual matter that surrounds
ideologically inspired translations. Furthermore, contrary to synchronic
approaches to translations, the author opts for a diachronic gaze (his-
torical DTS) that is especially helpful in pinning down ideological
change. By doing so, she again reminds us that translation may be stud-
ied in many different ways, from many different viewpoints and upon a
large range of data.
In our globalized, consumer-oriented societies, ‘old’ religious/
secularizing concerns intermingle with ‘new’ communicative situations
created by the emergence (and widespread use) of audiovisual media.
The next two contributions by David Katan and Francesco Straniero
Sergio, on the one hand, and Peter Fawcett, on the other, discuss the
constraints imposed on linguistic/cultural mediators handling television
or cinema products.
With ‘Submerged Ideologies in Media Interpreting’, David Katan
and Francesco Straniero Sergio produce a joint paper about the under-
lying ideologies influencing TV interpreting, a relatively unexplored issue
by T(I)S scholars. The scope of translation (and interpretation!) studies
widens yet again.
The article proposes a model of intercultural communication based
upon a very broad, multidisciplinary and hybrid literature with references
from (Marxist) philosophy and sociology, sociolinguistics, psycholin-
guistics, cognitive linguistics, discourse analysis, interpreting research,
media studies and cultural studies. According to this model, the interpret-
ing process may be compared to a system of relations established at three
levels. The most hidden of these planes encompasses the values and de-
sires of our societies. For Katan and Straniero Sergio our dominant value
system takes the form of ‘consumer capitalism’. As for our desires, the
authors expound on the concepts of ‘popular culture’, ‘comfort factor’,
and ‘environmental bubble’.
The second plane of the method proposed by Katan and Straniero
Sergio is that of the interpreters’ identity – their roles in the labour mar-
ket and the skills they need to survive the selection process which would
result in their return to their interpreting jobs. Obviously, values and
desires have an important influence upon the creation of identity in the
same way ideologies and identities are openly realized in Katan and
Straniero Sergio’s third plane of visible – linguistic and paralinguistic –
María Calzada Pérez 17

features. This tripartite model, consequently, envisages tied links between

ideologies, identities and performance. Like Harvey and Tah¥r-Gürça™lar,
the authors foresee agency as a potential ‘detonator’ of change and sub-
merged ideologies as only influencing (never determining) factors for
co-communicants’ conduct.
Their framework allows the scholars to compare the behaviour of
(new) TV interpreters with other (traditional) forms of consecutive, si-
multaneous or dialogue interpreters. This is achieved through tangible
units (e.g. voices, lexicon, register, turn-taking, or décalage) as the de-
parting point of study. Among other things, Katan and Straniero Sergio
conclude that TV interpreters are currently more ‘visible’ than their prede-
cessors. Whether translators will experience a similar – desirable –
‘coming out’ in the future is, at present, only a matter of speculation.
Katan and Straniero Sergio enrich our already varied images of
translation and ideology. They produce a joint piece of research that,
as has already been mentioned, benefits from a high degree of
multidisciplinarity. Methodologically speaking they remind us of the
existence (and relevance) of quantitative trends as part of our studies.
They adopt an implicitly militant tone, through which they demand
further space for interpreters. These are constantly isolated by com-
missioners, colleagues, and clients who regard them as ‘passive and
slavish’ (Vuorinen 1997:169, cited in Katan and Straniero Sergio in
this volume) imitators. Yet, they are often equally underestimated by
TS academia who even drop the ‘interpreting’ component from our
official label.
Finally, this discussion underlines the hybridization of all communi-
cative exchanges, amongst which TV interpreting is just one example. In
the same way that TV interpreting is merging with other (media) genres,
so it may be concluded that hybrid texts (original and translations) are
definitely the norm rather than the exotic exception.
Peter Fawcett proposes an article entitled ‘The Manipulation of
Language and Culture in Film Translation’, whose main topic is the
shifting ideology of subtitling. This ideology regulates the level of work
translators expect from their audiences; the moral, political and legal con-
cerns that dominate our field; subtitlers’ perception of their task; and the
central discourses that surround this task. All of these constitute a con-
stellation of ideas (i.e. ideology), which are implemented everyday by
practitioners and handed down to younger generations through training,
instruction, national culture, company culture and general translation
culture.
18 Introduction

According to Fawcett, film subtitling is exposed to at least three main

forces – technical constraints, cultural and ideological issues, and the fea-
tures and skills of each individual translator. The encounter of all three
may result in randomness. However, it may also have, as Fawcett shows,
systematic effects on the handling of language in general and the specific
treatment of metaphors, cultural allusions, register and bad language.
Nevertheless, by the end of the paper, Fawcett highlights the importance
of translators’ individual agency. He also critically assesses the genuine
nature of two important ‘technical’ constraints: maximum number of char-
acters allowed and synchronization of oral dialogue and written titles.
Fawcett identifies a normalizing/domesticating trend in the translated data
examined and ends his paper on a critical note, when he argues that Eng-
lish subtitlers have no option but to normalize. The final remark – “But
film translation can hardly offer a site for resistance” – is a challenge
bound to ignite academic debate.
Again, Fawcett’s paper widens our perspective of translation with its
focus on film subtitling. His ample gamut of examples illustrates the criti-
cal implementation of dissimilar theories by Vinay and Darbelnet,
Shveitser, Newmark and Venuti. At any rate, Fawcett warns readers about
the fact that isolated data can only offer tentative conclusions regarding
ideological shifts.
It is Fawcett’s bitterly critical tone that makes his paper particularly
enjoyable. The author is critical of British society and its (censored) me-
dia. He is critical of technical constraints that are really customary
conventions. He is especially (self-)critical of TS scholars, amongst whom
he finds normalizers and foreignizers who are equally prescriptive. And it
is this criticism that connects him with the final contributions by Rose-
mary Arrojo and Maria Tymoczko.
Apropos of Ideology encourages self-reflexivity in TS. As practising
translators or scholars, it is vital for us to ‘deconstruct’ and expose the
ideologies of ‘others’. However, it is of equal importance that we turn to
the field of TS with a critical – and constructive – mind. It is only in this
way that we will achieve real progress.
‘The Power of Originals and the Scandal of Translation – A Read-
ing of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Oval Portrait’, by Rosemary Arrojo,
contains an exercise of self-criticism, which erodes the essentialist sys-
tem of representations (or ideology) lying at the foundation of our studies.
This system spreads in various ways. One such way is through the natur-
alization of those metaphors that inform our view of translation at all levels
María Calzada Pérez 19

(from theory to practice, from teaching to learning). According to Arrojo,

it is also within the scope of the (postmodern) translator to dismantle these
metaphors, to defamiliarize their workings and to unveil their effects. Since
literature has traditionally catered for these metaphoric images, Arrojo
turns her eyes – and her poststructuralist toolkit – to Edgar Allan Poe’s
famous short-story ‘The Oval Portrait’. This is basically about a narrator
who arrives at a chateau, where he finds out about the tale of a painter
who, while producing an excellent portrait of his wife, has been punished
with her death for violating the clear-cut hierarchy of original/translation,
real life/imitation.
The paper becomes a series of chained ‘translations’ (in the herm-
eneutic sense of ‘interpretations’), reminiscent of Chinese boxes or Russian
dolls. Arrojo recounts / ‘translates’ the tale of a narrator who is, in turn,
conveying / ‘translating’ the story behind a picture of a beautiful lady,
‘rendered’ / ‘translated’ by a painter from a real life model, his wife. A
complex network of relationships is established between all these media-
tors / ‘translators’. The chain is potentially endless as Arrojo shows by
providing multidisciplinary interpretations / ‘translations’ by Kennedy,
Freud and Poe himself.
In the end, Poe’s story seems to suggest that painters/translators are
never to pursue a creative role or else they will be penalized. Yet, why is
the narrator allowed to praise the painter/translator so vigorously through-
out the story? Initially Arrojo provides a (purposely) essentialist answer,
which she later challenges and which provokes thought in readers.
Arrojo warns us about the fact that metaphors of this kind (translation
is painting) abound in TS. They forge the image of our task as servile
imitation, secondary reproduction, or defective exploitation of the ST’s
innumerable treasures. Arrojo urges us to challenge this long-established
essentialist ideology, that is by now common ground (protected by
Western voices like Freud and Poe). Arrojo’s paper expands both our
understanding of ideology and our treatment of translation. With regard
to ideology, she complements Marxist theory with complex concepts such
as Freud’s ‘subject-formation’ and Althusser’s elaborate system of ideo-
logical practices. Concerning translation, she strengthens our discipline
with its critical message and ‘other’ research procedures. She carries out
a study that complements ‘other’ theoretical and practical works, with the
varied help of different TS scholars – such as Hermans, Mounin or Venuti.
She abandons observational or empirical approaches in favour of a rather
more introspective examination. Arrojo disregards translated texts or
20 Introduction

extratextual evidence and bases her work directly upon the system of rep-
resentations that informs TS.
If Arrojo challenges essentialist thinking in TS, Maria Tymoczko
turns the critical screw in ‘Ideology and the Position of the Translator
– In what Sense is a Translator “In Between”’. She does so by as-
sessing the metaphor of ‘translator between’ which, in turn, comes from
anti-essentialist quarters. With her carefully woven logic, this scholar is,
therefore, advocating that all ideological messages are subject to
deconstruction and that TS would benefit from a constantly skeptical atti-
tude towards (its own) pre-established ideologies. Avoiding – indeed
despising – essentialist arguments, Tymoczko firstly examines general
mechanisms of causality, in order to provide a truly scholarly answer to
the question in the title. She reviews phylogenetic, physical, ontogenetic
and functional reasons for the acceptance of the ‘in between’ discourse,
but accompanies each of them with a warning of caution. Then, she re-
futes them with the help of a very varied multidisciplinary theoretical
framework that draws on literary criticism, linguistics, politics, philoso-
phy, systems theory, mathematics, anthropology, ethnography and
descriptive translation studies. Finally, she sheds light upon the potential
implications of this supposedly ‘progressive’ metaphor which, however,
grows out of Western capitalist paradigms and perpetuates romantic, pla-
tonic constructs.
Tymoczko’s informed article is a fitting conclusion to our discussion
in Apropos of Ideology. It sums up much of what has been defended
throughout the book. Its clear, careful argumentation is based on a hybrid
theoretical ground that has been a key element of the rest of the contribu-
tions. Multidisciplinarity encourages merging and fusion and abandons
fruitless oppositions that impoverish research. Tymoczko’s gaze runs
freely over ‘other’ non-Western traditions, which are still greatly unknown
in dominant TS circles and which will undoubtedly be the most produc-
tive theoretical sources in the future. She also investigates different points
in the historical spectrum, boosting an increasingly influential historical
academic paradigm. Above all, she practises a constantly self-critical atti-
tude, which avoids blindfolded (albeit possibly trendy) militancy. As
always, Tymoczko’s logic deconstructs simplistic notions and method-
ologies in order to depict a complex reality that needs to be appraised.
By revisiting various sites of ideological engagement (related to poli-
tics, gender, sexuality, religion, secularity, technology) or by taking a long
hard look at TS itself, the contributors have all added to a debate that is
María Calzada Pérez 21

neither exhaustive nor complete. It simply aims to provide a common fo-

rum in which we talk to each other. Surely the conversation will continue
beyond the pages of this volume. Hopefully the volume will inspire many
other conversations.
In concluding this introduction, I would like to express my sincere
appreciation to the following:

• The contributors to this volume, for patiently and meticulously

dedicating their time and effort to sharing with us their own ideol-
ogies; for participating in a forum which is by no means exhaustive
but which is an attempt to talk to each other; for engaging them-
selves in a project that foregrounds the importance of our ideological
roots and agendas.
• All TS researchers who have helped me with the editing of the
book, for generously offering me their knowledge and experience;
for their constant encouragement and support. Apart from contribu-
tors, special thanks are here due to Prof. I. Mason, Prof. Dirk
Delabastita, Prof. Kirsten Malmkjær, Prof. Anthony Pym, Prof.
Douglas Robinson; Prof. Juan Sager.
• All TS researchers who have directly influenced my own ideol-
ogy on TS (and the world in general). Naming all of them here
would obviously be impossible. I will always owe special grati-
tude to Prof. Arthur Terry, Prof. Ian Mason, Prof. Mona Baker
and Prof. África Vidal.
• Ms Marie Gleason, Mr. Stephen Jennings and Ms Mirta Fernández
for their help with the proofreading of the whole collection.
• The Salomon R. Guggenheim Foundation, New York, for permis-
sion to reprint Jenny Holzer’s work in this volume as well as for
providing prints to include Ms Holzer’s work.
• The Guggenheim Bilbao Museoa / Museo Guggenheim de Bilbao
for their very quick and helpful response to all my requests. A genu-
inely felt eskarrikasko / gracias to Ms Nerea Abajo.
• VEGAP for helping me find copyrights and prints of Ms Holzer’s
work. Maria Teixidor, Graciès de veritat per la teva eficiència i
simpatia.
• Presses de la Renaissance in general and Mrs Frederique Polet in
particular, for information concerning cover copyrights of the
French translations of John Rechy’s Rushes; Larry Kramer’s Fag-
gots and Andrew Holleran’s Dancer from the Dance.
22 Introduction

• Dr Daniel Sabbagh for his tireless and generous mediating role

with Presses de la Renaissance and for succeeding in the almost
impossible task of finding the actual French copies of Rushes; Fag-
gots and Dancer from the Dance. Merci, merci bien, Daniel.
• St. Jerome Publishing for engaging themselves in an ideological
project that is by no means complete or definite.
• My parents and brother, without whom this book would not have
been possible; for their love, help and support at moments of stress
when, from all ideological viewpoints, I was clearly unbearable.

It goes without saying that I alone am responsible for any shortcomings

which remain.
Third Ways and New Centres
Ideological Unity or Difference?

CHRISTINA SCHÄFFNER

This chapter illustrates extratextual and intratextual aspects of

ideology as related to translation with a case study, a policy
document by Tony Blair and Gerhard Schröder, jointly published
in English and German in June 1999. Textual features of the two
language versions are compared and linked to the social contexts.
Concepts and methods of critical discourse analysis and of
descriptive and functionalist approaches to translation are applied
for this purpose. In particular, reactions to the German text in
Germany are explained with reference to the socio-political and
ideological conditions of the text production, which was a case of
parallel text production combined with translation. It is illustrated
that decisions at the linguistic micro-level have had effects for a
political party, reflected for example in the German Social
Democratic Party debating its identity due to the textual treatment
of ideological keywords. The subtle differences revealed in a
comparative analysis of the two texts indicate the text producers’
awareness of ideological phenomena in the respective cultures.
Both texts thus serve as windows onto ideologies and political
power relations in the contemporary world.

1. Introduction

The relationship between ideology and translation is multifarious. In a

sense, it can be said that any translation is ideological since the choice of
a source text and the use to which the subsequent target text is put is
determined by the interests, aims, and objectives of social agents. But
ideological aspects can also be determined within a text itself, both at the
lexical level (reflected, for example, in the deliberate choice or avoidance
of a particular word) and the grammatical level (for example, use of pas-
sive structures to avoid an expression of agency, cf. Hodge and Kress
1993). Ideological aspects can be more or less obvious in texts, depend-
ing on the topic of a text, its genre and communicative purpose. In political
texts, ideological aspects are, of course, particularly prominent.
Research into political discourse has been conducted within several
disciplines, with scholars pursuing different aims, focusing on different
24 Third Ways and New Centres

themes, and applying different methods. Politicial scientists, for example,

are interested in the content of texts. Linguists, sociolinguists, and dis-
course analysts have increasingly become interested in the textual or
discursive manifestations of power structures and ideologies and in their
specific linguistic realizations at lexical and grammatical levels (cf., for
example, Fairclough’s and Wodak’s critical discourse and discourse his-
torical approaches, e.g. Fairclough and Wodak 1997; Wodak 1999). These
approaches mediate between linguistic structures as evident in a text and
the social, political, and historical contexts of text production and recep-
tion. In the processes of text production and reception, translation and
interpreting often play a decisive role. In other words, translation is more
and more an aspect of international communication and of intercultural
relationships, including ideological relationships. In this respect, transla-
tion studies has much to offer to political discourse analysis.
Translators work in specific socio-political contexts, producing target
texts for specific purposes as identified by their clients.1 This social con-
ditioning is reflected in the linguistic structure of the target text. That is,
the target text will reveal the impact of social, ideological, discursive, and
linguistic conventions, norms and constraints (on norms see Toury 1995;
Hermans 1999b; cf. also Simeoni 1998 on the notion of ‘habitus’ in the
context of translation). The – often problematic – aspects of power in and
for translation have been highlighted by, for example, Venuti 1995; in the
contributions in Álvarez and Vidal 1996; in the special issue of The Trans-
lator on Translation and Minority, 1998, edited by Venuti. In this chapter,
I will illustrate extratextual and intratextual aspects of ideology as related
to translation with a case study. On the basis of one concrete text, a policy
document by Tony Blair and Gerhard Schröder, jointly published in Eng-
lish and German in June 1999, I will compare the textual profiles and link
them to the social contexts (Chesterman 1998). In particular, I will try to
explain reactions to the German text in the German culture with reference
to the textual profile and to the socio-political and ideological conditions
of the text production. In doing so, I will apply concepts and methods of

1
Following arguments in postcolonial literature, some scholars have suggested to
situate the translator in a space in-between, or in an intercultural space (cf. the
comments in Snell-Hornby 2000; Pym 2001; Simon 2001). Although this may be a
useful concept for studying (translations of) postcolonial literature, I would say it is
not contradicting the statement that translators work in specific socio-political
contexts. Rather, it means adding a specific perspective; the space in-between too,
is determined by constellations of a socio-political context.
Christina Schäffner 25

critical discourse analysis and of descriptive and functionalist approaches

to translation (cf. also Hatim 1999).

2. Political background to the sample text

Within the field of politics, it is increasingly the case that joint documents
are produced for common purposes. Cases in point are the manifestoes
which were produced by the Party of European Socialists (PES) and the
European People’s Party (EPP) for the 1994 and 1999 elections to the
European Parliament. These texts were produced in all the official lan-
guages of the European Union, through the combination of parallel text
production and translation. The aim of such documents is to show politi-
cal and ideological unity to the outside world, to display harmony and a
convergence of ideas. They are meant to be evidence of the fact that the
political parties that joined together (e.g. in the PES or EPP) share a com-
mon ideology and therefore also speak a common ‘language’. Despite the
declared identity, however, there are a few differences in the linguistic
structures of the respective versions of the text (cf. Schäffner 1997a).
The text I will discuss in this chapter is another case in point. The
policy document ‘Europe: The Third Way/Die Neue Mitte’ was officially
launched on 8 June 1999 in London and presented as a joint paper by
Tony Blair as leader of the British Labour Party and Gerhard Schröder as
leader of the German Social Democratic Party. It is about 4600 words
long and published in English and in German.2 The document was pre-
sented as an offer for conceptualizing the future of the Social Democracy.
The paper argues for the modernisation of Social Democracy so it can
adapt to conditions that have objectively changed. Its main content points
can be seen in the headings of the five sections and sub-sections (the
numbers in brackets denote the paragraphs):

Introduction
I. Learning from experience (7-12)
II. New programmes for changed realities (13-38)
III. A new supply-side agenda for the left (39-80)
• A robust and competitive market framework (44-46)

2
The texts used here are the versions as they were available on the Internet, http://
www.initiativkreis.org/ third-way2.htm for the English text, and http://www.
initiativkreis.org/ vorschlag.htm and for the German text.
26 Third Ways and New Centres

• A tax policy to promote sustainable growth (47-53)

• Demand and supply-side policies go together – they are not
alternatives (54-62)
• Adaptability and flexibility are at an increasing premium in the
knowledge-based service economy of the future (63-64)
• An active government, in a newly conceived role, has a key role
to play in economic development (65-73)
• Modern Social Democrats should be champions of small and
medium-sized enterprise (74-78)
• Sound public finance should be a badge of pride for Social Demo-
crats (79-80)
IV. An active labour market policy for the left (81-99)
V. Political benchmarking in Europe (100-108)

This paper, which was hardly noticed in the UK, caused a stir in Ger-
many, especially within the Social Democratic Party (SPD) itself and
the trade unions. The reactions were mostly critical, as is reflected in
evaluative media comments such as ‘luftiges Neue-Mitte-Papier’ [hollow
New Centre paper, full of hot air], ‘großmäuliges Schröder/Blair-Papier’
[big-mouthed Schröder/Blair paper] (both in Der Spiegel 14 June 1999),
‘ominöses Strategiepapier’ [ominous strategy paper] (Die Zeit 18 No-
vember 1999). The main argument was that the strategy outlined in the
paper, with the emphasis on individual responsibilities rather than rights,
flexible markets, curbs on public spending, the celebration of entrepre-
neurship, etc., means abandoning fundamental Social Democratic values.
Since this would also mean the end of the SPD’s traditional link with
the working class, the paper led left-wingers within the party to argue
about the SPD’s identity.

3. Ideological aspects of text production

In dealing with the relationship between ideology and translation, Hatim

and Mason (1997:143) make a distinction between the ideology of trans-
lating and the translation of ideology. In my case study, both aspects play
a role. A first question concerns the conditions of text production. If two
political parties decide to produce a joint document, and if they decide to
publish the text in two languages, they can either produce the two lan-
guage versions in parallel, i.e. in a process of bilingual negotiation, or opt
for a translation. With the Blair/Schröder paper, we have a case of paral-
Christina Schäffner 27

lel text production combined with translation.3 The idea for a joint policy
paper originated in the SPD, and the German side produced a draft out-
line which was largely written in German, with some paragraphs in English
(i.e. those that dealt specifically with political developments in the UK).
Based on this draft, the actual full text was then produced in English by
New Labour, and then translated again into German. In the following re-
vision stages, all paragraphs that were amended or added, by either side,
were translated into the other language. That is, both the German and the
English version of (parts of) the text functioned alternatively as source
text and target text, with some paragraphs being produced in parallel. The
whole process of text production was done by a small team of authors,
officially led by Peter Mandelson, then Britain’s trade minister, and Bodo
Hombach, then head of the chancellery and a close aide of Schröder’s.
However, there were no professional translators involved, that is, all the
translating was done by the officials themselves. In other words, they per-
formed the act of translation, and their target texts were checked by
Mandelson and Hombach, respectively, who had the political responsi-
bility for the paper’s content. Consequently, they checked only whether
the content is in accordance with the political aims of the party, but not
for the quality of the language used.4
The decision to publish the text in English and in German was ideo-
logically motivated. That is, the ideological aspects are related to
extratextual factors. They concern the event of text production, as it may
be called, which to a considerable extent includes a translation event (Toury
1995). Both texts were simultaneously presented as identical copies. The
two texts were meant to fulfil an identical purpose for their addressees in
their respective cultures, viz. to convince the party members of the need
for modernization and mobilize them to carry out this task. From a trans-
lation studies perspective, the text can be described as an example of
equifunctional translation (Nord 1997).
The primary addressees of the texts are the members of the two
respective parties, but the text also addresses leaders and members of

3
I am grateful to Mathias Bucksteeg, head of the Political Analysis Division in the
German Chancellery (Referatsleiter Politische Analyse im Bundeskanzleramt,
Grundsatzabteilung) for providing me with valuable background information con-
cerning the text production process.
4
The working language at the meetings of the officials was English. Consecutive
interpreting was only provided at the few meetings attended by Mandelson and
Hombach.
28 Third Ways and New Centres

other Social Democratic parties in Europe. This is reflected more ex-

plicitly in the title of the German text, which is slightly different from
the English title:5

Europe: The Third Way/Die Neue Mitte – Tony Blair and Gerhard
Schröder
Der Weg nach vorne für Europas Sozialdemokraten. Ein Vorschlag
von Gerhard Schröder und Tony Blair (literally: “The way for-
ward for Europe’s Social Democrats. A proposal...”)

Whereas the English title provides the labels for a new political approach
(see the discussion below), the German title signals that this new approach
means progress (with ‘forward’ being a positively valued metaphorical
concept, cf. Lakoff and Johnson 1980). ‘Ein Vorschlag’ (a proposal) is a
kind of genre descriptor. The rearrangement of the two names seems to
reflect an awareness of the addressees’ social contexts of text reception.
However, as said above, Blair and Schröder themselves were not the ac-
tual authors of the text.
It was argued in the media, that Hombach used his good personal con-
tacts with Mandelson strategically to start and monopolize a debate on
the modernization of Social Democracy outside the party headquarters
and without involving the then party leader Oscar Lafontaine. Since there
was no substantial discussion within the two parties themselves, the pa-
per came as a surprise for many SPD members. The Spiegel stated in one
of its articles that Mandelson had redefined and reformulated traditional
Labour values and concepts and that Hombach just took them over, thereby
replacing the classic Social Democratic vocabulary by vague verbiage im-
ported from England (‘Wortwolken aus England’, Spiegel 14 June 1999).
In a similar way, The Economist argued that “The British side appears to
have dominated the writing of the joint document, which is full of New
Labour jargon and policies” (The Economist 12 June 1999). In the same
article, it is stated that the “paper contains language that will be familiar
to British readers. With its emphasis on skills, flexibility, innovation, rights
and responsibilities, it is a classic New Labour mix of Anglo-Saxon eco-
nomics with fuzzy talk about social justice, fairness, and traditional values
in a modern context”. In other words, most of the statements in the docu-
ment reflect social reality for the UK, which explains the insignificant

5
The way forward for Europe’s Social Democrats: A proposal was actually the original
title of the English text as well, but it was subsequently changed for the publication.
Christina Schäffner 29

reaction to the document in the UK. It could even be argued that the pri-
mary addressees of the document were the members of the SPD, with
leaders of other European Social Democratic parties as secondary address-
ees, and the members of the Labour Party as tertiary addressees, or maybe
only as ‘overhearers’ (cf. also Mason 2000). The paper, thus, had slightly
different functions to fulfil in different social contexts, for example: mo-
bilizing SPD members for starting political changes (benefiting from
Labour’s – presumed – success and popularity in Britain); presenting
Schröder, who had just come to power eight months before, as a modern-
izer (such as Blair); demonstrating British-German ideological harmony
to other European leaders; and convincing Labour Party members of their
party’s (and leader’s) function as role models.
The text production seems to have happened rather quickly, as in
both versions there are a number of coherence problems, ambiguous co-
references, and other linguistic inaccuracies (for example, confusions
over case, gender, and endings in the German text). There is even a mis-
take in paragraph (54):

[54] In the past social democrats often gave the impression that
the objectives of growth and high unemployment would be achieved
by successful demand management alone.

The German text uses ‘eine hohe Beschäftigungsquote’, i.e. ‘employment’,

which is the correct linguistic expression, but these problems at the lin-
guistic micro-level seem not to have contributed to the debate within the
SPD. In addition to the way in which the text was produced, it was mainly
the actual ideas expressed in it that caused the heated discussions and
rejections in Germany.

4. Ideological aspects as reflected in the text

Over the centuries it has been fairly common that ideas and concepts have
travelled between cultures and nations, due to intellectual exchanges, bi-
and multilateral talks and negotiations, etc. As a result, new concepts and
the corresponding words have been introduced into a culture, existing
words have changed their meaning(s), and some concepts and/or words
have disappeared altogether from the discourse, either of a specific socio-
political group or of the culture as a whole (such developments are well
documented, cf., for example, Williams 1976). In these contexts, translation
30 Third Ways and New Centres

plays an important role, since it is very often via translations that cultures
learn about each other. It may also be that in the process of intercultural
communication and translation it becomes obvious that concepts that seem
to be identical in the two cultures are in fact different, thus causing mis-
understandings and/or negotiations for meaning.
As said above, the Blair/Schröder paper was presented as a joint docu-
ment, by two modern party leaders with new ideas for modernizing their
societies. ‘New’ and ‘modern’ with their related words are indeed key-
words in the text, with a fairly high number of occurrences. The policies
are therefore carried out by “modern Social Democrats/moderne Sozial-
demokraten”, and the name for the new policy and the ideology behind it
is ‘Third Way’ for New Labour, and ‘Neue Mitte’ for the SPD. In fact, in
the document itself, the two labels are presented as indicating identical
concepts and approaches, cf. the very beginning of the text:

[1] Social democrats are in government in almost all the countries

of the Union. Social democracy has found new acceptance – but
only because, while retaining its traditional values, it has begun in
a credible way to renew its ideas and modernise its programmes. It
has also found new acceptance because it stands not only for so-
cial justice but also for economic dynamism and the unleashing of
creativity and innovation.

[2] The trademark of this approach is the New Centre in Germany

and the Third Way in the United Kingdom. Other social demo-
crats choose other terms that suit their own national cultures. But
though the language and the institutions may differ, the motivation
is everywhere the same. Most people have long since abandoned
the world view represented by the dogmas of left and right. Social
democrats must be able to speak to those people.

[2] Markenzeichen dafür ist die ‘Neue Mitte’ in Deutschland, der

‘Dritte Weg’ im Vereinigten Königreich. [...]

In the German text, ‘Third Way’ has consistently been rendered as ‘Dritter
Weg’, a literal equivalent. The English text uses both the German name
‘Neue Mitte’ (in the title and at the very end of the document, paragraph
108) and the ‘New Centre’ (for the additional three occurrences).

[108] [...] Let the politics of the Third Way and the Neue Mitte be
Europe’s new hope.
Christina Schäffner 31

[108] [...] Laßt die Politik des Dritten Weges und der Neuen Mitte
Europas neue Hoffnung sein.

In the UK media, ‘new centre’, ‘new middle’, or ‘Neue Mitte’ (often in

italics) are used, but there is no consistency. Although ‘Third Way’ and
‘Neue Mitte’ are presented in the text as denoting identical approaches,
the two terms, in fact, have their own specific history.
In the media, it was repeatedly argued that the concept of a Third Way
was not Blair’s invention, but that it had been introduced in politics be-
fore. For example, at the time of the Cold War, when Capitalism and
Communism were seen as ideological alternatives, third ways were sought
between these two opposite poles. For New Labour, the Third Way is a
project for redefining the Left. It is meant to denote a political approach
between traditional Socialism,6 and the welfare state it has produced, and
a market-dominated society. In devising this approach, originally in order
to present a programme free of old clichés to make Labour acceptable to
the voters, Blair (with his advisors, most prominent among them Anthony
Giddens from the London School of Economics) took ideas from Ameri-
ca’s new Democrats (e.g. Clinton’s vision that the government does not
just provide services but rather creates the conditions in which the people
themselves solve their own problems). The new approach also means a
changed attitude towards private enterprise which is treated in a more
friendly way than in the past (by the ‘Old Left’). Critics therefore often
argue that New Labour is pretty much continuing the policy of the previ-
ous Tory governments while selling it in a new language (cf. also
Fairclough 2000).
Is the Third Way then an ideology, or rather a philosophy or practical
policy? The term ‘ideology’ itself is defined differently in the literature
(cf. van Dijk 1998). In fact, it first appeared in the English language in
1796 as a direct translation of the French ‘idéologie’ to denote the phi-
losophy of mind, the science of ideas (cf. Williams 1976:126). If we define
ideology with van Dijk (1996) and Lu (1999) as socially shared belief
systems of (members of) groups, as patterns of ideas, assumptions, be-
liefs, values or interpretations of the world by which a group operates,
then the belief sytem represented by the notion ‘Third Way’ can be seen
as an ideology. Ideology both shapes discourse and is itself expressed

6
The word ‘socialism’ has disappeared from the official Labour discourse, and it is
also not used in the Blair/Schröder paper.
32 Third Ways and New Centres

in, formed or changed by discourse.7 Whereas in the past, Social Demo-

cratic parties in Europe defined their ideology and their policies by
reference to a left-right spectrum as a fixed ideological scheme, New
Labour stresses that this divide is no longer appropriate in the modern
world. Ideas and concepts which (are meant to) characterize the Third
Way have their origin in several social theories and ‘ideologies’. This
led The Economist (19 December 1998) to argue about the content of
the Third Way as follows: “Trying to pin down an exact meaning in all
this is like wrestling an inflatable man. If you get a grip on one limb, all
the hot air rushes to another”.
In Germany, ‘die Neue Mitte’ was originally an electioneering slo-
gan for the 1998 general elections. Although Germany too had had a
Conservative government for 16 years, it had not experienced the same
kind of radical transformation as Britain had under Margaret Thatcher.
Equally, the SPD had not been radically changed into a ‘New SPD’
with a new programme. The slogan ‘Neue Mitte’ was originally chosen
with a view to the traditional left-right scheme, i.e. with the intention to
draw more of the floating voters to the SPD and also making the party
more attractive to voters traditionally on the right (i.e. voting for the
Conservative parties in Germany, mainly the Christian Democratic Union,
CDU). In addition, since the left-right divide had traditionally been related
to social class (i.e. the SPD as the party of the working class in contrast
to the CDU as the party of big business), ‘Neue Mitte’ also had a socio-
logical dimension: with the slogan the SPD was appealing to (young)
employees in the information and service industries and to newly self-
employed people, who had (not yet) decided for a specific political party.
The label allowed for a politically ‘innocent’ identification, relating to
a way of life of a younger generation, rather than a political orientation.
Thus, as argued in the daily Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung (6 Decem-
ber 1999), the victory of the left-wing parties in the 1998 general elections
in Germany did not mean a vote for a policy of a Third Way comparable
to the situation in Great Britain.
However, in his first policy statement in November 1998, Schröder
presented an attempt at redefining ‘Neue Mitte’ by linking it to designing
new policies. In that speech, he was calling upon a new generation of
politicians to overcome the stagnation in the country that had been caused

7
Fairclough (2000:43) characterizes the Third Way as political discourse.
Christina Schäffner 33

by the previous government. He announces an alternative policy, which

he describes as ‘Neue Mitte’, intended to encourage and strengthen the
individual responsibilities of the people. Six months later, the Blair/
Schröder paper is a next step in the attempt to transform the vague elec-
tioneering slogan into a programme for reforming the state and
modernizing the SPD, or in linguistic terms, to assign a new meaning to
an existing term. This led the Spiegel (14 June 1999) to state that Schröder
alone seems to decide what ‘Neue Mitte’ and ‘Third Way’ mean at cer-
tain points in time.
It could be argued that the ideologically motivated change in the mean-
ing of a concept is irrelevant to translation. However, the political officials
qua translators had to make a decision as to their handling of ‘Neue Mitte’,
and they opted for a combination of a loan word and a loan translation
(‘New Centre’). In this way, the German concept is introduced into the
UK culture and it can become a shared symbol for participation in
intercultural political discourse between New Labour and a modernized
SPD. This translation solution, therefore, also represents a choice at the
level of intertextual and interdiscursive practice.
In addition to redefining ‘Neue Mitte’ as being synonymous with ‘Third
Way’ in Britain, it was the redefinition of other key concepts in the Blair/
Schröder paper that caused the controversial debates in Germany, in par-
ticular the value of social justice (‘soziale Gerechtigkeit’) and the role of
the state in this context. Social justice has always been presented as a
main objective of Social Democratic policies, and the task of the state has
been seen as ensuring a fair balance in people’s income and wealth. This
was to be ensured by redistributing money from the rich to the poor, and
for this purpose, systems of social and economic regulations have been
introduced over the years. In the Blair/Schröder paper, this traditional ide-
ology is criticized and social justice is redefined:

[8] The promotion of social justice was sometimes confused with

the imposition of equality of outcome. The result was a neglect of
the importance of rewarding effort and responsibility, and the as-
sociation of social democracy with conformity and mediocrity
rather than the celebration of creativity, diversity and excellence.
Work was burdened with ever higher costs.

[8] In der Vergangenheit wurde die Förderung der sozialen

Gerechtigkeit manchmal mit der Forderung nach Gleichheit im
Ergebnis verwechselt. Letztlich wurde damit die Bedeutung von
34 Third Ways and New Centres

eigener Anstrengung und Verantwortung ignoriert und nicht belohnt

und die soziale Demokratie mit Konformität und Mittelmäßigkeit
verbunden statt mit Kreativität, Diversität und herausragender
Leistung. Einseitig wurde die Arbeit immer höher mit Kosten
belastet.

[84] For our societies, the imperatives of social justice are more
than the distribution of cash transfers. Our objective is the widen-
ing of equality of opportunity, regardless of race, age or disability,
to fight social exclusion and ensure equality between men and
women.

[84] Für unsere Gesellschaften besteht der Imperativ der sozialen

Gerechtigkeit aus mehr als der Verteilung von Geld. Unser Ziel ist
eine Ausweitung der Chancengleichheit, [...]

The new definition stresses equal opportunities, i.e. calling on the govern-
ment to provide conditions for everybody to have the same opportunities
for getting access to education, work, etc., but the actual financial income
will depend on the individual’s own performance. ‘Eigener’ (individual)
and ‘einseitig’ (one-sidedly) in paragraph (8) may have been included
precisely to bring this point home to the German readers, although it is
impossible to say whether the English or the German text served origi-
nally as source text. This new conception of justice is in contrast to the
current SPD party programme, which was confirmed once more in 1989
and which states that social justice means equality in the distribution of
income, property and power (“Gerechtigkeit erfordert mehr Gleichheit in
der Verteilung von Einkommen, Eigentum und Macht”). It is no surprise
then, that the notion of social justice is the one which since the summer of
1999 has been most vigorously debated within the SPD. Putting these
ideas into practical policy would mean for Germany an end to the welfare
state the German people have got used to, and which, for example, pro-
vides generously in case of unemployment and old age. In the Blair/
Schröder paper, this is formulated in a metaphorical way:

[83] A welfare system that puts limits on an individual’s ability to

find a job must be reformed. Modern social democrats want to
transform the safety net of entitlements into a springboard to per-
sonal responsibility.

[83] [...] Moderne Sozialdemokraten wollen das Sicherheitsnetz

Christina Schäffner 35

aus Ansprüchen in ein Sprungbrett in die Eigenverantwortung

umwandeln.

Instead of lying idle in a hammock (the net), relying on the government to

provide financial support, people will be mobile, get catapulted into ac-
tivity. With reference to these metaphors, the Spiegel (6 December 1999)
spoke of Schröder’s attempt at a top-down redefinition of social justice,
and of semantic battles within Germany about the ‘correct’ meaning of
this key concept (for ‘semantic battles’ as a strategic operation with
ideologically relevant keywords, cf. Liedtke, Wengeler and Böke 1991).
Concepts attain particular meanings in contexts, through association with
neighbouring concepts, i.e. they are part of frames or schemata which are
mental representations stored in long-term memory on the basis of expe-
rience of the physical, social and linguistic worlds (cf. for example Fillmore
1985). Changing meanings of one concept thus ultimately means chang-
ing frames, including ideologically determined frames. With respect to
the concept of ‘justice’, the ideologies of the Labour Party and the SPD
are based on different historical traditions. Whereas in Britain, the notion
of justice in the sense of equality of opportunity is the more longstanding
and more generally accepted one (evolving from 19th century Liberal-
ism), the SPD’s tradition of justice as equality of outcome is more in line
with the ideals of the French Revolution and the arguments of post-war
social theorists. In the SPD discourse it has therefore been quite common
to find ‘Gerechtigkeit’ (justice) and ‘Staat’ (state, government) combined
as central concepts. In the Blair/Schröder paper, the concept ‘state’ also
gets redefined:

[25] The state should not row, but steer: not so much control, as
challenge. Solutions to problems must be joined up.

[25] Der Staat soll nicht rudern, sondern steuern, weniger

kontrollieren als herausfordern. Problemlösungen müssen vernetzt
werden.

The state (i.e. government) is here metaphorically represented as the

coxswain of a rowing boat, who does not loose sight of the ultimate desti-
nation. In this sense, ‘steer’ and ‘control’ could actually be seen as
synonymous metaphorical expressions. Another reading of the English
text interprets the verbs as indicating a sense of progression, i.e. steer, but
in fact not even steer but actually challenge. The German text has two
36 Third Ways and New Centres

contrasting pairs of action verbs in a parallel structure, of which one each

is the preferred action (i.e. not row but steer, and not take charge and
check but challenge). The slight difference in the two versions may be
due to the polysemy of ‘control’ and ‘kontrollieren’ (false friends):
‘kontrollieren’ is typically used to express supervision, inspection, sur-
veillance. This was most probably the concept behind the formulation in
the German text. Whether or not this was the originally intended idea, it
is fair to say that the two texts make perfect sense in their respective ideo-
logical contexts. In the traditional SPD understanding, the state regulates
social and economic conflicts and intervenes to correct any social imbal-
ances. Consideration of this knowledge is also evident in the choice of
‘korrigieren’ (correct) in paragraph (10) which, different to ‘address’ in
the English text, puts the focus on the result of the state’s action:8

[10] The belief that the state should address damaging market fail-
ures all too often led to a disproportionate expansion of the
government’s reach and the bureaucracy that went with it.

[10] Die Ansicht, daß der Staat schädliches Marktversagen

korrigieren müsse, führte allzuoft zur überproportionalen
Ausweitung von Verwaltung und Bürokratie, im Rahmen
sozialdemokratischer Politik.

The addition of ‘im Rahmen sozialdemokratischer Politik’ (within the

framework of Social Democratic policy) contributes to the identification
of the agent of an action which is seen to be no longer appropriate in the
modern world. The document argues for “a newly defined role for an
active state” (paragraph 65), which allows for sufficient flexibility and
freedom for economy and businesses, and which renounces its responsi-
bility to provide welfare for everybody (cf. the safety net versus springboard
example above). The following paragraph reflects the different traditional
perceptions of the role of the state in Britain and in Germany:

[81] The state must become an active agent for employment, not
merely the passive recipient of the casualties of economic failure.

8
The German text, however, includes a clumsy collocation: ‘Versagen’ (failure) is by
definition ‘schädlich’ (harmful) and cannot actually be put right (‘korrigieren’).
Christina Schäffner 37

[81] Der Staat muß die Beschäftigung aktiv fördern und nicht nur
passiver Versorger der Opfer wirtschaftlichen Versagens sein. (Lit-
erally: ... not only the passive provider for the victims ...)

In Germany, a conventional metaphor is to experience the state as a fa-

ther figure (THE STATE IS A FATHER, as a more specific instantiation
of the conceptual metaphor THE STATE IS A PERSON, cf. Lakoff and
Johnson 1980, and also Lakoff’s 1996 book on moral politics), obvious
in the common reference to ‘Vater Staat’ (father state). The father, in
his traditional role as the breadwinner, provides for the dependent mem-
bers in the family and thus ensures their well-being. The choice of
‘Versorger’ seems to be indicative of this conventional metaphor. The
resulting collocation ‘passiver Versorger’, however, is a slight contra-
diction in concepts, with ‘Versorger’ denoting an agent, i.e. a person
who is performing the activity expressed by the verb. The opposition
active – passive in paragraph (81) is more logical in the English text,
with ‘recipient’ semantically linked to ‘safety net’ in paragraph (83)
quoted above (a corresponding conceptual metaphor would be THE
STATE IS A SAFETY NET). Thus, there is a more coherent link in the
English text between paragraphs (81) and (83).
The new role of the state in relation to industry, trade unions, and the
people is explicitly spelt out in paragraphs (33-38) under the heading
“New programmes for changed realities”. These paragraphs are slightly
different in the English and in the German text, once more reflecting
different social and ideological traditions. They deserve to be discussed
in more detail:

[33] Our countries have different traditions in dealings between

state, industry, trade unions and social groups, but we share a con-
viction that traditional conflicts at the workplace must be overcome.
[34] This, above all, means rekindling a spirit of community and
solidarity, strengthening partnership and dialogue between all
groups in society and developing a new consensus for change and
reform. We want all groups in society to share our joint commit-
ment to the new directions set out in this Declaration.

[33] [...] [34] Dazu gehört vor allem, die Bereitschaft und die
Fähigkeit der Gesellschaft zum Dialog und zum Konsens wieder
neu zu gewinnen und zu stärken. Wir wollen allen Gruppen ein
Angebot unterbreiten, sich in die gemeinsame Verantwortung für
das Gemeinwohl einzubringen. (Literally: This, above all, means
38 Third Ways and New Centres

regaining and strengthening society’s willingness and ability for

dialogue and consensus. We want to make an offer to all groups to
join into the common responsibility for the public weal.)

‘Community’, ‘community spirit’ and ‘partnership’ are core concepts of

the ideology of New Labour. Thinking in terms of communitarianism is
identical with the rejection of a state interfering in a successful market
economy, and also includes relying on initiatives of individuals (see also
Fairclough 2000:37ff). In Germany, on the other hand, with strong trade
unions and corporate ownership patterns, there has always been a politi-
cal culture of consultation with the aim of achieving consensus. Therefore,
communitarism and partnership would not have been interpreted as a new
offer for society. In other words, the SPD political culture has not (yet?)
developed the conceptual and lexical packages associated with the
communitarian philosophy. Paragraph [34] in the German text reflects
the tradition of consultations among the main social forces, i.e. govern-
ment, employers, trade unions, to work for the common good (and not
inviting them immediately to share the commitment to the objectives as
laid down in the Blair/Schröder paper, as the English text does). The fol-
lowing paragraph then elaborates on this idea:

[35] Immediately upon taking office, the new Social Democratic

government in Germany gathered the top representatives of the
political sector, the business community and the unions around the
table to forge an Alliance for Jobs, Training and Competitiveness.

[35] In Deutschland hat die neue sozialdemokratische Regierung

deshalb sofort nach Amtsantritt Spitzenvertreter von Politik,
Wirtschaft und Gewerkschaften zu einem Bündnis für Arbeit,
Ausbildung und Wettbewerbsfähigkeit um einen Tisch versammelt.

The ‘deshalb’ (therefore) in the German text, which is not in the English
text, establishes a coherent link to ‘Angebot’ (offer) in (34). In the Eng-
lish text, the coherent link is much closer between paragraph (34) and
paragraphs (36-38), i.e. (36-38), set off by bullet points, are specifica-
tions to ‘the new directions set out in this Declaration’. In addition to the
coherence problems, there are a few other points in these paragraphs where
differences in the social systems become obvious:

[36] We want to see real partnership at work, with employees having

the opportunity of sharing the rewards of success with employers.
Christina Schäffner 39

[36] Wir möchten wirkliche Partnerschaft bei der Arbeit, indem

die Beschäftigten die Chance erhalten, die Früchte des Erfolgs mit
den Unternehmern zu teilen.

Although ‘bei der Arbeit’ is rather vague in the German text, the social
practice behind the texts is different: New Labour’s concept of a
stakeholder society for the English text, and the German model of
‘Sozialpartnerschaft’ for the German text. In German, employers and
employees together are usually referred to as ‘Sozialpartner’ (cf. para-
graph 38 below). In the next paragraph, the first sentence is different:

[37] We support modern trade unions protecting individuals against

arbitrary behaviour, and working in co-operation with employers
to manage change and create long-term prosperity.

[37] Wir wollen, daß die Gewerkschaften in der Modernen Welt

verankert bleiben. Wir wollen, daß sie den einzelnen gegen Willkür
schützen [...] (Literally: We want trade unions to remain anchored
in the modern world [ ...])

The German text accounts for the traditionally strong role of trade unions.
It gives them assurance that they will be needed in a changed world. The
English text, on the other hand, allows the inference that only modern
(i.e. not ‘old’, left-wing) trade unions will be supported. In the next para-
graph again, the German text has been toned down, just stating that the
activity of pursuing a dialogue supports change, whereas the English text
has the explicit reference that a dialogue which hinders change will not
be supported:

[38] In Europe – under the umbrella of a European employment

pact – we will strive to pursue an ongoing dialogue with the social
partners that supports, not hinders, necessary economic change.

[38] In Europa streben wir – unter dem Dach9 eines Europäischen

Beschäftigungspaktes – einen fortlaufenden Dialog mit den
Sozialpartnern an. Das befördert den notwendigen ökonomischen

9
The difference between ‘Dach’ and ‘umbrella’ is interesting from the point of view
of metaphor in translation (cf. Schäffner in press). Both can be seen as metaphorical
expressions of a more general conceptual metaphor BEING PROTECTED IS BE-
ING UNDER A COVER.
40 Third Ways and New Centres

Wandel. (Literally: [...] under the roof of a European employment

pact [...] dialogue with the social partners. This supports the nec-
essary economic change.)

There are some more examples of differences where the anticipation of

controversial reactions in Germany may have been the reason for deciding
on the formulation in the text. Just one more example will suffice:

[14] The politics of the New Centre and Third Way is about ad-
dressing the concerns of people who live and cope with societies
undergoing rapid change – both winners and losers.

[14] Die Politik der Neuen Mitte und des Dritten Weges richtet
sich an den Problemen der Menschen aus, die mit dem raschen
Wandel der Gesellschaften leben und zurechtkommen müssen.

The phrase ‘both winners and losers’ has not been accounted for in the
German text. The reason for this may well have been that it was felt inap-
propriate for the German addressees to transform the SPD, which had just
been in power for nine months after 16 years in opposition, from the tra-
ditional left-wing party of the working classes to a party of the rich.

5. Conclusion

Although the Blair/Schröder paper was fiercely debated in the first

months after its publication, the debate has died down. Schröder him-
self does not mention the document very often anymore and seldom talks
these days of die neue Mitte. It has been argued that some defeats for
the SPD in local elections in the summer and autumn of 1999 were caused
by the unpopularity of an imported and ill-defined political approach. In
addition, leaders of other European Social Democratic parties have not
endorsed the idea of a Third Way. For example, the French Prime Minis-
ter, Lionel Jospin, explicitly distanced himself from it.
As said above, it was in fact political officials who acted as transla-
tors. Their main argument for not employing professional translators was
that they do not understand politics, that is, they do not understand the
subtleties and sensitivities involved in political discourse.10 The differ-

10
It was also argued that the Blair/Schröder paper was not an official document but it
Christina Schäffner 41

ences in the linguistic structures in the two versions can indeed be ex-
plained by the fact that the authors, particularly on the German side, were
to a certain degree sensitive of the potential ideological debates which the
text would cause. In an article after the presentation of the Blair/Schröder
paper, The Economist (12 June 1999) referred to the fact that the working
group “ran into problems of terminology that extended well beyond the
vagaries of translation”. ‘Consensus’, a favourite New Labour word, meant
‘tripartism’ for the German side – i.e. government, business and unions
working together. That idea, in turn, caused consternation on the British
side. A competent professional translator should have been able to make
the authors aware of such differences.
To sum up: the comparative analysis of the English and the German
text of the Blair/Schröder paper revealed more or less subtle differences
which have been explained as areflection and/or awareness of ideological
phenomena in the respective cultures. However, the document was pre-
sented as a joint paper, as evidence of Blair and Schröder “speaking the
same language”. To the addressees, therefore, the two versions gave an
illusion of identity (comparable to Koskinen’s 2000 arguments with ref-
erence to translating for the EU Commission). I have tried to show that
decisions at the linguistic micro-level have had effects for a political
party and society, reflected for example in the SPD debating its identity
due to the textual treatment of ideological keywords. Using concepts of
linguistics and critical discourse analysis, I have tried to link textual
features to the social and ideological context of text production and re-
ception. Both the German text and the English text can thus serve as
windows onto ideologies and political power relations in the contempo-
rary world. Critical discourse analysis brings together the discursive with
the textual, through a conjunction of analysis of both the text and its
intertextual context (cf. Chouliaraki 2000:297). A translation perspective
to ideologically relevant discourse can add new ways of understanding
politics and can thus make a substantial contribution to the study of cul-
tures in contact.

was meant as a text to initiate a debate. In the case of official documents, such as
treaties or policy statements, for which both content and linguistic structures need to
be checked carefully, professional translators as employed. Translation competence
includes, among others, cultural and domain specific competence. Politics too, can
be characterized as a specific domain, and hence there are indeed professional trans-
lators with a specific expertise in the domain of politics.
This page intentionally left blank
‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’
Reading Ideology in the ‘Bindings’ of Translations *

KEITH HARVEY

After theorizing the usefulness of the notions ‘event’, ‘discourse’

and ‘horizon of expectation’ for understanding the ideological
strains present in translated literary texts, this paper analyses the
bindings of three gay fictional texts translated from American
English into French in the late 1970s. The bindings, which are
constituted by the titles, cover photos and back cover blurbs of
the translations, are shown to be key sites for the figuring of
translated texts as interfaces between competing ideological
positions. In particular, a fraught understanding and evaluation of
American notions of ‘gay’ are revealed to structure and permeate
the material of the bindings. The discussion concludes with the
implications of such an analysis for conceptualizing the complexity
of the agency evidenced by translations.

1. Introduction
This paper analyses the titles, cover photos and back cover blurbs of a
group of three translations as evidence of the way the texts were posi-
tioned as intercultural events for their potential readerships. In particular,
the tensions and strains present in the ‘discourse’ constituted by these
material elements of approach to the translated text – referred to collec-
tively as the ‘binding’ – are investigated in order to understand not just
the way the text might be bent to prevailing target norms (linguistic,
translational, socio-cultural) but, also, the manner in which the transla-
tion event signals an interface between competing ideological positions.
Indeed, it is argued that the elements of the translation ‘binding’ identi-
fied here are the obvious place to begin an analysis of the translation as
interface in that they are, in a quite literal sense, the elements involved
in the to-and-fro shuttle between the domestic reader’s perception and
the foreign text’s otherness.

* The editor has made every effort to contact copyright holders of the French covers
of Le Danseur de Manhattan (by Andrew Holleran), Fags (by Larry Kramer) and
Rush (by John Rechy) reproduced in this article.
44 ‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’

The paper is structured in the following manner: after an exploration

of the usefulness of the notions of ‘event’ and ‘discourse’ (as they are
developed in critical linguistics) and ‘horizon of expectation’ (as sug-
gested by the French theorist of translation, Antoine Berman), analyses of
translation bindings are offered for a group of three ‘gay texts’ translated
from American English into French in the late 1970s. The paper con-
cludes with some thoughts on the issues of agency that the focus on
bindings gives rise to.

2. ‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’: An interactional

model of translation

Critical linguistics, the branch of contemporary linguistics most concerned

with the problematic of ideology in and through language, has addressed
the issues of context and determinism in ways that could profitably be
enlisted in translation studies.1 For example, Norman Fairclough (1989),
one of critical linguistics’ most persuasive theorists, raises the question of
the location of ideology in a complex model of language use. Arguing
that “discoursal practices are ideologically invested in so far as they con-
tribute to sustaining or undermining power relations” (Fairclough 1989:23),
Fairclough asks first whether and how ideology should be conceived of
as a property of both structures and events. He notes that if one subscribes
to the exclusive localization of ideology in the ‘system’ or underlying
‘code’ (i.e. structure), one emerges with a tightly deterministic vision of
constraint and a corresponding lack of space for counter-identification
and agency (one notes here a characteristic preoccupation of post-
Foucauldian critical thought). In contrast, if a determination to see ideology
located in ‘events’ and ‘texts’ appears to offer the possibility of transfor-
mation and fluidity denied to the systems view, Fairclough points out that
the events approach to ideological inscription carries its own limitations,
notably in that it downplays the extent to which meaning (and, thus, ide-
ology) is a result of the interpretation of events/texts by social actors who
are always already enmeshed in and produced by socio-cultural systems.
Fairclough introduces the third term ‘discourse’ as a way of loosening
up and dynamizing the text versus system – or event versus structure –

1
Maria Tymoczko has also recently acknowledged the potential usefulness of critical
linguistics in translation studies (Tymoczko 1999:287, 294).
Keith Harvey 45

binarisms. ‘Discourse’, in Fairclough’s terms, suggests not only the so-

cial imbrication of language in concrete practices and institutions; it also
importantly implies a simultaneously constitutive and representational
force encompassing a conception of the relation between code and event
that is fundamentally dialectical. Fairclough then offers a complex tri-
partite model of discourse which links ‘social practice’, ‘discoursal
practice’ (including processes of text production, consumption and inter-
pretation) with ‘text’ (an agglomerate of forms and contents providing
traces of and cues for interpretation) (see Fairclough 1992:62-100). Ide-
ologies, in this view, can be at one and the same time present in differing
concentrations in the various levels of the discourse model. Neither fully
systemic, nor entirely ‘evenemential’, ideologies sustain the particular
configurations of the discourse model, and are themselves sustained
through the repeated – and thus ‘naturalised’ – practices made possible
by the model. Fairclough makes it clear that this conception accommo-
dates the possibility of perceiving “change in discoursal events” (Fairclough
1989:20), without suggesting that the effects of ideology are themselves
limited to the evenemential level. Ideological change in and through events
is signalled typically by (often small) transgressions, contradictions and
confusions. It becomes the critical linguist’s job to trace these sites of
trouble back to a challenge undergoing a process of articulation, a chal-
lenge that might not only be to linguistic or textual conventions, but also
to subject positions, to ways of conceiving experience.
Such work encourages us in translation studies to operate with a view
of ideology in and through translated texts which seeks not only to estab-
lish the way the translated text is the product of target systemic forces
(often described in the literature in overtly causal terms)2, but also that
construes the text as ‘event’, i.e. as an active intervention in a receiving
context that is thereby liable to register an element of ‘trouble’ (however
small) consequent upon the traces of difference borne by the foreign.
Conceived of as an ‘event’, a translation has the potential to reveal (and
should be probed for) challenges, transgressions, contradictions and fis-
sures, all of which are outcomes of the interaction between, on the one
hand, an underlying systemic configuration of values and assumptions
and, on the other, the irruption of alterity within a domestic sphere. In short,
a translation-as-event is not exclusively or primarily the sum of its target
systemic pressures. Rather – to borrow Steiner’s (1992:317) metaphor to

2
See, for example, Pym (1998), Chesterman (1998, 2000).
46 ‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’

account for the fourth stage of his ‘hermeneutic motion’ – a translation

can be seen as “a mirror which not only reflects but also generates light”,
i.e. as not merely the outcome of established determinations/manipula-
tions in the receiving socio-cultural system but as an event opening up the
possibility (however minor) of ideological innovation.
The French theorist and translator, Antoine Berman, provides us with
a similarly productive image of translation as event (although he does not
employ such a term). Concerned to reintroduce the figure of the translator
into translation criticism in order to destabilize the overhasty rush to sys-
tems thinking, Berman straightforwardly contests those that deny the
importance of ‘author’ in contemporary literary criticism.3 Detailing three
specifically translator-related dimensions in the third stage of his critical
model, he argues that we need to determine the translator’s ‘position
traductive’ [translational position], his/her ‘projet de traduction’ [project
of translation] and his/her ‘horizon traductif’ [translational horizon]
(Berman 1995:73-83). It is the third of these dimensions which is of use
to my argument here. Berman defines ‘horizon’ – a term derived from
modern hermeneutics4 – as “l’ensemble des paramètres langagiers,
littéraires, culturels et historiques qui «déterminent» le sentir, l’agir et le
penser d’un traducteur” (ibid.:79) [the whole set of the linguistic, literary,
cultural and historical parameters which ‘determine’ the feeling, the ac-
tion and the thinking of a translator]. Interesting and problematic (in view
of Berman’s stated reasons for his hostility to Tel-Aviv functionalism) is
the use of the verb ‘determine’ in this passage. Its appearance in ‘scare
quotes’ does not quite get Berman off the hook. He claims that the term is
not to be understood either causally or structurally without explaining
quite what it is to signify. Its signalled precariousness in the text is per-
haps best understood as a sign of Berman’s own thought articulating itself
to itself and forced, necessarily, to employ the vocabulary of the very set
of assumptions he is attempting to challenge. As an example, Berman
sketches out the ‘horizon’ of a 1991 French translation of Sappho as a com-
plex of the current state of French verse, a lively contemporary French
interest in all things Greek, as well as current retranslations (of which
there are many) of the classics. In short, all these factors, according to
Berman “attestent d’un certain ‘horizon d’attente’ d’un certain public
français tourné/retourné vers la «chose» grecque et romaine” (ibid.:80)

3
“Oeuvre et existence sont liées” (Berman 1995:73) [Work and existence are linked].
4
See Jauss (1988).
Keith Harvey 47

[attest to a certain ‘horizon of expectation’ of a certain French public turn-

ing (once more) towards the Greek and Roman ‘fact’ / ‘thing’].
The notion of ‘horizon of expectation’ turns out to be particularly rich
in meanings and worthy of exploration. Beginning with the most sugges-
tively problematic aspect of the image, we can affirm that it is not in the
nature of a ‘horizon’ actually to constitute a physical limit at which an
exploration will cease. The question, then, is inevitably left open as to
what exactly is to be considered part of a translation’s horizon and, cru-
cially, what is not deemed a relevant part of the horizon. The notion
‘horizon’ immediately, then, creates its own intractable problems of
inclusiveness and boundary. That Berman also clearly conceives of ‘hori-
zon’ in terms of limits (however ambivalent) is made clear by the second
sentence in the following comment in which a ‘horizon’ is described as:

ce-à-partir-de-quoi l’agir du traducteur a sens et peut se déployer,

elle pointe l’espace ouvert de cet agir. Mais, d’autre part, elle
désigne ce qui clôt, ce qui enferme le traducteur dans un cercle
de possibilités limitées. (ibid.:80-81, original italics)
[that-from-which the action of the translator has meaning and can
be deployed, it charts the open space of that action. But, on the
other hand, it indicates that which seals off the translator in a
circle of limited possibilities]

It might be noted that it is precisely because the notion of ‘horizon’ fails

to designate a finite dimension that it suggests the degree to which the
boundaries of influence and interaction proposed by the critic for a given
work are in effect a function of his/her own critical stance (just as my
horizon is different from that of someone placed elsewhere on the planet).
Thus, despite the mention of ‘sealing off’ (‘clôre’), a horizon is clearly
conceived of as an endlessly deferred limit which is, in the end, synony-
mous with the very limit of our powers of observation.
The term ‘horizon’ is not, however, the only important one in Berman’s
formulation of the necessary illusion of limits. The notion of ‘expecta-
tion’ [‘attente’] suggests an interactive force that not only has the power
to shape behaviour (and, thus, could be construed as the ‘cause’ of that
behaviour); ‘expectation’, of course, can also be ‘disappointed’ or
‘changed’, i.e. by something less than or different from what was ‘ex-
pected’. Expectations, crucially, are susceptible to being altered and
widened by the intervention of the unforeseen; in other words, they are
sometimes – thankfully – subject to surprise, subversion and resistance
48 ‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’

and can in no sense be conflated with unidirectional coercive forces on

the behaviour of others. In short, then, ‘horizon of expectation’ allows an
escape from the perceived determinisms of various structuralisms and
functionalisms, while nonetheless permitting the relative degree of clo-
sure that is necessary if the critical project is to gain a handle on the question
of the contextual influences on the translator’s work. The fundamental
ambivalence of the term – encoded profoundly in the metaphor of ‘hori-
zon’ itself as both perceived yet illusory limit – is careful not to exclude
the factor of influence and causality, but powerfully suggests that it be
supplemented with an interactional dimension allowing for agency; that
is, in Fairclough’s terms, that the text be seen as event traversed not only
by the forces of determinism but also, crucially, as a carrier of the forces
of innovation.
Through this exploration of ‘text-events’, ‘mirrors giving out light’
and ‘horizons of expectation’, we arrive at a singularly interactive and
dialectical conception of the way a text – in its elaboration – may respond
to the expectations of those who may read it and, also, the way the latter
may be imagined to interpret and judge it in the light of their own beliefs
and agendas. Of course, there are other scholars in translation studies who
are also working with concepts of translator action which, while taking
cognisance of the way the translations might be adapted to target norms
(linguistic, translational, socio-cultural), construe the translation also as
an active interface between competing ideological positions. Such
‘interactional-interventionist’ (my provisional term) work allows for
contradictory behaviours, unforeseen effects and small acts of resistance
which are not just seen as departures from established norms – or even as
‘pure idiosyncracies’ (Toury 1995:54) – but rather as deployments of a
capacity for translational agency that takes advantage of the otherness of
the foreign text (and its encodings of ideology) to make a small but sig-
nificant intrusion into the domestic space. This intrusion will contain
incoherencies and inconsistencies, but these are evidence of the ideologi-
cal work going on in the production of the text-event in relation to target
horizons of expectation.
One example of such work is represented by Edwin Gentzler’s (1996)
use of Michel de Certeau’s (1984) theorizing of the small, multiple acts
of difference and non-conformity which characterize everyday behaviour.
Critiquing Even-Zohar’s analysis of translation in systems for being “highly
formalistic and essentialist” (Gentzler 1996:117), Gentzler points out that
most methodologies of a systemic or structuralist cast “fail at the task of
Keith Harvey 49

linking human agency to historical change” (ibid.:122). To remedy this,

the interventionism of a translator/translation might be construed as an
effect of small, apparently insignificant and inconsistent actions cumula-
tively constituting a practice of ‘evasive conformity’ (ibid.: 23). We need
a translation studies, the argument runs, that will be just as concerned to
explore the manner in which translations prepare the ground for new and
emerging readerships as it will be to establish how a translated text is
bent to prevailing norms. In his history of translation in Ireland, Michael
Cronin (1996) has made a suggestion that is congruent with a way of
theorizing such agency in translation. Cronin argues for a notion of
‘proactive translation’ that is distinct from existing conceptions:

Between semantic and communicative translation we may need a

third term such as proactive translation. This is translation that is
communicative in terms of adaptation to the target language, and
exercises a relative latitude with regard to elements of the source
text and culture, but is interventionist in that changes to texts are
strongly driven by the specific values of the translator in question.
Proactive translation is as much an attempt to create an audience
as it is to find one. (Cronin 1996:153)

The idea that a translation may seek to create its audience is particularly
resonant for those domains of socio-cultural practice that are character-
ized by ideological disturbance (or, which are constructed upon
‘faultlines’).5 One such domain in the late twentieth century is that of
representations of homosexual experience construed – principally in the
Anglo-American cultural arena – through the identitarian and com-
munitarian notion of ‘gay’.
In the rest of this paper, I will seek to explore one aspect of three
translated texts (their material ‘binding’) which represented by and through
their publication in France in the late 1970s/early 1980s a small but sig-
nificant ‘event’ in target thinking about the notions of ‘gay identity’, ‘gay
liberation’, and ‘gay writing’. These bindings respond in various semiotic
ways to the horizons of expectation of anticipated target readerships and
register both the reservations of the receiving culture faced with Ameri-
can difference while also opening up small, contestatory spaces for the
productive intrusion of the foreign.6

5
See Sinfield (1994).
6
Tymoczko’s work on the translation of Old Irish poetry during the 19th and 20th
centuries works with a comparable set of assumptions. She writes of “the dialectic
50 ‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’

3. ‘Horizons’ and ‘bindings’: Negotiating with the

homosexual

The term ‘binding’ is used here to designate the material and contextual
factors which circulate between and bring together (i.e. ‘bind’) (i) the
elements of the cover and the translated text itself; (ii) the cover and the
perceptions of the target reading subjects; (iii) the book as a whole (cover
and text) and the receiving culture.7 My contention is that these ele-
ments occupy a crucial – indeed, revelatory – position at the interface
of the domestic and the foreign, constituting the opening up of the ‘event’
that is the translation for the domestic reader and manifested through
signals of both resistance and innovation.8 What the bindings ‘say’ and

between subordination and resistance that often occurs within a single translation”
(Tymoczko 1999:27) and argues that “the workings of power are not simply ‘top
down’, a matter of inexorable repression and constraint; instead there are many cul-
tural activities, one of which is translation, that can be mobilized for counter discourses
and subversion” (ibid.:85).
7
Of course, this is not the first time that such proposals have been articulated, al-
though to my knowledge the degree of detail and systematicity that I am suggesting is
new within translation studies. (Outside translation studies proper, Genette’s (1987)
elaboration of the paratextual ‘frange’ [fringe] of texts encompasses the kind of ma-
terial I discuss here (see the discussion in Scott (2000:129-130)). As far back as the
seminal volume of essays on literary translation The Manipulation of Literature
(Hermans 1985), Lambert and Van Gorp proposed a “synthetic scheme for transla-
tion description” (Lambert and Van Gorp 1985:52-53) that works down from
macro-textual (including what I am referring to as the ‘binding’) to micro-textual
features before proceeding back up again. More recently, Mira (1998) has explored
the various ways in which ‘homographesis’ (a term borrowed from the American
queer theorist Lee Edelman 1994) poses a problem for the translator of gay themes as
well as the ways in which gay inscriptions can be enhanced in translation. One not-
able strategy for the latter is the utilization of a gay-marked presentation and packaging
of the textual artefact: “There are several ways to ‘homosexualise’ a text: a gay-friendly
image on the cover, or even an image which posits an explicitly gay gaze, extracts of
reviews from gay publications on the back cover blurb, camp style in general presen-
tation” (Mira 1998:116). Elsewhere, I describe the effect of the ‘packaging’ of Genet
in translation on my reading of him when I was a teenager (Harvey 2000a).
8
Of course, I am not assuming that these ‘peripherals’ will throw light in any direct
sense on the discourse of the translation itself. In fact, the possible tensions between
the translation and what is said about it are clearly one line of enquiry in the explora-
tion of ideological contradictions and fractures (as has long been the case in discussions
of the divergences between the translation and translator paratexts).
Keith Harvey 51

‘show’ (and how), together with what they conceal or confuse, are vital,
it is implied, to any full project of translation hermeneutics. Taking each
translation binding in turn, we will observe how the co-presence of dif-
ferent discursive attitudes 9 is inscribed in the very objects that the
translations constitute.

3.1 Rush and la nouvelle homosexualité

Georges-Michel Sarotte’s translation of John Rechy’s (1979) novel

Rushes was published in France under the title Rush in 1980 (Figure 1),
just one year after the source text appeared in the United States.10 A wish

9
I take the notion of ‘discursive attitudes’ from Clem Robyns (1994), who suggests
four types of attitude elaborated by a cultural self in relation to possible others: Imper-
ialist, Defensive, Transdiscursive, Defective.
10
John Rechy’s first novel City of Night was published in the United States to critical
acclaim in 1963. It was soon translated into French by Maurice Rambaud as Cité de
la nuit in 1965. Indeed, the French translation was only one of many target texts of
the novel to appear within a couple of years in several languages: e.g. German, Dan-
ish, Dutch, Japanese, etc. In short, the book – which tells the story of a young male
hustler’s journey through American urban gay underworlds – was an international hit
in the mid-1960s. After this successful first book, Rechy’s work had less interna-
tional presence: Numbers (Rechy 1968) was translated into Danish, Dutch and German
in the late 1960s; The Vampires (Rechy 1971) appeared in Dutch in 1973. Not until
1980, with the translation by Georges-Michel Sarotte of Rush, did another text by
Rechy appear in France. It is striking then that this text was translated (and so soon
after the source text) into a literary system that had not sought to translate any of
Rechy’s works subsequent to the success of his first novel. As for Sarotte, his status
as a key intercultural actor becomes clear from a glance at his personal trajectory. A
French scholar and teacher of American English language and letters, Sarotte pub-
lished his doctoral thesis on homosexuality in American literature (completed in 1974)
under the title Comme un frère, Comme un amant: L’Homosexualité masculine
dans le roman et le théâtre américains de Herman Melville à James Baldwin
(Sarotte 1976) [Like a Brother, Like a Lover: Male Homosexuality in the American
Novel and Theatre from Herman Melville to James Baldwin]. The blurb of this book
of literary criticism informs us that after having taught at the University of Paris X,
Sarotte “est actuellement Associate Professor à l’Université de Massachusetts à Bos-
ton (U.S.A.)” [currently Associate Professor at the University of Massachusetts in
Boston (U.S.A.)]. In fact, Sarotte remained in the United States for six years, return-
ing to France in the early 1980s to teach American literature once more at Paris X. It
is while he lived and worked in the United States, then, that Sarotte translated John
Rechy’s Rushes. The French Rush can be – and perhaps should be – read alongside
the 1976 book of literary criticism as a further manifestation of Sarotte’s personal
commitment to the cross-cultural and inter-cultural developments of homosexual
identities and communities.
52 ‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’

to communicate something of the desirable strangeness of the American

gay scene is detectable in Sarotte’s use of an identifiably source-language
term as a title. This is confirmed by its subsequent commentary in a foot-
note in the main body of the target text. In the source text, the term ‘rushes’
(the name of the bar in which most of the action takes place) permits a
bout of word-play about Moses and the bulrushes (Rechy 1979:87). This
is translated without any attempt at compensation by Sarotte, who chooses
instead to supplement it with the following explanatory note:

*En anglais, rush signifie aussi «roseau». Le sens du nom du bar

serait plutôt «rafale», mot qui suggère le désir violent («les rafales
du désir»): c’est aussi une marque de poppers: le Rush. (Sarotte
1980:110)
[*In English, rush also means ‘rush’.11 The meaning of the name
of the bar is rather ‘burst/gush’, a word that suggests violent feel-
ings of desire (‘the bursts/gushes of desire’)12: it is also a brand of
poppers: the Rush]

Of course, the source text title (and the name of the bar) uses the plural
‘rushes’, thereby facilitating the word-play in a way that the singular ‘rush’
does not. Note, however, that the target text minimizes the foreignness of
the item (‘Anglicisme’ notes the Robert dictionary) by using the singular
form ‘rush’ which does indeed enjoy a limited currency in French.13 What
is more, the imported brand of poppers ‘Rush’, referred to in Sarotte’s
note, might also have been known by many target culture gay men fre-
quenting the French disco scene in the late 1970s.
In short, the title of the translation manages both to evoke the Anglo-
American otherness of the original text, while enlisting already available
target language meanings and associations. Indeed, the two target lan-
guage meanings of ‘rush’ mentioned by the Robert dictionary are peculiarly
apt and evocative given the book’s depiction of a post-Stonewall accelerated

11
That is, ‘rush’ as in ‘plant’.
12
This is a French collocation.
13
The Robert dictionary gives its target language meanings (derived ultimately from
English meanings) as, firstly, “effort final, accélération d’un concurrent en fin de
course” [a final effort, acceleration of a competitor at the end of the race] and, sec-
ondly, “afflux brusque d’un grand nombre de personnes” (Robert) [the sudden
movement of a large number of people].
KeithKeith
HarveyHa 5353

seen Figure 1: Cover and blurb of Rush (Sarotte 1980)

seen
54 ‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’

(and possibly out-of-control) mass movement towards an uncertain

liberationist goal. As for the brand-name for poppers, this stands as a sym-
bol of that peculiarly American growth in (gay) sexual capitalism which
so many contemporary French commentators deplored at the time.14 The
word, then, contributes quite precisely to target (sub)cultural debates in
part precisely because of its obvious imported status as a sign of gay
America. Already, signs of negotiation with varied discursive practices
are detectable here: on the one hand, the term underlines the distance
between source and target realms; on the other, a kind of transdiscursive15
gesture is accomplished by its presence on the cover.
Turning to other aspects of the cover, we note that Rush presents a
close-up photo of a typical late-1970s thirty-something ‘clone’, i.e. a rep-
resentative of that new virility which the text itself takes as a subject of
debate. Without being excessively masculine in appearance (there is even
a certain soft sadness about his gaze), he has short, unfussy hair, a mous-
tache and wears a black leather jacket with a low-neck white T-shirt. As
we know from target culture records at the time, this type – though quickly
adopted by many French gay men (see Camus 1988 [1978]) – was still
very much associated with the American model of a new masculinity.16 A
prospective French gay reader in 1980 is likely, therefore, to have picked
up the book and received its message of American gayness not only from
its Anglicizing title but also importantly from its cover photo. As for the
blurb on the back cover, this presents the novel as a vital account of the
new homosexuality, with stress placed on the fundamental Americanness
of this phenomenon. Thus, the novel is the “roman de l’Amérique gay
d’aujourd’hui” [novel of today’s gay America], whose action is set in the
docks of “une grande ville américaine, New York sans doute” [a large
American city, probably New York]. Its characters explore “les terrains
vagues de la nouvelle homosexualité” [the waste lands of the new homo-
sexuality]. Guy Hocquenghem is used as guarantor of the book’s

14
See, for example, Marc Daniel’s articles (Daniel 1970a, 1970b, 1970c) for the con-
servative homosexual journal Arcadie. See also Robert (1979, 1980) on the
commercialization of the American gay scene and the disgust expressed by Arcadie’s
editor, André Baudry, at American political and cultural expressions of homosexual-
ity (Coz 1982).
15
See Robyns (1994:409, 417-420) on the meaning of this term.
16
Martel (1996) describes the clone as “la révélation sexuelle de la fin des années
1970” (Martel 1996:189) [the sexual revelation of the end of the 1970s].
Keith Harvey 55

importance for contemporary gay history. The French gay theorist and
activist is quoted as having hailed the book as “le roman le plus
important...de l’année gay américaine” [the most important novel...of the
American gay year]. The potential reader is reminded that Rechy is the
author of City Of Night (“un chef-d’oeuvre de la littérature homosexuelle”17
[a masterpiece of homosexual literature]), and that his new book is “le
grand roman de la nouvelle homosexualité” [the great novel of the new
homosexuality].
Such linking of the ‘new model’ of homosexuality with the book’s
Americanness is not a coincidence; it is likely to activate in the French
reader existing knowledge of the controversies and debates about where
French ‘gay’ is destined and the question of what, if anything, it should
borrow from elsewhere. The reinforcement of the link with America (sev-
eral mentions in the space of a few lines) probably produced a strange
mixture of alienation and desire on the part of the French gay reader toy-
ing with the idea of purchasing the book. The message seems clearly to
be that this text is distinctly un-French, but its very foreignness makes it
an object of desire. For the fragile gay identity of its French reader, its
promise of a new model of homosexuality might well have acted as an
incentive and a comfort. Rush may indicate which choices the French gay
reader has to make and who he can be, even if its clear foreign prov-
enance signals that this new self might be obtained at the price of a degree
of alienation. Indeed, another aspect of the novel emphasized by the blurb
might well disconcert a reader seeking a handbook of the new homosexu-
ality. The novel’s dark and despairing nature is underlined by its
construction as “une tragédie antique” [an ancient tragedy], with the bar
Rush described as “un territoire étrange, agressif et fascinant” [a strange,
aggressive and fascinating territory]. The characters are said to be unified
by “leurs fantasmes, leurs peurs et leur solitude” [their fantasies, fears
and solitude] in a “nuit si cruelle” [such a cruel night]. As for Rechy, he is
said to observe the “existence perdue de ces hommes” [the lost existence
of these men] with “une dureté” [a hardness] and “une violence radicale”
[a radical violence]. So, as well as fundamentally imported – and there-
fore desirable –, the new homosexuality is also characterized negatively
by violence and cruelty. It is worth noting, however, that while this

17
This, as I remarked in note 10 above, is the only other text by Rechy that a mono-
lingual French reader is likely to know.
56 ‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’

depiction may yet load another paradoxical element on to the supposed

aspirations of the French gay reader, it may also justify those others who,
out of principle, resist the import.18 What we can say is that the emphasis
on the Americanness of the book is comparable to the frequent tendency
in Sarotte’s earlier book of literary criticism Comme un frère, Comme un
Amant (Sarotte 1976) to underline differences between the United States
and France, on the one hand, while seeking to promote a cross-cultural
awareness in gay readers, on the other.19

3.2 Fags as le livre qui a scandalisé l’Amérique

The title of Brice Matthieussent’s (1981) Fags – strident in large capital

letters on the front cover (Figure 2) – as the translation of Larry Kramer’s
(1977) Faggots constitutes an even bolder intrusion of an English term
into the consciousness of a target culture reader than Sarotte’s title (with
its limited French usage).20 At the same time, there is something curious
about Matthieussent’s choice of the precise form of the term. ‘Fags’
may be in itself an acceptable source language abbreviation of ‘fag-
gots’, but it is not of course an abbreviation used by the original. In
other words, while opting clearly for a title that shocks the target cul-
ture perception by its strangeness, Matthieussent has carried out his own
transformation of the word. Indeed, a small note at the bottom of the

18
See, in particular, the grave reservations expressed by commentators in Arcadie
throughout the 1970s and referred to in note 14 above.
19
See, for example, the Conclusion of the book, entitled ‘Un Autre Pays’ [Another
Country] (Sarotte 1976:307-319).
20
Faggots was Kramer’s first novel and an immediate – if controversial – success,
both within and outside the gay community. As the AIDS crisis hit the urban gay
community in the United States in the 1980s, Kramer was to become a key activist
engaged in raising gay awareness of the risks of the disease and a tireless cam-
paigner against political and corporate indifference to the deaths of gay men. As
part of this work, he wrote The Normal Heart (Kramer 1985), the first ‘AIDS play’
(a success in both America and Europe) as well as a collection of essays, Reports
from the Holocaust (Kramer 1989), based on his AIDS activism. Brice Mat-
thieussent’s translation appeared four years after the source text. As Kramer did
not enjoy an established reputation in the United States, we must assume that the
source cultural success of the novel accounts for the relative speed with which the
translation was undertaken. Fags was Matthieussent’s first published translation,
though he has since become a tremendously prolific translator of mainly American
twentieth-century fiction.
Keith Harvey 57

back cover makes clear that the title term derives from another source
language word:

* Fags: abréviation du mot faggot, mot d’origine américaine à

connotation péjorative. Correspond au français pédé.
[* Fags: abbreviation of the word faggot, a word of American ori-
gin with pejorative connotations. Corresponds to queer in French.]

Why then this change of form? The most likely explanation is target
language-internal. Just as the English word ‘faggot’ also means ‘a small
bundle of wood and sticks’, a cognate French term – ‘fagot’ – has this
meaning exclusively. As a result, to have boldly announced the title of
the target text as Faggots might have produced confusion and suggested
to readers at first glance a variant spelling for a target language item. The
effect of the choice of the actual form Fags, though, is unmistakably
exoticizing. Combined with its tabloid typographic form, it produces a
shock of strangeness – a shock which is underlined by the publisher’s
decision to display the following message in large font (larger than that
given over to the name of the author or the generic label ‘roman’ [novel])
at the bottom of the front cover:

Le livre qui a scandalisé l’Amérique

[The book which scandalized America]

The mention of ‘l’Amérique’ will probably help to explain the provenance

of the title word to the French reader and will confirm to him or her that
we have here something explosive from that strange and vast country
across the Atlantic.
The rest of the front cover is taken up with a much less obvious set of
signs, notably a photograph of a red handkerchief tied round a bunch of
keys. Unless the potential reader is familiar with the semiotics of hand-
kerchiefs and keys in the gay world, this sign may well be unreadable.
However, it is the case that by the late 1970s keys were often worn at the
hip by American gay men as a sign of their gayness, just as different col-
oured handkerchiefs were displayed coming out of the back pockets of
jeans as a way of signalling particular sexual proclivities (red was for fist-
fucking).21 These allusions would no doubt have been lost on ‘general

21
See Worton (1994:53) on colour-coded hankies. Drueilhe (1979:249) gives a
contemporary account of American coded handkerchiefs from a French perspective.
58 ‘Events
‘Events’ *and
and ‘Horizons *
‘Horizons’

Figure2:2:Cover
Figure Cover and
and blurb
blurb of of Fags
Fags (Matthieussent
(Matthieussent 1981)
1981)
Keith Harvey 59

readers’ in France; indeed, hankies and keys may be counter-productive

in the sense that they appear to suggest a kind of domesticity quite dis-
tinct from the impact of the title and publisher’s ‘warning’. It is just
possible, however, that the publisher was taking the gamble that enough
gay men in the target culture would be aware of these signs by 1981 to
pick up the allusions. If that is the case, this could indicate that the book
was chiefly marketed at a burgeoning gay readership – the only one likely
to recognize these fragments of the international/transdiscursive semiot-
ics of gayness.
Turning to the blurb on the back of the book, the eye is immediately
strongly drawn to the central and longest paragraph (four) which is marked
out by its topping and tailing with clear horizontal lines. This paragraph
summarizes the book as about the quest of the central character, Fred
Lemish, for meaning to his life (‘un sens à sa vie’ [a meaning to his life])
as well as for love, both of which he has as yet failed to find (“l’Amour,
en dépit de multiples liaisons ou aventures” [Love, in spite of many liai-
sons and adventures]):

il va s’engouffrer plus que jamais dans le monde souterrain de la

capitale de l’homosexualité à la recherche de l’âme sœur. Existe-
t-elle? Où la trouvera-t-il, dans un bar, aux bains, dans la rue, dans
une boîte disco, ou dans un lieu plus secret encore du ghetto ‘gay’?
[more than ever he is going to rush into the underground world of
the capital of homosexuality looking for a soul mate. Does he exist?
Where will he find him, in a bar, in the saunas, in the street, in a
disco, or in an even more secret place of the ‘gay’ ghetto?]

The sense of a lugubrious underworld is clear here from the terms

‘s’engouffrer’ [rush into]22, ‘le monde souterrain’ [underground world],
‘ghetto «gay»’ [‘gay’ ghetto]. Note how this last term still calls for speech
marks and also how the text slips from a reference to the gay ‘capital’ to
the invocation of the ‘ghetto’. Above paragraph four there are three short
paragraphs whose main function is to continue and support the front
cover’s assertion that this is a scandalous book. Paragraph one quotes the
first, striking phrase of the book (in translation), with its statistical head-
count of the number of ‘pédés’ [queers] in New York. Paragraphs two

22
The verb ‘s’engouffrer’ is formed out of the substantive ‘un gouffre’, meaning
‘an abyss’.
60 ‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’

and three bring home the shockingness of the text with references to the
novel as ‘sans précédent’ [without precedent] and, again, as having
‘scandalisé l’Amérique’ [scandalized America]. To support these asser-
tions, the blurb continues:

Salué par les uns comme un chef d’oeuvre et comme une horreur
par les autres, Fags ne peut laisser personne indifférent.
“Révoltant…un écrivain aussi talentueux devrait se décider à sortir
des cabinets”. (Washington Post)
“Le livre le plus riche, le plus pénétrant et dérangeant sur le sujet”.
(Chicago Tribune)

[Hailed by some as a masterpiece and by others as disgusting, Fags

cannot leave anyone indifferent.
“Revolting...a writer as talented as this should decide to come out
of the toilet.” (Washington Post)]
“The richest, most penetrating and disturbing book on the subject”.
(Chicago Tribune)]

The publisher’s marketing strategy relies clearly, then, on the shock value
of the text and on the fact that it has produced violently different reac-
tions (in the straight press) in the United States. The invitation to a target
text reader is both to experience some of the scandal and also to be able to
form a judgement on how justified this is. In other words, the target text
reader is being encouraged to form an opinion not just on the book but
also on the reactions it produced in its source culture – and, thereby, to
form an opinion about the systems of values at work in the foreign space.
Paragraph five changes tack somewhat and attempts to give Kramer’s
text an enhanced literary stature by enlisting a Homeric reference and
suggesting that to dwell on the scandalous elements of the book would be
shortsighted:

Fags, c’est un peu l’Odysée de l’homosexualité. Ne voir dans un

tel livre que son apparence pornographique releverait de la myopie
littéraire aiguë.
[Fags is a bit like the Odyssey of homosexuality. Only to see in
such a book its pornographic appearance would stem from acute
literary shortsightedness.]

The ‘serious turn’ discernible in this paragraph continues in the penulti-

mate paragraph (in italics except for the mention at the end of Brice
Keith Harvey 61

Matthieussent as responsible for the ‘texte français’) in which Larry

Kramer’s respectable credentials as a professional of the film industry
(“des fonctions importantes à United Artists et à Columbia pictures” [im-
portant functions at United Artists and Columbia pictures]) as a screen
writer (the ‘Women in Love’ screenplay, ‘tiré du roman de D.H. Law-
rence’ [based on the novel by D.H. Lawrence]) and as a university teacher
of cinema (“à l’université Harvard, à celles de Yale et de Californie du
Sud” [at Harvard, Yale and the University of Southern California]) are
detailed. In sum, then, the strategy of the different elements of the book’s
binding appears to be: first, to grab the attention through an appeal to the
text’s foreignness as well as its scandalous impact in its original setting;
second, to reinforce and clarify this through reference to the homosexual
underworld and the representation of explicit sex; finally (and only then),
to insist on the ultimate seriousness of the enterprise which the book rep-
resents. This last element, then, functions importantly as a guarantor of
the book’s quality and as a reassurance to the potential buyer that he/she
is not just buying a cheap read. Taken as a whole, this strategy constitutes
a complex and subtle act of enticement. However, more than is the case
with Rush, many elements of the binding of Fags reveal the unmistakable
presence of exoticizing and distancing elements.

3.3 Le Danseur de Manhattan and the ‘scandal’ of la

littérature homosexuelle

Philippe Mikriammos’ translation of Andrew Holleran’s (1978) acclaimed

first novel, The Dancer from the Dance, appeared in France two years
after the publication of the source text.23 The title Le Danseur de Manhattan

23
Dancer from the Dance was received with great critical acclaim in the United States
when it was first published. Indeed, twenty years later, it is still regarded as one of the
high points of the late 1970s emerging ‘gay literature’ (see White 1999:2). As this
was Holleran’s first novel, its rapid appearance in a French version cannot be the
result (as we noted in the case of Kramer’s text also) of the established reputation of
its author. Philippe Mikriammos, a poet as well as a prolific translator, published
another translation on homosexual themes at around the same time: the translation of
the second edition of Vidal’s The City and the Pillar (see Harvey 1998). It is also
worth remarking that he translated other texts by Vidal into French as well as several
texts (fiction and non-fiction) by other leading American writers: e.g. Allen Ginsberg,
W.S. Burroughs. Mikriammos, clearly, was familiar with the work of major writers
62 ‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’

(Mikriammos 1980; Figure 3) betrays that peculiar ambivalence towards

American cultural products that we have noted elsewhere: it flags up the
Americanness of the story’s setting as a potential magnet to the prospec-
tive French reader, while at the same time distancing the book’s themes
from the preoccupations of the target audience. However, Mikriammos
realizes this ambivalence in terms that distinguish his translation ‘event’
from that of Rush or Fags. The choice to specify ‘Manhattan’ in the title
is motivated by a fascination with the American model of social and cul-
tural life, a fascination which does not preclude – indeed, may even by
sustained by – a desire to keep this model simultaneously at arms’ length.
While comparable in some ways to the use of target-identified terms for
Rush and Fags, such a gesture is arguably more defensive in nature. If
Rush and Fags import their foreign-identified bodies into the French do-
main through the shock of linguistic strangeness, Manhattan positions
the text unmistakably in a geographically determinate location in a cul-
tural ‘elsewhere’.24

on homosexuality, even if the texts he translated by them were not exclusively on that
theme.
24
Importantly, the non-literal translation of the title has text-internal (including para-
textual) implications, the most obvious of which – the relation between the title and
the epigraph from Yeats’ poem “Among School Children” – the translator can be
assumed to have noted. The last two lines of the poem in English, reproduced before
the source text, read:
“O body swayed to music, O brightening glance,
How can we know the dancer from the dance? ”
As an epigraph to a story about New York gay men in the 1970s whose lives re-
volve around that city’s thriving disco scene these lines send reverberations through
the text. Interestingly, Mikriammos translates the whole of the epigraph (eight
lines), ending with:
“O corps bercé de musique, O regard illuminé,
Comment séparer la danse du danseur? ”
Although the choice of the verb ‘séparer’ entails a reversal in order of the nominal
elements ‘danse’ and ‘danseur’, the translation is close enough. In view of this, it is
notable that Mikriammos did not transfer this phrase of the poem to the title more
literally. Perhaps a linguistic reason explains this: the target language form ‘du’ is
functionally ambiguous, operating either as a preposition in a verbal structure (as in
the English ‘from’) or as part of a complex nominal structure indicating attribu-
tion (e.g. “the dance of the dancer”). Taken in isolation, the target language phrase “la
danse du danseur” would tend to encourage the latter of the two possibilities. Only if
one were to include the verb ‘séparer’ (i.e. “séparer la danse du danseur”) would the
action of separation be made plain. But this, of course, would be a much less elegant
solution for a title. Having noted the language systemic difficulty, it is still the case
that Mikriammos’ choice of a title including the name ‘Manhattan’ requires further –
non-linguistic systemic – explanation.
KeithKeith
Harvey
Harvey 63
63

Figure 3: Cover
Figure and and
3: Cover blurb of Le
blurb Danseur
of Le de de
Danseur Manhattan
Manhattan
(Mikriammos
(Mikriammos1980)
1980)
64 ‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’

The cover of Le Danseur de Manhattan is dominated by the colour

photograph of a young man, shot looking straight into the lens, although
distanced from the observer by an unspecified wooden ‘frame’ (possi-
bly a shed or stable door or window) which the photograph also takes
in. This young man’s blue eyes fix the observer with an insistent, some-
what melancholy gaze. The blue eyes pick up the blue of the denim
jacket he is wearing over a black pullover, sweatshirt or scarf (this man
is out of doors; maybe he is walking in search of something). The locks
of hair we can discern against the skin of his forehead reveal him to
have dark – maybe black – hair, although the rest of his hair is indistin-
guishable against the black shadows behind him. He has a long, rather
beautiful face, pale olive skin, an aquiline nose and full lips. There is a
clear trace of dark stubble on his chin (perhaps he is returning home in
the morning after a late night). Whatever the speculation about the iden-
tity of this figure or what he is doing, it is evident that the type of beauty
he represents is anything but out of place – i.e. ‘foreign’ – on the streets
of Paris: the dark hair, the complexion, the nose and lips, the hint of
unshavenness (firmly this side of unkempt), as well as the combination
of fashionable denim (this is the late 1970s) over dark clothes place this
young male recognizably amongst the compatriots of the potential reader
who might be leafing through this book in 1980 in a bookshop some-
where along the Boulevard St Germain.25 The cover, then, taken as a whole,
transmits an interesting and productive ambivalence to this reader: the
title tells him (I shall assume a gay male reader) that this is a story about
that tantalizingly attractive yet foreign place, Manhattan, while the photo
suggests strongly that the characters in the book are fundamentally like
those young sons of the Parisian middle-classes he will meet outside on
the streets of the French capital. Distance and proximity, otherness and
similarity: already these profound notions underpinning and motivating
translation and translations are here on the cover.

25
This potential binding of photo and target readership could not have been ob-
tained by a picture of the typically blond all-American male. On this point, it is made
clear in the text that the hero of the book, Malone, is exemplary as the all-American
type; the narrator, spotting Malone among a crowd in a fashionable art gallery, writes:
“Seule sa merveilleuse blondeur me permit de le remarquer parmi eux” (Mikriammos
1980:108) [Only his marvellous blondness allowed me to notice him among them].
This detail obliges a target reader to revise the potential hypothesis that he or she may
hitherto have held to that the cover photo is an image of the beautiful hero.
Keith Harvey 65

As for the blurb, there is clear indecision over whether the story of
Malone should be interpreted as sordid drama (“les rêves inaccessibles
s’enlisent dans le drame sordide” [the unattainable dreams get bogged
down in sordid drama]) or high tragedy (maybe it constitutes “une des
formes suprêmes de la tragédie contemporaine” [one of the supreme forms
of contemporary tragedy]). However, it is acknowledged that Malone –
and others in the book – are “à la recherche d’un absolu” [looking for an
absolute], although it is made explicit that this leads ultimately to the ster-
ile situation in which the principal character becomes “prisonnier de sa
proper quête” [prisoner of his own quest] (his “ronde délirante d’amants”
[his crazy succession of lovers] is mentioned as a gloss on this entrapping
quest). However, just in case the invocation of “la jungle homo” [the homo
jungle], qualified as “un univers étrange et cruel” [a strange and cruel
universe], suggests to the serious reader “l’exploitation facile de thèmes
tabous” [the easy exploitation of taboo themes], an interpretation of the
book as sociological data is offered:

Cette histoire d’amour désespéré constitue un document de pre-

mier ordre sur un phénomène de société que nul ne peut ignorer
aujourd’hui.
[This hopeless love story constitutes a crucial document on a so-
cial phenomenon that no-one can ignore today.]

This “phénomène de société” helps us to make sense of the opening sen-

tence of the blurb: “Malone est homosexuel”. These three words function
as a meaningful unit of text because, in an important sense, they stand
for the text as a whole: ‘homosexuel’ is both narrative theme and under-
lying problem, subject matter as well as teleology. If the pathology of
the homosexual predicament needs further specification then the latter
half of the first paragraph obliges:

Mais un jour, à vingt-neuf ans, son [i.e. Malone’s] homosexualité

lui tombe dessus, «comme un cancer», inévitable. Il abandonne
tout pour vivre avec l’homme qu’il aime ou croit aimer. Car son
chemin de croix, sa passion ne font que commencer…
[But one day, at twenty-nine, his homosexuality hits him, ‘like a
cancer’, inevitable. He abandons everything to live with the man
he loves or thinks he loves. For his Calvary, his Passion are only
just starting…]

This inflection of the novel’s theme of homosexual life and love as one
long, slow process of torture is based upon a partial reading of the text,
66 ‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’

a reading that corresponded no doubt to one (perhaps dominant) con-

temporary understanding of homosexuality, but which ignores both the
communal joy represented regularly in the pages of the book as well as
the evaluative ambivalence that camp injects into the imposition of a
tragic mode.26
In the context of the pathologizing move encoded by the blurb, the
final paragraph of the back cover reads curiously. This curiousness is un-
derlined typographically by its use of italics:

Andrew Holleran a signé avec Le danseur de Manhattan son pre-

mier livre. Salué par une critique enthousiaste, ce roman a été
accueilli aux États-Unis comme un chef d-œuvre de la littérature
homosexuelle.
[Andrew Holleran has produced with The Dancer of Manhattan
his first book.
Greeted by an enthusiastic critical reception, this novel has been
welcomed in the United States as a masterpiece of homosexual
literature.]

Clearly, at the most material level these final two sentences carry the
responsibility of clinching the purchase of the book by insisting on its
positive critical reception. However, this reference to “la littérature
homosexuelle” – presupposed thereby to exist as a distinct element in
the literary polysystem and, what is more, to be assumed to be known to
exist by the reading public – sits curiously with the relentlessly negative
tone of the rest of the blurb with respect to homosexuality, the homo-
sexual and his tragic destiny. The co-existence of these distinct affirmations
in the one text leads one to articulate the following question: if homo-
sexuality, like cancer, condemns one to a slow agony, how is it that it
has invested the valued institution of literature with its own distinct cul-
tural forms, i.e. a ‘homosexual literature’ which, by the very fact of its
existence, would seem to constitute a token – a promise – of identity,
community and survival? To answer this question, I would like to suggest
that the discourse of the blurb is the expression of a particular type of

26
The ‘survival’ (not only physical, but moral and critical) of the correspondents
whose letters frame the narrative is a clear sign of resistance to dominant oppressive
norms – and one which the blurb singularly ignores. See Harvey (2000b: 171-176)
for a ‘resistant’ interpretation of Holleran’s text, one which contrasts with, say, Terry
Woods’ (1990:136) view of Holleran’s solipsism.
Keith Harvey 67

‘scandal’ in the target culture. The ‘scandal’ of Le Danseur de Manhat-

tan lies not in its representations of homosexuality per se – its references
to promiscuity, to oral and anal intercourse, to public sex, etc., all of which
can be found in Sade, Genet, etc. – but in its underlying assumption (taken
almost as a given by the late 1970s in the United States, but highly con-
tested in France) that homosexuality founds a distinct type of selfhood
and, what is more, that this selfhood engenders the possibility of a clearly
delineated community within the ‘corps social’.27
This, then, is the real meaning of that half-fascinated, half-appalled
reference to “la jungle homo, un univers étrange et cruel” [the homo jun-
gle, a strange and cruel universe]; this is why the book is, for the French
reader, a document about “un phénomène de société” [a social phenom-
enon] (one which, implicitly, threatens the integrity of the social order
through its suggestion of differences); and, finally, this is why in the same
text we find the relentless negativity of the summary of theme and action
alongside a reference to “la littérature homosexuelle”, suggesting an estab-
lished literary sub-system. It is the emerging difference of ‘homosexuals’
conceived of as a separate ‘universe’ – i.e. a distinct ‘phenomenon’ that is
not simply susceptible to psychological or psychoanalytical explanation,
but that is also a ‘social’ and ‘cultural’ fact, a fact that founds identity
categories and generates communities (‘they’ even produce their own ‘lit-
erature’) – that this imported text encodes. And this emerging difference,
while primarily a foreign (i.e. American) fact at the time, is one that the
French cannot afford to be complacent about. Indeed, this book (and those
like it) could be the very channel through which such discourses of homo-
sexual specificity arrive ‘chez nous’. The ‘scandal’ of the Danseur is not
psychological, moral or aesthetic; it is institutional and socio-cultural. Read
in this way, the blurb may even be seen to encode a kind of socio-cultural
health warning about the threat of a specific ‘otherness’ that has already
proliferated as social reality in the United States.

4. Conclusion: On translational agency

These readings of the ‘bindings’ of three translations linked by theme and

period illuminate the domestic discourses into which the foreign text as

27
See, for example, White (1994, 1997); Merrick and Ragan (1996) for discussions
of French resistance to subcultural differences and its consequences.
68 ‘Events’ and ‘Horizons’

event is produced and with which, critically, it interacts. I contend that

such material generally deserves more careful and systematic analysis in
translation studies as valuable evidence of the interface of the text and its
context. Analysis of this material – which is the threshold between reader
and text and between domestic and foreign values – is an ideal place to
start to identify the processes of negotiation encoded in translations them-
selves and to capture essential aspects of the ideological trouble caused
by them. So, in summary, if the binding of Rush is ambivalent to some
degree, it also brings home quite clearly that the book is the important
vector of a ‘new homosexuality’ offered to its readership. This is coher-
ent with what we know of the production of the translator, Georges-Michel
Sarotte, as literary critic and of his displacements as an intercultural actor
in the French and American academies. Fags, in contrast, highlights the
secret subcultural signs of American ‘gay’ while contextualizing these
for the target reader within half-serious gestures of outrage and public
outcry. Just as Matthieussent’s text highlights the source text’s satire in
so many of its choices,28 so the binding intimates a universe of almost-
Swiftian strangeness and absurdity. Finally, Mikriammos’ heavily edited
and accommodated text is prefigured in the binding’s insistence on the
individual pathology and collective scandal of ‘gay’ as a category. Thus,
many of the translation’s suppressions and reconfigurations29 have the
effect of diminishing a representation – so clearly present in Holleran’s
original – of an established urban gay community and its values. Note,
however, that the sad young (French)man on the cover of Le Danseur de
Manhattan succeeds, nonetheless, in making a direct appeal to a French
reader, thereby encouraging a limited process of identification.
I would like briefly to conclude by addressing the problem of ‘agency’,
a term that has surfaced from time to time in the argument. A question we
might ask is: who produced the ‘bindings’? Certainly, I am not assuming
at any point that the translators themselves are uniquely responsible for
title, photo and blurb. Indeed, with respect to the photo it safely may be
supposed that each translator’s ‘agency’ is reduced to a minimum. Less
certain, it is true, is the degree of involvement of the translator in the title
and blurb. Both these textual aspects could receive clear input from the
translator, with varying degrees of editorial guidance from commission-

28
See Harvey (2000b:185-189, 208-211) for examples.
29
See Harvey (2000b:225-230, 239-244) for examples.
Keith Harvey 69

ing editor, copy editor, etc.30 However, it is probably very difficult, if not
impossible, for the translation historian to reconstruct the chain of likely
collective decision-making that results in a particular binding. The docu-
mentary evidence that would be needed to ascertain the varying degrees
of individual input is probably either unavailable, discarded by publishers
(particularly in the case of translations from several decades ago) or even
purely hypothetical (aspects of input to the binding would have been real-
ized without specific written instruction, through oral agreement or
automatic in-house functions).
Quite apart from such difficulties, I would suggest that the attribution
of responsibility to the flesh-and-blood individuals who produced the event
that is the translational object is something of a red herring. Indeed, in-
house editorial policies make it dangerous to assume that the translator as
individual – whose name may or may not be on the cover of the text – is
singly responsible for textual outcomes even in the main body of the text
(particularly, say, with respect to what Toury (1995:58-59) calls ‘matricial’
factors). Instead, then, of the attribution of responsibility to isolated hu-
man agents I am interested here in the agency of the translation as event.
This is an agency which may indeed by the product of a fractured and
multiple type of human agency. But, crucially, it is not limited to that
human agency.31 I have argued that it is the translation-event’s participa-
tion in and contribution to collectively elaborated discourses that is central
to its agentive role. The binding, as discussed at some length in this pa-
per, is conceivable, then, as the outcome of a collective chain of human
decision-making and action whose importance is in its composite, yet nec-
essarily fractured, agentive energy within and across the ideological
faultlines of contemporary discourses. In such energy – produced through
yet across individual human agents – resides the promise of innovation
and resistance.

30
Indeed, in my experience, authors and translators are often asked to supply the
draft of the text to be used in the binding.
31
Indeed, the fraught nature of attempting to reconstruct and understand the material
and psychological aspects of individual human agency in translation history is well
noted by commentators: e.g. Berman (1995:73-74) and Pym (1998) who, despite his
enthusiasm for seeing translators as ‘effective causes’, warns of the danger of “get-
ting lost in biographical details” (1998:160).
This page intentionally left blank
(Mis)Translating Degree Zero
Ideology and Conceptual Art1

Mª CARMEN ÁFRICA VIDAL CLARAMONTE

The idea that discourse is never neutral and that language is always
charged with ideological connotations provides the starting-point
for this paper which reflects on the work of artists who use language
in their works of art; for these artists, language is art, an art which
in some cases attacks different social injustices related to
consumerism, race or gender. This discourse is extremely difficult
to translate, because it is pure ideology and because the translator
has to translate a work of art. It presents the translator with a real
challenge.

[...] it appears increasingly more difficult to conceive a system of

images and objects whose signifieds can exist independently of
language: to perceive what a substance signifies is inevitably to
fall back on the individuation of language: there is no meaning
which is not designated, and the world of signifieds is none other
than that of language.

Roland Barthes
Elements of Semiology (1968:1)

According to Lluís Duch in Mito, interpretación y cultura, if living is

speaking, and speaking is translating, then, obviously, living is translat-
ing. In this excellent volume on logomythics, the Spanish anthropologist
presents what I consider to be a totally accurate vision of translation and
it is this idea I propose to take up as my starting-point in this essay: trans-
lation, an inevitable process to which all human beings are subjected from
the moment they come into the world until they die, is a very clear symp-
tom of man’s profound alienation; “we speak because immediacy, despite
the enormous efforts we make to attain it, is something inaccessible to
human beings” (Duch 1998:467). We are born into an unknown language,

1
This essay is part of project number PB98-0272 entitled “El lenguaje de las artes
visuales: terminología, traducción y normalización” and financed by the Spanish
Ministry of Education and Culture.
72 (Mis)Translating Degree Zero

says Ulises Drago. Everything else is gradual translation. Speaking and

translating are always, inevitably, mediations, acts which have to be con-
tinually repeated and which are subjected to historicity, culture and
space-time conditions. According to Edward Said (1978) Orientalism, what
is normally found in culture is not ‘truth’ but truth’s representations. Lan-
guage, Said goes on, is an organized, codified system which has many
ways of expressing, indicating or exchanging messages and information;
many ways to, in a word, re-present.
Language is the human being’s most powerful weapon. And with lan-
guage the translator can, as Feyerabend says, put forward his own argument
against the system. The word “‘hides’ far more than it explicitly confesses,
disfigures far more than it defines, separates far more than it joins to-
gether and insinuates far more than it determines. Implicits far more than
explicits, ‘subjective meanings’ far more than ‘objective meanings’ and
allusions far more than firm statements constitute the most fertile, but at
the same time most difficult areas for human language to move in” (Duch
1998:478). Language is the translator’s tool, a dangerous tool, a weapon
that he can cause damage with: it is not innocent but always implies a
vision of the world which is related, according to the Frankfurt School, to
the legitimacy of certain institutions and social practices and the power
relations maintaining them.
The translator is a cultural mediator, the interpreter of texts (à la
Gadamer) which at the same time are intertexts and are never neutral or
innocent (cf. Pierre Bourdieu). Therefore, following Heidegger, we under-
stand language as the house of being and humanity as a conversation, we
know that language starts where communication is in danger; we know
that language is a means of survival; and we know, as Umberto Eco (1992)
argues, that we live immersed in signs. Bearing all this in mind, we be-
come aware of the translator’s ethical responsibility: the translator is no
longer a secondary figure but has become someone who, perhaps better
than anybody else, recognizes the importance of re-presentation, knows
that any crystallization can turn into snow, salt or flower on the end of a
twig. He knows that his task is to unravel connections and clear bridges
of any mud with enormous care and great responsibility, because the mean-
ing of words can disappear on wet lips.
This responsibility is particularly important when translating the texts
which form part of a work of conceptual art. This type of text exemplifies
the idea that Venuti (2000:5) presents in his latest book that “A transla-
tion theory always rests on particular assumptions about language use”.
Mª Carmen África Vidal Claramonte 73

And the vision of language adopted by conceptual art corresponds to what

he calls, following tradition, ‘a hermeneutic concept of language’: con-
ceptual art is based on the idea, as I have already said at the beginning of
this essay, that language is neither innocent nor neutral but is loaded with
ideology and, as such, is an instrument of power. Thus “a hermeneutic
concept of language leads to translation theories that privilege the inter-
pretation of creative values and therefore describe the target-language
inscription in the foreign text, often explaining it on the basis of social
functions and effects” (Venuti 2000:6).
As translation is a rewriting of the original text and the translator, in-
evitably, a manipulator, we are faced with the problem of what to do with
texts with an ideology2 which does not coincide with our own. I have
found myself in this situation more than once throughout my career as a
translator, and it is something which is particularly important in the case
of texts belonging to the field of conceptual art, where language is the
work of art. As Butler (1984:97) says, “Ideologies thus tend to promote
certainties of a kind we have not encountered before in our argument,
and thus may lead to a direct confrontation between the beliefs of the
interpreter and those supposedly asserted by the text”. In 1969, Joseph
Kosuth (1991) published his essay ‘Art After Philosophy’, where he laid
the foundations of conceptual art, especially the idea that art is a series of
different formal vocabularies organized according to specialized codes
and that linguistic structures are not just a metaphor of art but rather its
very essence:

What is the function of art, or the nature of art? If we continue our

analogy of the forms art takes as being art’s language one can
realise then that a work of art is a kind of proposition presented

2
The interferences between ideology and translation are of interest to many contem-
porary authors, who tackle it from different perspectives: the so-called Manipulation
School, functionalism, post-colonialism or post-structuralism. I find André
Lefevere’s now classic 1992 publication Translation, Rewriting and the Manipula-
tion of Literary Fame particularly useful. Also other texts he wrote with Susan
Bassnett like Constructing Cultures in 1998. Other useful texts include those writ-
ten by Edwin Gentzler, Marilyn Gaddis Rose, Rosemary Arrojo, Lawrence Venuti,
Mona Baker (especially her article ‘Linguistics and Cultural Studies’ [1996]), Basil
Hatim, Ian Mason, Christina Schäffner (in particular Discourse and Ideologies
[1996]) or Theo Hermans (from The Manipulation of Literature [1985] to Transla-
tion in Systems [1999a]). They present different opinions, but ratify the importance
of ideology in translating.
74 (Mis)Translating Degree Zero

within the context of art as a comment on art. In other words, the

propositions of art are not factual, but linguistic in character that
is, they do not describe the behaviour of physical, or even mental
objects; they express definitions of art, or the formal consequences
of the definitions of art. (Kosuth 1991:19-21)

Language serves here to make the object totally irrelevant: what is impor-
tant is the proposition: “Objects are conceptually irrelevant to the condition
of art” (Kosuth 1991:26). And, from that point of view, translation ac-
quires an unusual importance: when works of conceptual art travel to other
countries, the effect the works have on the receiving public depends al-
most exclusively on the translator. And as these works are loaded with
ideological connotations, intentions and accusations, the translation is very
important for the artist, who wants to be a catalyst of social change. So,
for example, Nancy Spero, Barbara Kruger, Glenn Ligon, Sue Williams,
Shirin Neshat or Jenny Holzer raise the question of the relationship be-
tween language and violence.3 They are all artists who use language to
create an art that seeks to find an intelligible voice for women, a different
voice to the patriarchal voice, and who claim a re-presentation of gender
in the field of signs, the area that Mary Jacobus (1979) calls “the tradi-
tional arena of women’s oppression”. The truth is that women who use
language in their work do so in a different way from men, as, especially
since the sixties, women began to understand that ‘womanhandling’ lan-
guage was a privilege which, until then, had been denied to them. Mary
Kelly for example, was one of the first to reveal the close relationship
between discourse and patriarchal power:

Because of this coincidence of language and patriarchy, the femi-

nine is, metaphorically, set on the side of the heterogeneous, the
unnameable, the unsaid. But the radical potential of women’s art

3
In her project Irresistible (1992), Sue Williams exhibited a dummy that looked like
a battered woman. On the body spectators could read her executioners discourse:
“Look what you made me do”, “I think you like it”. In some of Shirin Neshat’s works
– Unveiling Series (1993), Women of Allah (1994) , Under Duty (1994) – there are
photographs of Iranian women with their heads covered and guns in their hands. On
their faces, palms of their hands and feet their own discourse has been written. In the
first case, the woman’s body is marked by violent male language; in the second, the
woman defends herself with guns and by writing her own discourse on her body.
Mª Carmen África Vidal Claramonte 75

practice lies precisely in this coincidence, since, insofar as the femi-

nine is said, it is profoundly subversive.4 (Kelly 1996:23)

Male domination channelled through language is what Bourdieu calls in

La domination masculine (1998) symbolic violence, muffled violence,
a violence which is insensitive and invisible for its victims, a violence
which is mainly exercized by means of purely symbolic ways of com-
munication and knowledge or, to be more exact, of ignorance, recognition
or, finally, feeling.
The constant linguistic ironies of these artists becomes a critical
method and reveals and deconstructs the reality of the end of the twenti-
eth century, reflecting those linguistic clichés with a profound structure
where we can find a specific conception of the world. Language used in
this way is like an advertisement which ends up as something generic
and is produced and reproduced. These artists know that the meaning of
a word is to be found in the way it is used and, like Roland Barthes, they
become enthusiastic about what can be done with language, looking in
a phrase for its place only to find a false topos which is imposed. As it is
not innocent, language is inscribed on flesh and is used ironically and
cynically to prevent our accepting the world as it appears or to prevent
our being obliged to forget what we should remember. The work of these
artists deconstructs the language of power and draws the map of the forms
of production and of the panoptic; in this way they take into account that,
as Frederic Jameson (1986) says, multinational capitalism is a concept
that should include within itself both reproduction and production. In the

4
Mary Kelly, ‘Notes on Reading the Post-Partum Document’ (1977), in Kelly (1996).
The Post-Partum Document is a complex meditation on the relationship that exists
between mother and child from the moment of birth until the child can speak. This
important document “exists in the paradoxical space between femininity’s
unsayability and the subversive force of its utterance […] It demonstrates that femi-
ninity emerges not from the ‘natural’ biological character of women, but is defined
in great part by institutional discourses such as medicine, psychoanalysis and natu-
ral history. The drama of the Document – the inevitable separation between mother
and son – pivots on the child’s acquisition of language, and constant initiation into
what Lacan calls the symbolic order. Kelly has used the phrase ‘the heterogeneity
of discourse’ to describe a feminist response to the ‘paralegal’ model of authorship
in Conceptual Art. In place of a single textual statement guaranteed by the artist’s
intention, the feminist author is situated within language not so much its source as
its effect” (Joselit 1999:47).
76 (Mis)Translating Degree Zero

face of these discourses, the translator, like Barthes’ writer (in, for exam-
ple, To Write: An Intransitive Verb?, 1969) remains within the writing
not as a psychological subject but as the agent of the action.
An example of this situation is that of the translator in the face of
works by artists like Nancy Spero (1970-71). In Codex Artaud, for exam-
ple, she uses the French poet to bring to light her own voice. In this work
Spero uses texts: she fragments the writings of the French thinker and
focuses on his loneliness, trying to express a certain existential anxiety;
in this case the voice of the male other becomes an appropriate vehicle for
expressing an imposed silence. Spero’s work presents many other influ-
ences: Julia Kristeva, Hélène Cixous, Luce Irigaray ... Some of the female
figures she paints jump ironically on phrases of Nietzsche or Derrida.
Language reflects the force of signs to undermine stereotyped conven-
tional representations, and the translator should thus be more concerned
with the politics of representation than with the representation of politics.
Translation is, perhaps more in this type of text than in any other, a
communication act capable of increasing knowledge but also of provok-
ing irritation. That is why these discourses are much more than linguistic
discourses:

Translation, as an act of communication has always been a unique

source of knowledge and wisdom for mankind. Translated texts
have enriched the intellectual life in the target communities, they
have sometimes introduced new linguistic structures or new genres
into the target language and culture, but they may also have caused
irritation and confusion on the part of the target readers [...] In
other words, the linguistic foundations of translation have to be
seen in a wider perspective, i.e. both the source text and the target
text are embedded in a situation and a culture, and they fulfil a
specific function in their respective situations and cultures [...] The
target text, as a result of a translation process, reaches a new audi-
ence because it transcends linguistic boundaries. Translation,
thus, can also be characterised as cross-cultural communication.
(Schäffner 1997b:131)

Jenny Holzer is another artist who talks explicitly about the importance
of translation in her work, as language is what should reach the receiver
in one piece, with all its connotations. Only in this way can so her art be
a vital source of imaginary and symbolical representations in an era char-
acterized by a (false) globalization. When she exhibits her work in other
cultures (from Spain to Japan), it is necessary that the receiver should
Mª Carmen África Vidal Claramonte 77

understand (in the broadest sense of the word) phrases like ‘TORTURE
IS BARBARIC’, ‘PRIVATE PROPERTY CREATED CRIME’ or
‘ABUSE OF POWER COMES AS NO SURPRISE’. How could we trans-
late the following?

LITTLE QUEENIE

ANY NUMBER OF
ADOLESCENT GIRLS LIE
FACE DOWN ON THE BED
AND WORK ON ENERGY,
HOUSING, LABOR, JUSTICE,
EDUCATION, TRANSPORTATION
AGRICULTURE
AND BALANCE OF TRADE.

In these phrases, as in everything she says, the language is charged with

ideology and connotations that the translator must transmit in the receiv-
ing culture. Translating this kind of message implies putting into practice
the vision of translation we mentioned at the start of this paper: that trans-
lating is living, that it is a mediation act which is being repeated again and
again and that it is subjected to coordinates of time and space.
Ideology speaks through the deconstruction of convention. Jenny Holzer’s
works are found in very different and unconventional forms: posters in
the streets of Manhattan, stickers on telephone booths, t-shirts, electronic
signs5 hanging in football stadiums and airports or giant installations like

5
“In Holzer’s art, linguistic evocations of physical violation are paralleled by their
sculptural performance of the body’s inscription. When the Truisms are ‘worn’ on T-
shirts they suggest both that the body ‘speaks’ sartorially, and that ideology may be
turned inside out, literally worn on one’s sleeve. Such attention to the performative
meanings of language in relation to the body was dramatically intensified after Holzer’s
adaptation of electronic signs in 1982. The mobility of the texts she presents is height-
ened by intricate programs that vary colour and word flow, while punctuating phrases
with flashing lights, schematic images, and changes in direction. These modulations
make the viewer vividly aware of the physiological nature of seeing: as words rush
across Holzer’s signs one must be conscious of his or her capacity, or incapacity, to
keep up the pace… Language is imagined as provoking particular responses from the
body, sometimes through out-and-out assault” ( Joselit 1999:50-51).
78 (Mis)Translating Degree Zero

the one she did for the Solomon R. Guggenheim Museum.6 Art is thus
trying to put an end to certain representations, it is trying to find out who’s
who, undermine the singular dominant voice and welcome the feminine
subject into an audience that up until now has been male, because we
know that power is exercized through words and that, as in Foucault’s
microphysics, it is dispersed throughout the multiple discourses govern-
ing sexuality, education, morals, etc. In the work of artists like Jenny
Holzer, Barbara Kruger, Nancy Spero and others, language is used as
described by Pierre Bourdieu (1991): it is more an instrument of power
than of communication. To translate these messages it is necessary to take
into account the social conditions surrounding the production (and recep-
tion) of the discourses. They are messages, Bourdieu would say, which
force us, as translators, to analyse the power inherent in language itself
and also the type of authority or legitimacy supporting it. The translator
should reflect, therefore, on the symbolic power, on the symbolic vio-
lence which can be exercized through the word and on what Bourdieu
(1991) calls ‘doxa’, everything the receiver accepts without knowing:

6
Jenny Holzer has written more than ten series in the last twenty years: Truisms
(1977-79), Inflammatory Essays (1979-82), Living (1980-82), Survival (1983-85),
Under a Rock (1986), Laments (1988-89), Mother and Child (1990), War (1992),
Lustmord (1993-94), Erlauf (1995), and Arno (1996-97). Her Truisms are one-line
messages which are unnumbered and are written from many perspectives. Initially
they were simple posters stuck over Lower Manhattan. After a time they were printed
on a variety of objects (baseball bats, condoms, t-shirts, pencils, cash registers), dis-
played on electronic signs and eventually published on the Internet. The Inflammatory
Essays were also devised as posters to be put up in the streets. Each poster was of a
different colour (a change in colour was the sign that a new text was going to appear).
Each essay was exactly 100 words long, divided up into twenty lines, and was in-
spired by the writings of Emma Goldman, Rosa Luxemburgo, Mao and Lenin, among
others.
Living was exhibited on bronze plaques. The central theme is daily life. Survival was
the first series Holzer wrote for electronic signs. It was written in UNEX and de-
signed by the same company that created the Spectacolor screen in Times Square.
Under a Rock was inscribed on granite benches and electronic signs. It was her first
indoors exhibition. It consists of writings on “unpleasant topics – things that crawled
out from under a rock”. Laments first appeared during the AIDS epidemic. Holzer is
interested in the subject of unnecessary death. Laments was exhibited in the Dia Art
foundation on thirteen stone coffins and on thirteen synchronized vertical LED signs.
(While she was working on this series, Holzer was pregnant with her daughter Lili).
Mother and Child was created for Venice: it was programmed on twelve vertical
LED signs and was cut on the floor of the American pavilion. The text was reflected
on the stone floor. War is a series which was created during the Gulf war.
Mª Carmen África Vidal Claramonte 79

It doesn’t mean that the dominated individuals tolerate everything;

but they assent to much more than they know. It is a formidable
mechanism, like the imperial system – a wonderful instrument of
ideology, much bigger and more powerful than television and
propaganda. (Bourdieu 1999:269)

The heteroglossia of the translation and the importance of the receiver is

particularly relevant when translating Jenny Holzer. Her Truisms, for
example, can be found on the Internet (http://adaweb.com/cgi-bin/jfsjr/
truism) so that surfers can add truisms of their own or modify the artist’s.
Every reader, therefore, can incorporate his interpretation of the text,
which depends, obviously, on his ideology (in the sense used by Fredric
Jameson). Also, one of her latest series, Lustmord, presents multiple voices:
Lustmord was published in the Süddeutsche Zeitung Magazin (nº 46, 19
November 1993), the weekly supplement of a German newspaper. Jenny
Holzer left the title in German because she could find no English transla-
tion (the idea is something like ‘rape-slaying’, ‘sex-murder’, ‘lust-killing’).
Lustmord is written from different perspectives: that of the rapist, that of
the victim and that of the observer (from a relative to a member of the
United Nations). Within each category there are several individuals. For
Holzer, the message could not be complete if it were written only from
the point of view of the woman who has been raped. And it is very impor-
tant for the translator to understand that it is not clear from which of the
perspectives the artist speaks: it seems that she is speaking from the three
perspectives at the same time and from none of them. As Renata Saleci
says, “By presenting three different accounts of the same rape, Holzer
shows that the other is incomprehensible, not simply because of one’s
own ignorance, but because of the radical impossibility of comprehend-
ing the other’s perspective, as well as ‘feeling’ his or her pain” (Saleci
1999:80). Lustmord was born from the horror of the war in Bosnia, but it
talks about what happens in all wars and also in times of peace. Through-
out almost thirty pages of the magazine, we can see texts were written on
women’s bodies and on one man’s body, the photographs were taken close-
up so that the hair, pores, skin and also the words are magnified. Holzer
designed a card, which was reproduced on the front cover of the maga-
zine, which she wrote in blood donated by German and Yugoslav women.
The effect this caused was sensational and it was received with mixed
emotions, from weeping to fierce criticism (the latter especially from men:
old taboos about the fear of blood in general and of women’s blood in
80 (Mis)Translating Degree Zero

particular were heard; the idea of the racial, viral impurity of blood, etc.)7.
As we have already said, the Lustmord texts present perspectives which
are opposing to unthinkable extremes, and it is logical to assume that the
translator, almost unconsciously, is going to take sides. But we must not
forget that the voice in these texts, the voice in Jenny Holzer’s works, is
almost always anonymous (something which does not happen in works
by other artists like, for example, Mary Kelly or Martha Rosler):

IT WILL BE DEMONSTRATED THAT NOTHING IS SAFE

SACRED OR SANE
BE CREATIVE IN APPROACH
PUT THIS EFFICIENT PROCESS IN MOTION
RESULTS ARE SPECTACULAR ANY SURPLUS IS IMMORAL
AN ELITE IS INEVITABLE
MEN DON’T PROTECT YOU ANYMORE

In an interview in 1986 Jenny Holzer said: “I always try to make my voice

unidentifiable […] I wouldn’t want it to be isolated as a woman’s voice,
because I’ve found that when things are categorised they tend to be dis-
missed. I find it better to have no particular associations attached to the
‘voice’ in order for it to be perceived as true” (Ferguson 1986:114). The
author is nowhere and everywhere: she is immersed in a language loaded
with ideology, she obliges the spectator/reader to question points of view
which are sometimes contradictory and also to take sides.8 Her Truisms,
for example, are conceptual readymades:

Phrases like MORALS ARE FOR LITTLE PEOPLE sound like

the nasty received ideas or prejudices that roll around all of our

7
In an interview with Christian Kämmerling in the edition of the magazine we have
referred to above, Holzer says: “That’s the irony in the whole affair. Hardly anyone is
disgusted by how much blood is spilled in this world. But just as soon as the blood
gets into our living rooms, we panic. Is the blood germ-free, is it lab-tested, medi-
cally inspected, ethical, legal?” (1993: 122).
8
So, for example, in works like Sign on a Truck (1984), where she put a huge
screen on the side of a lorry in New York. Spectators were able to watch videos
created by other artists who had been invited by Holzer to take part (Vito Acconci,
Barbara Kruger, Lady Pink and Keith Haring, among others). Passers-by were in-
vited to tape messages with their views on the 1984 presidential elections and other
related topics.
Mª Carmen África Vidal Claramonte 81

Figure 1: Examples of Jenny Holzer’s work displayed at the Solomon R.

Guggenheim Museum for the 1989-1990 exhibition: Truisms,
Inflamatory Essays, The Living Series, Under a Rock, and Laments
82 (Mis)Translating Degree Zero

minds while sitting alone on the subway, or cooking a solitary meal.

No one knows where such convictions come from, or when, be-
cause the nature of a truism is that it comes from nowhere and
everywhere at once. Even the most intense of Holzer’s texts – like
TRUST VISIONS THAT DON’T FEATURE BUCKETS OF
BLOOD drawn from the Survival series (1983-85) sound like some-
thing you may have read in an evangelist’s brochure handed out
on the street, or what some guy was mumbling on the bus. They
are fragments of internalised ideology, dislocated fact, and half-
appealing, half-revolting rushes of hatred, assertion and prejudice.
They are a vision of what the world looks like when your internal
sensor stops functioning and the barrage of information from out-
side of you feels like your own thoughts. They are instances of
authorship turned outside in and inside out […] Holzer’s model of
authorship is premised on how facts and concepts from outside
(ideology) are internalised as thought (conceptual readymades),
and then turned inside out to make art (internal monologues as
public speech). (Joselit 1999:47)

In these radical cases (and in other less violent cases) the translator’s ma-
chinery of ethics has to start working. When I translate Jenny Holzer, I
immediately think, of course, of the Canadian feminist translators. How
would they translate the words written in female blood? Can a text like
Lustmord (1993) only be understood and interpreted by a woman? Or a
text like Mary Kelly’s Post-Partum Document? (1977). Is translation a
political act,9 as the feminist translators say? Is it ethical for a translator to

9
“I consider translation a political activity. I’m a feminist, and through my work on
language I’m putting my politics into practice via translation. The subject, or ‘I’,
translating is not neutral, has never been neutral, contrary to popular belief”. Lan-
guage must be ‘resexualised’. Susanne de Lotbinière-Harwood, following the line of
Henri van Hoof, says that translation should serve to discover a culture, to defend
political ideas and to fight against oppression: “As a feminist translator, my choices –
of words, of works to take on – are informed by the emerging women’s culture, which
means that our references can now be found within the sphere of work done by
women. We have a feminist dictionary, an encyclopaedia, theoretical works, fiction,
criticism, translations, prefaces to translations – all of these are beginning to consti-
tute a women’s culture. We don’t have to go out into the patriarchal space to have our
work validated or to seek the authority it confers to the work. Conversely, I feel that
the feminist translation strategies I’m developing contribute to this emerging women’s
culture” (de Lotbiniére – Harwood 1988:44).
Or in Barbara Godard’s words (1990:93-94):
Mª Carmen África Vidal Claramonte 83

change the text at whim?10

From this perspective and within the field of contemporary art, the
translator must also take into account a factor which is extremely relevant
here, more than in any other field: the financial aspect. Let us consider
the work of a conceptual artist like Lawrence Weiner (1972). At the be-
ginning of the seventies, Weiner produced a series of works which were
only phrases painted on the walls of a gallery:

A STONE LEFT UNTURNED

OVER AND OVER. OVER AND OVER
AND OVER AND OVER. AND OVER AND OVER
ONE KILOGRAM OF LACQUER POURED UPON A FLOOR
FLUSHED
SMUDGED
THE RESIDUE OF A FLARE IGNITED UPON A BOUNDARY

Like parody, feminist translation is a signifying of difference despite

similarity […] Meaning discerned and assigned by the translator be-
comes visible in the gap or the surplus which separates target from
source text […] The feminist translator affirming her critical differ-
ence, her delight in interminable re-reading and re-writing, flaunts the
signs of her manipulation of the text. Womanhandling the text in trans-
lation means replacing the modest, self-effacing translator. The feminist
translator immodestly flaunts her signature in italics, in footnotes – even
in a preface.
10
For example, what Suzanne Jill Levine does in her translation of La Habana para
un infante difunto by Guillermo Cabrera Infante (1984[1979]). The translation act is
understood here as an inevitable reinterpretation that occurs when a text is moved
from one context to another: it is a necessarily subversive act of a translator who
wants to be faithfully unfaithful, and who justifies her infidelity by explaining that
the author himself agrees with it (cf. Jill Levine 1983:85-94). See also the preface
that Susanne de Lotbinière-Harwood writes to her translation of Lise Gauvin’s Let-
ters from Another (1990), where she admits that the deliberate feminization of the
original text is a political intervention. As far as I am concerned, I believe that even
although Holzer’s texts are feminist and even although they touch on subjects which
concern women, one cannot fall into the same radicalisms which have long been char-
acteristic of the patriarchy. Rosemary Arrojo (1994:148) explains this very well:

In the defence of their authorial role in the production of meaning that

constitutes their work of translation, such female translators seem to fall
into another version of the same ‘infamous double standard’ that can be
found in our traditional, ‘masculine’ theories and conceptions of trans-
lation… on what grounds can one justify that ‘womanhandling’ texts is
84 (Mis)Translating Degree Zero

Each of these phrases constitutes a work of art. At the time Weiner claimed
that he was not interested in the object itself but in the concept, and, there-
fore, the work did not necessarily have to be sold:

People, buying my stuff, can take it wherever they go and can re-
build it if they choose. If they keep it in their heads, that’s fine too.
They don’t have to buy it to have it –they can have it just by know-
ing it. Anyone making a reproduction of my art is making art just
as valid as art as if I had made it. (Weiner 1972:217)

This last statement by the artist gives the translator carte blanche, as it
assumes that the work can be reproduced, that the original is not a sacred
text and that rewritings of a text are just as valid, just as ‘original’ as the
source text. However, in February 1993, Weiner installed four concep-
tual works on the walls of the Marian Goodman Gallery in New York.
Each work consisted of a phrase. Weiner sold each work for 40,000 dol-
lars. The fortunate few who bought them, says James Gardner in his book
Culture or Trash? (1993), could not take the gallery walls home with
them, nor did they have to peel the paint off the walls as has sometimes
happened with Renaissance frescos, because the work was the language
used. So, what they took home with them, apart from the language, was a
signed certificate which included the words used in the work and the guar-
antee that the work could not be sold to anybody else. The only thing that
can explain why somebody should pay 10,000 dollars for each word in
the work is that this word was authentic. We are dealing here with an
economic aura of the work of art. Can anybody imagine translating a word
that has cost somebody 10,000 dollars? What is the translator’s responsi-
bility here? What would our client expect of us? Would he be willing to
accept particular translation theories?
It is evident at this point that translation is not an exact science, that
translating is – as I said at the beginning – living, and that each of us has
his own way of life. Translating is, then, inevitably, rewriting and ma-
nipulating insomuch as it deals not with translating languages but cultures.

objectively positive while ‘manhandling’ them is to be despised? In what

terms is the trope of translation as ‘hijacking’ non-violent? Why isn’t the
feminist translator’s appropriation of the ‘original’ also a symptom of
the need to retain the ‘ownership’ of meaning?
Mª Carmen África Vidal Claramonte 85

But there are always limits. The most radical translation theories – in-
cluding deconstruction, Blanchot’s L’écriture du désastre (1980), Quine’s
theories or feminist theories – start from an idea that became widespread
thanks to the postmodernist philosophies of the eighties (Lyotard, Vattimo,
Rorty and many others) for whom the Grands Récits have ceased to exist.
Everybody knows that we are living in an era of revision of traditional
values; there is general rejection of our cultural certainties, those certain-
ties on which Western Society has been based and structured for the last
two centuries at least. Our commitment to progress and to the political
systems which should strengthen it is tumbling. The illustrated project,
the humanist ideology which has been dominant in Western culture since
the eighteenth century and which aimed at man’s political and economic
emancipation, now has to face strong opposition: the universalizing theo-
ries, the so-called Grands Récits, have not come up with the results
expected of them.
All these ideas created an atmosphere which impregnated translation
theories. And, thanks to the dehierarchization that came about with
postmodernist philosophy and poststructuralist practices, translation and
translators have now occupied their rightful place. At the same time, it
has finally been understood that translation cannot be a pure act nor an
innocent act and that the translator’s ideology, the patron’s ideology and
the ideology of the medium the translation is to be published in etc., are
all very important factors that alter the final product. But one thing is that
culture is a fundamental element of translation and that translating is, in a
way inevitably, manipulation, and another is that translation is only an
excuse for transmitting the translator’s ideology. His responsibility when
translating these texts is enormous. As Mason says,

Empirical studies must seek not to contrast disembodied entities

or isolated phrases from the source text and target text but to trace
generic, discoursal, and textual developments which reveal ide-
ologies and highlight the mediating role of the translator. (Mason
1992:34)

I totally agree with Roland Barthes’ description of the situation of the

text: the Author is dead and in his place the figure of the reader/translator
is reborn; the text is not a line of words releasing a single meaning but a
multi-dimensional space in which a variety of writings blend and clash.
Behind Jenny Holzer’s texts we can see her readings of Blake, Beckett,
Canetti and, above all, a culture and an ideology. Behind Nancy Spero’s
86 (Mis)Translating Degree Zero

texts we can see Kristeva, Cixous, Bakhtin, Artaud… Behind every trans-
lator, his world. That is why translations are different. Therein lies the
most fascinating thing about the act of translating. The translator’s task is
not to find the single and absolute meaning of the source text, but, as
Barthes (1964) says in his Essais Critiques, ‘l’intelligible de notre temps’.
In order to translate the texts of the conceptual artists, we have to con-
sider the political and cultural values inherent in the practice and research
in translation. Language is not therefore a simple instrument for commu-
nication but, as Deleuze and Guattari (1980) say in Mille plateaux, a
collective force, a joining together of forces which constitute a hierarchized
semiotic régime which makes all language a locus of power relationships
where a dominant force rules over minority variants. The translator of
conceptual art texts should be aware that the language used by these art-
ists tries to subvert the dominant forms by revealing that these forms are
socially and historically constructed and situated and by showing the turn
about within the language of contradictions and struggles which construct
the social. Translation should, then, follow the description Fredric Jameson
(1986) gives of the text in his The Political Unconscious: it should be a
synchronic unit of elements, generic models and structurally heterogene-
ous or contradictory discourses. In short, translations should become the
literature of minorities that is discussed by Deleuze and Guattari (1980),
a literature written by foreigners in their own tongue. For his final dis-
course to be ethical, the translator must ask himself, like Foucault, who is
speaking and who is translating, why that person and not somebody else,
what the modes of existence of the discourse are, where it was used and
in what circumstances. It is only in this way, taking great care not to
overinterpret, that we can penetrate the spirit of a translation, the final
aim of which can only be an invitation to common comprehension. What
fascinates the translator, and Barthes (1981) in Le Grain de la Voix, is
how man makes his world comprehensible, the adventure of the intelli-
gible, the problem of signification. But degree zero, absolute verticality,
the eternal postponement, the pharmakon, is saying nothing by meaning
everything, it is another form of impasse, it is returning to an auctoritas
this time in disguise. The text does not have a closed meaning but it is not
a pre-text either. I do not believe in battering the text into a shape that
serves the purposes of the interpreter, as Richard Rorty (1982) proposes
in Consequences of Pragmatism; on the other hand, I agree with Eco when
he says that “if there is something to be interpreted, the interpretation
must speak of something which must be found somewhere, and in some
Mª Carmen África Vidal Claramonte 87

way, respected” (Eco 1992:43).

The translator who translates texts charged with ideology (almost all
texts as it is practically impossible to find a totally neutral discourse) re-
minds us of the translator Julia Kristeva (1998) proposes in L’avenir d’une
révolte: he must be open to the risk of thinking as a search which exposes
the Dasein to conflict and leads him to the limits of what can be repre-
sented or thought. Taking ideology into consideration when translating
means having a double spirit which incites the critical spirit and it means
considering equally attractive and problematic the originating family and
the new community: our translator is an open spirit who does not cease to
dream about the opening of all spirits and is determined to build the uto-
pia of a cosmopolitan paradise of which he would be, in the end, the
prophet. Translating ideology brings us to the translation of the sensitive
that Proust talked about and to the translation of the most intimate of the
human being, because, as we already mentioned at the start, translating is
living. As Kristeva (1998) says, if we were not all translators, if we did
not cause the strangeness of our intimacy to surface constantly to then put
it into other signs, would we have a psychological life? Would we be
living beings? Speaking another language is simply the minimum, pri-
mary condition, for being alive.
This page intentionally left blank
Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation
CHRISTIANE NORD

Based on the author’s personal experience of participating in a

new German translation of the New Testament, the paper analyzes
the influence of ideology or ideologies (in a wide sense of the
word) both from the translatological and the theological point of
view, illustrating it by means of several examples from the new
translation in comparison with other renderings into English,
French, Spanish, Italian, or Brazilian Portuguese. From the
perspective of translation theory, ideological aspects refer to the
definition of the skopos (‘Otherness Understood’), the selection
of translation strategies and their justification for readers who have
specific expectations based on their experience with previous
translations of the New Testament or other biblical texts. From
the theological standpoint, ideology is at stake in the unfamiliar
chronological order in which the texts appear in the book and in
the addition of texts from the first two centuries which were not
included in the canon of the Church. Ideology also determines the
interpretation of passages that are, or seem to be, ambiguous in
the original or verses which have been translated in different
manners by Catholic or Protestant translators. Last, but not least,
feminist ideology has been taken account of in the use of inclusive
language (e.g., speaking of fathers and mothers or brothers and
sisters instead of fathers or brothers only).

1. Ideology at work

During the last few decades, functionalism seems to have become a rather
accepted approach as far as technical translation is concerned. With re-
gard to computer manuals or operating instructions, advertising or public
relations texts, hardly anybody can deny that the purpose of the transla-
tion is to make communication ‘work’ – even though this may mean that
the original text is not as ‘holy’ any more as it used to be: it has to be
adapted to target-culture pragmatics, norms and conventions or value sys-
tems. Practitioners of professional translation, but also many clients, find
that, in this kind of translation, ‘functionalism’ will lead to better commu-
nicative results than ‘fidelity’ or ‘faithfulness’. In my opinion, this is not
a development we have to lament (something like the general decline of
morality in contemporary society).
90 Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation

On the other hand, there are texts or text types where the notion of
some kind of equivalence (in style, meaning, communicative effect, etc.)
is still – implicitly or explicitly – considered to be the most important (if
not the one and only) standard for measuring translation quality or for
deciding whether a text can be called a translation of its source at all: this
would apply to literary texts, for example, and certainly to biblical texts.
Interestingly enough, the German language has two words for what in
English is just a (more or less literal) translation: Übersetzung (‘transla-
tion proper’) and Übertragung (literally: ‘transfer’), the latter being often
used for free poetic renderings of poetry into another language.
Übertragung has a negative connotation when contrasted with Übersetzung
because it implies subjectiveness or even ‘unfaithfulness’ on the transla-
tor’s part. Thus, the author of a review published in an important German
weekly – a journalist with a theological background – asks the following
rhetorical question when referring to a new German translation of the
New Testament:

Wouldn’t it be more appropriate, precisely for the sake of hermen-

eutics, to respect the difference between translation proper
(Übersetzung) and transfer (Übertragung) and thus allow the reader
to criticise the interpreter’s personal theological standpoint? Has
the lecturer (whose responsibility is subjective) the right to assume
the disguise of an objective translator – or should the two roles be
represented in two different plays? (Leicht 1999; my translation)

According to the social criticism of French enlightenment and Marx, ide-

ology is an evaluative concept that is mostly used to characterize or even
discredit the other side – it may be difficult to find people claiming an
ideology to characterize themselves. However, if we understand ideology
simply as a set of ideas supported by a group, a school, a society or even
an individual author (who may not – yet? – have followers sharing his or
her ideas), it is obvious that ideology is at work on both sides. In the case
of translation studies, functionalists claim that any text is meant to serve
some kind of purpose, that it is the translator’s task first to find out what
the intended purpose of the translation is and then to produce a text that
suits this purpose. Non-functionalists maintain that a translation should
reflect as many features as possible of the original text in order not to
change anything the author may have wanted to say. Functionalists, how-
ever, think that there is no middle ground between the two following
options: In the first option, the translator reproduces as many source-
Christiane Nord 91

language features as possible, thus inevitably changing the communica-

tive effect (e.g. giving the target reader an impression of foreignness where
the source reader found familiarity), in the second, the translator repro-
duces (their interpretation of) the source author’s communicative intention
and makes it comprehensible to target-culture readers by precisely chang-
ing form and style to patterns which such readers know and are able to
interpret correctly.
There is no doubt that, from an empirical perspective, real-life transla-
tions very rarely meet the high (or ‘utopian’, cf. Ortega y Gasset 1937)
standard of something called equivalence (of form, function, and effect at
the same time). Nevertheless, advocates of equivalence adhere to this con-
cept as an ideal to be pursued, but perhaps never to be attained, whereas
functionalists claim that translations would better serve the client’s or the
receiver’s purposes if they were based on skopos-oriented strategies.
Having tried to present some provocative ideas about functionalism in
literary translation (Nord 1997:80-103), which obviously did not really
provoke anyone, I have now turned to a translation of biblical and apoc-
ryphal early Christian texts. This idea stems from a recent personal
experience. Together with Klaus Berger, a New Testament scholar at the
University of Heidelberg, Germany, I was involved in a new German trans-
lation of the New Testament and the re-translation and, in part, first German
translation ever of approximately 60 apocryphal texts and text fragments
from the first two centuries after the birth of Christ (DNT 1999) – texts
that might have been included in the canon around 200 A.D. had they
been known or – in the case of those that were known – considered wor-
thy of being included by whomever composed the canon. Some of these
texts belonged to the canon at a certain time in history or in specific com-
munities, such as in the Coptic or the Orthodox Church, others have only
been rediscovered in the past 125 years, e.g. the Didache or Doctrine of
the Twelve Apostles, which was found in the Patriarch’s Library of Con-
stantinople in 1873, or several papyri which had survived in the libraries
of Oxyrhynchos or Nag Hammadi.
Apart from the New Testament, which was translated from the Greek
standard edition (Nestle-Aland: Novum Testamentum Graece), the other
texts were available in various languages, such as Latin, Coptic, Syriac,
Ethiopic, and Arabic, and a few others. Since my own knowledge of most
of these languages is nil (apart from little Greek and some more Latin,
supported by my knowledge of modern Romance languages), we worked
on the basis of ‘split competence’ – the theologian’s field being the
92 Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation

comprehension and theological interpretation of the source texts in their

linguistic and cultural settings, mostly read in their original language, and
mine being the target language and culture plus – most important! – transla-
tion competence. To ensure that split competence would not be synonymous
with ‘split ideology’, we started defining our common position very care-
fully before embarking on the translation process (see below).
In this paper, I would like to show where and how our translation was
influenced by ideology both from the translational and the theological
point of view. Unlike many other translations produced by scholarly com-
missions made up of Protestants, Catholics, Feminists, Methodists, and
representatives of various theological schools and religious denominations,
who have to find compromize solutions at every turn, our translation is
ideological in that it is based on one theologian’s interpretation of the
sources in their socio-cultural contexts. This interpretation is derived from
more than 25 years of scholarly research in the fields of early Christianity
and Judaism, and from the theologian’s broad knowledge of the various
cultures that lived together in the Middle East during the centuries before
and after Jesus’ birth and life. It is, of course, also based on theological
examination of the texts in question. And, last but not least, the transla-
tion is ideological in that it is guided by a functional approach to translation,
aiming at a clear-cut skopos.
After a brief description of what this skopos is like (addressed audi-
ence, intended communicative functions), I will discuss a few examples
illustrating the way the translation tries to cope with ‘otherness’. The theo-
logical ideas, the style conventions, knowledge presuppositions, nonverbal
behaviour, etc. described or implied in the texts are ‘others’ than the ones
we are accustomed to, and the comprehension and communicative effect
of the texts rely on the readers being sensitized to this otherness. Func-
tionalist models in general, or Skopostheorie in particular, have often been
stigmatized as mere models of adaptation. However, seen from a less ‘ideo-
logical’ standpoint, they account for both adaptive and reproductive
translation strategies according to the skopos of an individual translation
process, as I have tried to show elsewhere (cf. Nord 1997:45ff).
To facilitate comparison, the examples will be presented in various
translations, which are usually not discussed in detail. However, their par-
allel formulations show that, apart from rare exceptions, they all try to
reproduce the Greek original as literally as possible. The corpus consists
of the 1984 revised edition of Martin Luther’s translation (LUT 1984),
the German Gute Nachricht Bibel (GNG 1997), the King James Author-
Christiane Nord 93

ized Version (KJV, no year), the English Good News Bible (GNE 1976),
a French translation by Alfred Loisy (NTF 1922), two Spanish transla-
tions (SBE 1964 and SBN 1975), a Brazilian version published in 1982
(BSB 1982), the Italian Bibbia di Gerusalemme (BDG 1974), whose notes
and commentaries have been translated from the French Jerusalem Bible,
and the German translation by Berger and Nord (DNT 1999), which will
be accompanied by a literal back-translation into English.

2. Function plus loyalty

The canonical Scriptures and the Christian apocryphal texts and text frag-
ments collected in DNT (1999) represent various text types. They include
narratives about miracles and healings, parables, letters, hymns, prayers,
theological arguments, visions, songs, and a large number of so-called
Agrapha, i.e. short, unconnected episodes about Jesus which have been
passed on by oral tradition in various, mostly Arabic-speaking Christian
communities. Most of these text types could not be used in their original
function today even if we knew exactly what function they were in-
tended for in their respective source cultures. Therefore a text-type or
equivalence-oriented translation strategy was out of the question. The
epistles addressed to early Christian communities in Philippi or Colosse,
for example, refer to situations and problems which are only remotely
analogous to the situation of Christian communities today.
If we pretended to translate for a virtual analogon of the source text
audience, the texts would not be fully comprehensible to modern readers.
During the past 2000 years, the history of ideas has changed even the
most basic categories of perception and concepts like ‘person’, ‘body and
soul’, ‘truth’, ‘love and hate’, etc. (cf. Berger 1995). The existing transla-
tions have been a source of considerable misunderstandings – precisely
because they were focused on words and not on concepts or functions (cf.
example 2, below). Moreover, no reader in central Europe in the twenti-
eth century will read narrations about miracles and healings with the same
expectations and reactions as were presupposed in the original audience.
Therefore, it would not make any sense to aim at recreating the functions
or effects the original texts had or may have been intended to have for
their receivers.
However, if the translation of these texts is to be more than a philo-
logical exercise, we need some guidelines to determine the function(s)
the translated texts may have for a modern audience. These guidelines are
94 Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation

offered by the functional concept of ‘function plus loyalty’ (cf. Nord

1991:28ff. and 1997:23ff.). In other words, we want the translation to
attain new functions for the target audience (= functionality) without be-
traying the communicative intentions and expectations of both the
source-text authors and the target-text readers (= loyalty). Not to betray
their expectations does not mean to comply with them all the time – since
our skopos may sometimes aim precisely at contravening them. In such a
case, loyalty would require that translators lay their guiding principles
open and justify them with a view on the translation skopos (e.g. in a
preface and/or in notes).
Therefore, loyalty is not the old faithfulness or fidelity in new clothes.
Faithfulness and fidelity referred to an intertextual relationship holding
between the source and the target texts. Loyalty, however, is an interper-
sonal category referring to a social relationship between people. It can be
defined as the responsibility translators have toward their partners in
translational interaction. Loyalty commits the translator bilaterally to the
source and the target side. Therefore, we had to think not only of the
source-text authors and what their texts could mean for modern readers,
but also of the target-culture audience, whose expectations – particularly
in the case of the New Testament – have been formed by more than fifty
German translations throughout the centuries (cf. Salevsky 1998:275).
Martin Luther’s famous version, many times revised, but alive in count-
less idioms and phrases of everyday German, is certainly the best-known
and most frequently quoted of them (not only for Protestants); yet its ar-
chaic language and the cultural distance of more than four hundred years
often have negative effects on its comprehensibility. In order to be loyal
to our readers and ‘warn’ them that the skopos of our translation was
different from that of other versions, we explained the specific character-
istics of our work in a lengthy introduction (Berger and Nord 1999).

3. Defining the translation skopos

The most important factors for skopos definition are the addressed audi-
ence and the intended purpose(s) of the translated text. With regard to the
first factor it may be useful to state first who is not addressed: (a) theo-
logical scholars, who are expected to know the source languages and
cultures to a degree that they would not need a translation; and (b) funda-
mentalists, who think that only a literal translation can provide a faithful
rendering of the substance of the ‘holy original’.
Christiane Nord 95

On the contrary, the main addressees are

• laypersons who are interested in the fundamental texts of their

Christian faith, but who very often do not understand the texts in
the existing translations, especially when they are read out aloud in
Church, for lack of cultural knowledge of the world to which the
texts refer; and
• theological mediators (pastors, teachers, ministers, preachers,
catechists), who are not sufficiently familiar with the source lan-
guage and culture(s) as to be able to prepare their classes or sermons
using the original texts or a word-for-word rendering.

Apart from these, the translation may also be interesting to laypersons or

theologians who are interested in the relationship between source and tar-
get text(s) and expect to learn more about the ‘information offer’ (Reiss
and Vermeer 1984) of the source text by analysing and comparing vari-
ous translations, and persons who live at the periphery of the Christian
community, but for whom the translation may offer a way to gain some
insights into the Christian faith, or at least to lessen their aversion to-
wards Christianity if such prejudice stems from a lack of knowledge about
the cultures in question.
On the grounds of these considerations concerning the addressed
audience, we decided that the translation was to achieve two main com-
municative purposes:

a) Since it is surprising how little modern Christians know about the

basis of their religion, the first and foremost aim of the translation
is to inform. We wanted to give the readers an account of what
(according to the theologian’s research) the texts are about, mak-
ing clear that they were written in a culture distant from ours in
time and space and underlining the necessity to recognize the
‘otherness’ of the world to which they refer. The translation even
aims at emphasizing otherness, particularly in those cases where
our familiarity with the existing translations (plus many centuries
of art history) has produced an impression of ‘sameness’, making
the cultural distance seem irrelevant or even non-existent. But, on
the other hand, the translation also aims at comprehensibility, which
can only be achieved by filling in the coherence blanks – e.g. by
introducing information that could be expected to belong to the
96 Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation

cultural knowledge of the original audience(s) but not to that of

modern non-theological readers. This part of the skopos refers to
the referential function of the translation.
b) The second aim is a missionary one in the widest sense of the word.
We wanted to make the texts appeal to modern readers in spite of
their cultural distance, and therefore we tried to avoid strangeness
in style by using modern syntax, target-culture cohesive devices,
and contemporary vocabulary wherever possible, for example: un-
employed, lynch justice and even sex (which some reviewers did
not like at all). This part of the skopos belongs to an appellative
intention (indirectly appellative, to be more exact, because the read-
ers’ attention is drawn towards the analogies between their own
world and the one referred to in the text).

In other words, what we are trying to produce is, in my terminology, an

exoticizing translation belonging to the documentary type (cf. Nord
1997:48), which is not meant to mitigate but rather to emphasize the
foreignness of the source culture by trying to make it comprehensible to
a modern audience with the help of explanatory translation techniques
and, wherever possible, by showing the similarities with the readers’ own
situation.
At first sight, these two intentions seem contradictory. At a second
glance, it may become clear that they can be subsumed under the heading
of ‘Otherness understood’.

4. Otherness understood

At least with regard to New Testament texts,1 modern Christian readers

know (or think they know) what these texts are about. There are many

1
NEW TESTAMENT TRANSLATIONS

BDG 1974: La Bibbia Di Gerusalemme. Testo biblico di La Sacra Bibbia della Cei;
note E commenti di La Bible de Jerusalem, nuova edizione 1973 (Paris: Editions
du Cerf), edizione italiana e addattamenti a cura di un gruppo di biblisti italiani
sotto la direzione di F. Vattioni, Bologna: Centro Editoriale Dehoniano.
BSB 1982: BÍBLIA SAGRADA, trad. Mateus Hoepers, Petrópolis (Brazil): Editora
Vozes.
DNT 1999: Das Neue Testament und frühchristliche Schriften, neu ubersetzt und
kommentiert von Klaus Berger und Christiane Nord, Frankfurt a.M.: Insel Verlag.
Christiane Nord 97

different translations available, but most people will adhere to the tradi-
tional ones – such as the King James Version in English or Luther’s
translation in German, regarded by many readers to be (second) originals.
These texts are so familiar that they are hardly ever questioned, and peo-
ple seem to think that the familiar sound compensates for any lack of
comprehensibility. Thus, one reviewer lamented that DNT (1999) lacked
the ‘powerful language’ of Luther’s translation, referring to the first few
lines of the Prologue to the Gospel of St. John (which – in Luther’s trans-
lation – is also quoted in Goethe’s Faust).

Example 1: Darkness and the Light (Jn. 1,1-5)

Im Anfang war das Wort, und das Wort war bei Gott, und Gott
war das Wort. Dasselbe war im Anfang bei Gott. Alle Dinge sind
durch dasselbe gemacht, und ohne dasselbe ist nichts gemacht, was
gemacht ist. In ihm war das Leben, und das Leben war das Licht
der Menschen. und das Licht scheint in der Finsternis, und die
Finsternis hat’s nicht ergriffen. (LUT 1984)

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and
the Word was God. The same was in the beginning with God. All
things were made by him: and without him was not any thing made
that was made. In him was life; and the life was the light of men.
And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended
it not. (KJV)

GNE 1976: Good News Bible (Today’s English Version, 1976), publ. by The Bible
Societies, Glasgow: Collins.
GNG 1997: Gute Nachricht Bibel, Stuttgart: Deutsche Bibelgesellschaft (Cd-Rom).
KJV: The Holy Bible containing the Old and New Testaments (S.A.), transl. out of
the original tongues and with the former translations diligently compared and
revised by His Majesty’s special command, Cambridge: University Press.
LUT 1984: Die Bibel, nach der Übersetzung Martin Luthers (1984), Stuttgart: Deutsche
Bibelgesellschaft.
NTF 1922: Les Livres du Nouveau Testament, traduits du Grec en Français par Al-
fred Loisy, Paris: Émile Nourry.
SBE 1964: La Santa Biblia, traducida de los textos originales [al español], Por Antonio
G. Lamadrid, Juan Francisco Hernández, Evaristo Martín Nieto, Manuel Revuelta
Sañudo, 18 a edición, Madrid: Ediciones Paulinas.
SBN 1975: Sagrada Biblia, versión directa de las lenguas originales por Eloíno Nácar
Fuster y Alberto Colunga, O.P., 4a edición (1a ed. 1970), Madrid: Editorial Católica
(= Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos).
98 Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation

Au commencement était le Logos; et le Logos était près de Dieu,

et le Logos était dieu. Il était au commencement près de Dieu; tout
par lui s’est fait, et sans lui ne s’est fait rien. Ce qui s’est fait, en
cela fut vie, et la vie était la lumière des hommes, et la lumière dans
les ténèbres luit, et le ténèbres ne l’ont point saisie. (NTF 1922)

In principio era il Verbo, e il Verbo era presso Dio e il Verbo era

Dio. Egli era in principio presso Dio: tutto è stato fatto per mezzo
di lui, e senza di lui niente è stato fatto di tutto ciò che esiste. In lui
era la vita e la vita era la luce degli uomini; la luce splende nelle
tenebre, ma le tenebre non l’hanno accolta. (BDG 1974)

En el principio existía el Verbo, y el Verbo estaba con Dios, y el

Verbo era Dios. Él estaba en el principio con Dios. Todo fue hecho
por él, y sin él nada se hizo cuanto ha sido hecho. En él está la
vida, y la vida es la luz de los hombres; la luz luce en las tinieblas
y las tinieblas no la sofocaron. (SBE 1964)

Al principio era el Verbo, y el Verbo estaba en Dios, y el Verbo

era Dios. Él estaba al principio en Dios. Todas las cosas fueron
hechas por Él, y sin Él no se hizo nada de cuanto ha sido hecho.
En Él estaba la vida, y la vida era la luz de los hombres. La luz
luce en las tinieblas, pero las tinieblas no la acogieron. (SBN 1975)

No princípio era o Verbo, e o Verbo estaba com Deus, e o Verbo

era Deus. No princípio estava ele com Deus. Todas as coisas foram
feitas por intermédio dele, e sem ele nada se fez de tudo que foi
feito. Nele estava a vida, e a vida era a luz dos homens. A luz resplan-
dece nas trevas mas as trevas não a compreenderam. (BSB 1982)

Zuerst war das Wort da, Gott nahe und von Gottes Art. Es war am
Anfang bei Gott. Alle Dinge sind durch das Wort entstanden. Ohne
das Wort konnte nichts werden. In ihm war das Leben, und für die
Menschen ist Leben auch Licht. Das Licht macht die Finsternis
hell, und die Finsternis hat das Licht nicht verschluckt. [At first,
the Word was there, it was next to God and of God’s kind. In the
beginning it was with God. All things were made by the Word.
Without the Word, nothing could come into being. It contained
life, and for humans, life is also light. The light lightens darkness,
and darkness did not swallow the light.] (DNT 1999)

The familiarity (and, in Luther’s translation, perhaps also the ‘power’) of

the language seems to make us forget that we do not really understand
Christiane Nord 99

what the text is all about. In view of a modern idea of what a person is, the
relationship between God and the Logos (identity with regard to substance,
‘consubstantiality’, and difference with regard to person, as SBN 1975
explains in a footnote) is incomprehensible. Especially in KJV, but also
in the other translations, which are all absolutely literal, it does not be-
come clear whether him – or lui, él, dele – refers to God or to the Word
(in the original, it refers to the substantial union of God and the Word),
and this increases the confusion about whether the Word is something
outside God, but like God, or God himself (NTF 1922 marks the differ-
ence by capital vs non-capital letter) or something inside God, as SBN
1975 suggests. Since we have learned that it was God who created the
world, we are even more willing to find exactly this message in the text,
whereas the original says (to put it simply) that the Word or Logos was
God’s instrument of creation.
Since ‘powerful language’ was not part of our skopos, we tried to avoid
literalness in order to make the text more transparent. The idea (which is
supported by other theological sources) is that the Word is not identical
with God, but of God’s kind. Saying that it was there ‘in the beginning’,
does not mean it was there before God. The source culture never ques-
tions God’s existence and nobody would ask where he came from. The
difficulty of understanding the origin of evil and suffering is often de-
rived from misunderstandings of this kind. Obviously, a literal translation
does not ‘work’ for readers for whom the information itself is absolutely
strange to begin with.
Another aspect of theological ideology can be seen in the last sentence
of Example 1, which offers two possible interpretations: a metaphorical
one (darkness [= the world] did not understand or recognize the role of
the light [= Jesus]) and a literal one (the light was so strong that darkness
could not do anything against it, according to SBE 1964). The metaphori-
cal meaning is rather pessimistic (and thus, modern!), whereas the literal
meaning expresses the confidence of being victorious in the end. We opted
for the literal and positive meaning because (a) biblical authors generally
tend to prefer concrete expressions to the abstract formulations to which
we are accustomed; and (b) if you want to attract people to your cause
you would not start by telling them that it is not worth the effort in the
first place.
The second example refers to our idea of Wahrheit, truth, vérité, verdad
or verdade in contrast to what the New Testament understands by the
Greek word aletheia, which is something like ‘God’s real presence’ and
100 Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation

which has nothing to do with “accordance with fact or reality” (Diction-

ary of Contemporary English 1978) as we understand truth today. We
have a similar case in Jn. 14,6, where Jesus says: “I am the way, the truth
and the life; no man cometh unto the Father but by me” (KJV). Consider-
ing, again, the different concept of person prevailing in the source culture,
we have to understand this utterance in the sense that God is really present
in Jesus Christ.

Example 2: The Word made Flesh and full of Truth (Jn. 1,14-15)

Und das Wort ward Fleisch und wohnte unter uns, und wir sahen
seine Herrlichkeit, eine Herrlichkeit als des eingeborenen Sohnes
vom Vater, voller Gnade und Wahrheit. (LUT 1984)

And the Word was made flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld
his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of
grace and truth. (KJV)

Y el verbo se hizo carne, y habitó entre nosotros, y hemos visto su

gloria, gloria como de unigénito del Padre, lleno de gracia y de
verdad. (SBN 1975)

Das Wort erschien in einem Menschen und wohnte bei uns. Wir
sahen seine Herrlichkeit, die so herrlich ist, wie wenn der einzige
Sohn von seinem Vater allen Ruhm allein erbt. Dieses Wort ist
ganz Gnade und ganz Gottes Wesen. (DNT 1999)
[The Word appeared in a human and lived with us. We saw its
glory, which is as glorious as if the only son inherits all his father’s
glory. This Word is all grace and it is the essence of God.]

The passages reproduced in Examples 1 and 2 are still rather difficult to

understand, in spite of the clarifying additions in DNT 1999. However, a
few cohesive devices (repetition instead of pronominal substitution, para-
phrase instead of literal reproduction, restructuring of the sentence parts)
may help the reader to follow the line of argument. In the following sec-
tion, we will look at how the otherness of the described reality, the
otherness of concepts or the otherness of ways of expression may draw
the reader’s attention away from the core of the message (which, some-
times, may not be so strange after all) or even make comprehension
impossible.
Christiane Nord 101

5. Aspects of Otherness

The usual (literal) translations of the New Testament often seem to us

incoherent or difficult to understand. A good starting point for explaining
this incoherence is Charles Fillmore’s semantic scenes-and-frames model
(Fillmore 1977), introduced into translation studies by Mary Snell-Hornby
(1988:79ff.; cf. also Kussmaul 1998:50f). According to this approach,
the linguistic code units or ‘frames’ (words, syntax, metalanguage etc.)
evoke associations with earlier experiences (‘scenes’) in the receiver’s
mind. If the frames and scenes do not match, we cannot establish coherence
– either because the (familiar) scene associated with a particular frame
does not fit into the context, or because the frame is so strange that we
cannot associate a scene with it.

5.1 Unfamiliar frames in familiar scenes

Both in German and in English, the translation of Mt. 5,15 has generated
an idiom possessing a well-known figurative meaning – although nobody
could explain today why a light has to be placed precisely under a ‘Scheffel’
or a ‘bushel’. In the source culture, it was quite normal for a household to
have a bushel standing around near the entrance to have it at hand when
the grain seller came by. The Dictionary of Contemporary English de-
fines a bushel as “a measure, esp. of grain; about 36.5 litres”, but this
definition does not really help the reader to associate a bushel with a fa-
miliar scene. Speaking of a candle, however, evokes a familiar scene, une
lampe or una lámpara may even be too familiar unless we are aware that
people used oil lamps at the time, a light (DNT 1999) is neutral and adapts
to the situation described in the context. As I have noticed in the reactions
to the discussion of this example, modern readers seem to understand that
this passage means the lamp or candle has to be protected from being
extinguished, whereas the point is to prevent it from not being seen by the
others, as is made explicit in GNE 1976 (hide it). This shift of focus in the
readers’ mind may be partly due to the unusual idea (from our modern
point of view!) of putting a lamp under a bowl or pot or even bushel
instead of putting the hiding device over the lamp – an adaption to mod-
ern ways of looking at things that does not interfere with the purpose of
preserving otherness.
102 Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation

Example 3: The Candle under the Bushel (Mt. 5,15)

Man zündet auch nicht ein Licht an und setzt es unter einen Scheffel,
sondern auf einen Leuchter; so leuchtet es allen, die im Hause sind.
(LUT 1984)

Neither do men light a candle and put it under a bushel, but on a

candlestick; and it giveth light unto all that are in the house. (KJV)

A person who lights a candle will not hide it under a bowl, but put
it on a candlestick to make it give light to all that are in the house.
(GNE 1976)

On n’allume pas non plus une lampe pour la mettre sous le boisseau,
mais (on la place) sur le support, et elle éclaire tous ceux qui sont
dans la maison. (NTF 1922)

[...]ni se enciende una lámpara y se la pone bajo el celemín, sino

sobre el candelero, para que alumbre a cuantos hay en la casa.
(SBN 1975)

Nem se acende uma candeia para se pôr debaixo de uma vasilha

mas num candelabro para que alumie todos os da casa. (BSB 1982)

Und wer ein Licht anzündet, wird keinen Topf darüber stülpen,
sondern es auf den Leuchter stellen, damit es allen im Haus hellen
Schein gibt. (DNT 1999) [A person who lights a lamp will not put
a pot over it, but place it on a lampstand so that it gives light to all
that are in the house.]

5.2 Familiar frames in unfamiliar scenes

On the other hand, a situation can become equally incoherent if familiar

objects are used for unfamiliar purposes, as can be seen in the following
example. It seems rather improbable that a man who has been lying sick
by the Bethesda pool for 38 years can pick up his bed. In the source cul-
ture, however, people slept on mats or straw mattresses, and these were
much easier to carry than a bed!

Example 4: Of Beds and Mats (Jn. 5,8-9)

Jesus spricht zu ihm: Steh auf, nimm dein Bett und geh hin! Und
sogleich wurde der Mann gesund und ging hin. (LUT 1984)
Christiane Nord 103

Jesus saith unto him, Rise, take up thy bed, and walk. And immedi-
ately the man was made whole, and took up his bed and walked. (KJV)

Jesus said to him: Get up, pick up your mat, and walk. Immedi-
ately the man got well; he picked up his mat and started walking.
(GNE 1976)

Jésus lui dit: “Lève-toi, prends ton lit et marche”. Et à l’instant

l’homme fut guéri, il prit son lit et il marchait. (NTF 1922)

Jesús le dijo: “Levántate, toma la camilla y anda”. Al instante,

quedó el hombre sano, y tomó su camilla y se fue. (SBN 1975)

Então lhe disse Jesus: “Levanta-te, toma o leito e anda”. No mesmo

instante aquele homem ficou curado, tomou o leito e andou. (BSB
1982)

Da sagte Jesus zu ihm: “Steh auf, nimm deinen Strohsack und lauf!”
Kaum hatte Jesus das gesagt, da war der Mann gesund. Er nahm
seinen Strohsack und konnte wieder laufen. (DNT 1999) [Jesus
said to him: “Get up, pick up your straw mattress and walk!” Hardly
had he said this, the man got up, picked up his straw mattress and
was able to walk.]

Somebody might argue that modern readers are not so foolish as to think
the poor man would carry a bedstead around. This may be true, but we
must not underestimate the strength of a familiar ‘scene’ that imposes
itself even on a mind that is sensitized to otherness. This happened to me
when two young students were taking me on a tour of the old city of
Hanoi, explaining that all the streets were called after the product which
was sold there, e.g. the ‘Street of the Paper’ and ‘the Street of the Flow-
ers’. When we arrived at the ‘Street of the Beds’, I asked: ‘Where are the
beds?’ – because I did not recognize the straw mats which were hanging
in front of the shops as ‘beds’ (in my hotel, I slept in a ‘proper’ bed, of
course).

5.3 Unfamiliar behaviour in familiar scenes

If a situation is (or appears to be) familiar to us, we are sometimes sur-

prised if people do not behave as we expect. Just imagine the following
104 Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation

scene: on (Easter) Sunday morning, Mary Magdalene comes to the tomb

and finds the stone rolled away from the entrance. (We know that in Pal-
estine at that time people were buried in caves in the rock, so this is not a
comprehension problem.) She is absolutely sure that somebody must have
removed Jesus’ body during the night and runs back to tell the Apostles.
St. Peter and another disciple come with her to the tomb. They go inside
to discover that Jesus’ body is indeed not there. Then, they go home, prob-
ably to tell the others and to discuss what should be done. In the following
example, we can read what happens then:

Example 5: Mary Magdalene outside the Tomb (Jn. 20,11-12)

Maria aber stand draußen vor dem Grab und weinte. Als sie nun
weinte, schaute sie in das Grab und sieht zwei Engel in weißen
Gewändern sitzen, einen zu Häupten und den andern zu den Füßen,
wo sie den Leichnam Jesu hingelegt hatten. Und sie sprachen zu
ihr: Frau, was weinst du? (LUT 1984)

Mary stood crying outside the tomb. While she was still crying,
she bent over and looked in the tomb and saw two angels there
dressed in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been, one at
the head and the other at the feet. “Woman, why are you crying?”
(KJV)

Cependant Marie se tenait près du tombeau, dehors, pleurant. Tout

en pleurant, elle se pencha sur le tombeau, et elle vit deux anges
en habits blancs, assis, l’un à la tête, et l’autre aux pieds, (à l’endroit)
où avait reposé le corps de Jésus. Et ces (anges) lui dirent: “Femme,
pourquoi pleures-tu?” (NTF 1922)

Pero María se quedó fuera, junto al sepulcro, llorando. Mientras

lloraba, se agachó hacia el sepulcro, y vio a dos ángeles con
vestiduras blancas, sentados uno a la cabecera y otro a los pies,
donde había sido puesto el cuerpo de Jesús. Y le dijeron: “Mujer,
¿por qué lloras?” (SBE 1964)

María se quedó junto al monumento, fuera, llorando, Mientras

lloraba se inclinó hacia el monumento y vio a dos ángles vestidos
de blanco, sentados uno a la cabecera y otro a los pies de donde
había estado el cuerpo de Jesús. Le dijeron: ¿Por qué lloras, mujer?
(SBN 1975)
Christiane Nord 105

Maria se conservava do lado de fora junto ao sepulcro e chorava.

Chorando, inclinou-se para o sepulcro e viu dois anjos vestidos de
branco sentados no lugar onde estivera o corpo de Jesus, um à
cabeceira e outro aos pés. Disseram-lhe eles: “Mulher, por que
choras?” (BSB 1982)

Maria aber blieb vor dem Grab und weinte bitterlich, von Kummer
und Schmerz gebeugt. Als sie aufblickte, sah sie plötzlich in der
Grabkammer zwei Engel in leuchtenden Gewändern an der Stelle
sitzen, wo Jesus gelegen hatte, einen am Kopfende und einen am
Fußende. Die Engel sprachen sie an: “Warum weinst du, gute
Frau?” (DNT 1999) [Mary remained outside the tomb, crying bit-
terly, bent down in grief. When she looked up, she suddenly saw
two angels in shining clothes sitting in the tomb, right where the
body of Jesus had been, one at the head and the other at the feet.
The angels addressed her, “Good woman, why are you crying?”]

The scene is familiar. Mary stands there crying. The entrance to the tomb
is rather low, so she can’t look into it, but she does not want to look into it
anyway. She is crying because she is sure that Jesus’ body has been taken
away. St. Peter and the other disciple had confirmed what she knew from
the first moment. So why does she bend down? (Luther omitted this part
of the sentence, because he probably noticed the incoherence! Is this ide-
ology?) It seems to be important that she does not stop crying while she is
bending down. Therefore, we may safely assume that she has not sud-
denly decided to have a closer look by herself. In the original text, she
does not even look into the grave (with an intention), but the verb aspect
suggests that she ‘suddenly happens to see’ the angels! Very strange, but
perhaps the scene is not so familiar after all. The original text (like the
French, Spanish and Portuguese translations) does not say that she is stand-
ing upright – it uses a generic verb such as to be, but in English, as in
German, there is no such generic verb or at least none that corresponds to
the register used in this text. Thus, the English and German translators
envisaged the scene according to their own culture-specific experience
(probably supported by images from medieval paintings) and interpreted
the verb accordingly. But the others did not see the crucial point either,
and this is why their translations are as incoherent as the English and
German ones: Mary’s way of crying involves more than just her eyes and
some tears but the whole body. We know how oriental women cry, mov-
ing forward and backward and throwing themselves on the ground! During
106 Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation

one of these movements, Mary happens to see the angels sitting in the
tomb. The puzzling thing is this: we do have the cultural knowledge, and
although as a translator I am highly sensitized to the culture-boundness of
any non verbal behaviour, it took me quite a while to realize that the scene
I envisaged was determined by these four words: she stood there crying.

5.4 Unfamiliar reactions to familiar behaviour

Shortly after the scene described in Example 5, Mary turns around and
sees a person whom she takes to be the gardener. She asks him whether
he has taken Jesus’ body away, but when he calls her by her name, Mary!,
probably in the same familiar tone in which he has called her many times
before, she realizes that it is Jesus.

Example 6: Touch me not! (Jn. 20,16-17)

Spricht Jesus zu ihr: Maria! Da wandte sie sich um und spricht zu

ihm auf hebräisch: Rabbuni!, das heißt. Meister! Spricht Jesus zu
ihr: Rühre mich nicht an! denn ich bin noch nicht aufgefahren zum
Vater. (LUT 1984)

Jesus saith unto her, Mary. She turned herself, and saith unto him,
Rabboni; which is to say, Master. Jesus saith unto her, Touch me
not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father... (KJV)

Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She turned towards him and said in He-
brew, “Rabboni!” (This means ‘Teacher.’) “Do not hold on to me,”
Jesus told her, “because I have not yet gone back up to the Fa-
ther.” (GNE 1976)

Jésus lui dit: “Mariam!” Elle, se tournant, lui dit en hébreu:

“Rabbuni!” – Ce qui veut dire ‘maître’. ? Jésus lui dit: “Ne me
touche pas; car je ne sui pas encore monté vers le Père.” (NTF
1922)

Jesús le dijo: “¡María!” Ella se volvió y le dijo en hebreo:

“¡Rabbuní!” (es decir, ‘¡Maestro!’). Jesús le dijo: “Suéltame, que
aún no he subido al Padre...” (SBE 1964)

Díjole Jesús: ¡María! Ella, volviéndose, le dijo en hebreo: Rabboni!,

que quiere decir Maestro. Jesús le dijo: No me toques, porque aún
no he subido al Padre... (SBN 1975)
Christiane Nord 107

Respondeu Jesus: “Maria”. Ela virando-se disse em hebraico:

“Rabuni” – que quer dizer Mestre. Jesus lhe falou: “ Não me
retenhas porque ainda não subi ao Pai...” (BSB 1982)

Da sagte Jesus zu ihr: “Maria!” Sie machte einen Schritt auf ihn
zu, um ihn kniefällig zu verehren, und rief: “Rabbuni!” Das ist
hebräisch und heißt ‘Lehrer’. Jesus aber bat sie: “Noch nicht
anbeten, bitte! Denn noch bin ich nicht zum Vater
hinaufgestiegen...” (DNT 1999) [Jesus said to her, “Mary!” She
made a step towards him to worship him on her knees and said
“Rabbuni!” (This is Hebrew and means ‘My Teacher!’) But Jesus
begged, “Do not worship me yet, for I have not yet gone up to the
Father.]

The first peculiar movement is that she turned herself (KJV)/turned to-
wards him (GNE), although she had been talking to him just a minute
ago. The behaviour is familiar, from our point of view, because we are
accustomed to looking into people’s faces while talking to them. It is pos-
sible to imagine that she had bent down again in grief because the gardener
did not answer her question. Yet Jesus’ reaction is still more peculiar. He
reacts rather rudely, trying to keep her at a distance: In LUT, KJV, NTF
and SBN, he asks her not to touch him, whereas in SBE she has obviously
touched him already because he asks her to let him go. Was she going to
hold on to him in order to make him stay, as GNE and SBE suggest? This
would at least make sense with regard to the reason he gives (Touch me
not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father [KJV]). But Mary had been
his follower long enough to know about this reason and about the impos-
sibility of keeping him just by holding his sleeve. It is more likely that she
turned towards him means that she was going to embrace his feet to ex-
press her worship for the teacher whom she assumes to have gone up to
sit at God’s right side, which for members of her culture would have been
the proper thing to do in this situation. In addition, Jesus tells her that it is
not yet time to worship him like this. This interpretation is supported by a
number of other texts, e.g. Mt. 28,9 (KJV: and they came and held him by
the feet, and worshipped him). But how can the modern lay reader guess
that this is the missing link in the scene?

5.5 Unfamiliar frames in unfamiliar scenes

In a number of New Testament texts, the Greek source text uses a word,
porneia, which covers a wide range of social phenomena, from immoral
108 Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation

behaviour, adultery and prostitution to intercourse or marriage between

Jews or Christians and gentiles. LUT (1984) and many other German trans-
lations, even the modern Gute Nachricht Bibel (GNG 1997), which in
many respects corresponds in style to GNE (1976), use the old word
Unzucht, which is no longer used in everyday German except in legal or,
precisely, biblical language. Unzucht refers to phenomena such as inter-
course between persons of the same sex, between adults and children,
humans and animals, etc. KJV translates porneia by using fornication,
NTF (1922) renders it as fornications or impudicité, and GNE (1976)
attempts to be politically correct by referring to immorality or to immoral
or indecent behaviour.
Yet this is not what St. Paul or the authors of John. or Revelation refer
to. They focus on sexual greed (e.g. Mt. 15,19), lechers (1 Cor. 6,9) or
lecherousness (Hebr. 13,4), prostitution (1 Cor. 6,18; Rev. 17,2), people
who break any kind of taboo on account of greed (Eph. 4,19), shameless
intercourse with gentiles (Rev. 2,14) and marriage between Christians and
gentiles (Rev. 2,20). DNT 1999 translates the word in these different
manners. It is part of the referential function to make clear what porneia
refers to in each case, and part of the indirect appellative function to make
the readers see that many of these forms of behaviour – apart from inter-
course or marriage with heathens (it may even be difficult to find enough
non-heathens nowadays!) – are not exactly uncommon in our modern sex-
obsessed societies. The use of such obsolete words can give readers a
feeling of self- satisfaction. They will feel quite sure that they never prac-
tice something like fornication or prostitution. Furthermore, references to
immoral or indecent behaviour reduce the severity of the biblical laws to
something like wearing a miniskirt in Church (indecent!) or cheating the
tax office (immoral!).

6. Theological ideologies

When people ask whether our translation is Catholic or Protestant, we

claim that it is neither but that we tried to be loyal to our source text
authors and their communicative intention, and these authors were nei-
ther Catholics nor Protestants in a modern sense. Of course, we cannot
‘prove’ that our interpretation (against that of all or many learned com-
missions or individual theologians) is ‘the right one’. Nobody can prove
this, not even the learned commissions. For the sake of loyalty with re-
gard to both the authors and the readers, our foreword contains the
Christiane Nord 109

following explanation: “There is no such thing as a neutral translation. In

spite of their apparent neutrality, most translations imply that certain in-
terpretations are more likely to be true than others. Our translation is
explicit about giving one particular interpretation” (Berger and Nord
1999:30). This interpretation is derived from more than 25 years of re-
search about each and every verse of the New Testament and many of the
other texts included in the volume. In this vein, we did not follow Luther’s
interpretation of the following example, in which Luther introduced the
word allein (‘alone’).

Example 7: The deeds of the law (Rom. 3,28)

So halten wir nun dafür, daß der Mensch gerecht wird ohne des
Gesetzes Werke, allein durch den Glauben. (LUT 1984) [There-
fore we conclude that man is justified without the deeds of the
law, alone by faith.]

Therefore we conclude that a man is justified by faith without the

deeds of the law. (KJV)
Car nous estimons que par foi homme est justifié sans œuvres de
Loi. (NTF 1922)

Decimos, pues, con razón, que el hombre es justificado por la fe

sin las obras de la ley. (SBE 1964)

Pues sostenemos que el hombre es justificado por la fe sin obras

de la Ley. (SBN 1975)

Pois julgamos que o homem é justificado pela fé, sem as obras da

Lei. (BSB 1982)

Denn nach unserer Auffassung wird der Mensch nie durch Werke
gerecht, die das Gesetz fordert, sondern durch Glauben. (DNT
1999) [For we think that man is never justified by the acts required
by the law, but by faith.]

Although, in his Circular Letter on Translation (1530), Luther himself

profusely justifies his translation on stylistic grounds claiming that
‘alone’ simply serves to clarify St. Paul’s idea, experts maintain that it
was (theological) ideology which made him strengthen his point that
Christians are justified before God by faith alone. This little expansion
triggered off a century-long debate on the relationship between faith
110 Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation

and deeds and is responsible for the (implicit or even explicit) anti-
Judaims of those who think that the greatest achievement of the Christian
religion is to have overcome the performance-orientation of Judaism. It
is one of the very few divergences between Catholic and Protestant in-
terpretation of the New Testament.
Another ideological aspect of our translation is the order in which the
texts are presented. The traditional order of the canon, which puts the
four Gospels before the epistles (St. Paul’s epistles being arranged accord-
ing to their length!), followed by the Revelation of St. John (Apocalypse),
suggests a historical chronology of contents from the birth of the Messiah
to the end of the world and the arrival of God’s kingdom. This, however,
is not in keeping with the chronology of text production. Moreover, it
makes us believe that the testimony appearing first is closer to the histori-
cal truth than the testimony appearing later and that it would therefore
have to be more authentic or more important. This had a considerable
impact on the evaluation of the Epistles of Jude and James, the Revela-
tion of St. John, on Paul’s Epistle to the Hebrews, and on the Gospel of
St. John. In DNT 1999, the texts are presented according to their (as-
sumed) age: that is, the Epistles are given first, and the Gospels, the Acts
of the Apostles and the Revelation of St. John are rearranged (Jn., Rev.,
Mk., Lk., Act., Mt.), and the apocryphal texts are inserted according to
their probable date of production. This has caused quite a bit of irritation
among some readers, and surprise among others, because some of the
apocryphal texts can be assumed to be even older than certain canonical
Scriptures. However, it sheds a new light on both familiar and unfamiliar
texts in their intertextual relationships and allows a re-reading of the
New Testament.

7. Feminist ideology
Traditional translations of biblical texts into languages that differentiate
on the basis of gender do not take into account that Christian communi-
ties did not consist merely of ‘brothers’ but included ‘sisters’ as well and
that some of Jesus’ followers were women (in German: Jüngerinnen und
Jünger), e.g. Mary Magdalene. Modern translations of biblical texts usu-
ally make a point of linguistic inclusiveness. So did we, as can be seen in
the following example.

Example 8: What about the mothers? (Lu. 6,23)

Freut euch an jenem Tage und springt vor Freude; denn siehe, euer
Christiane Nord 111

Lohn ist groß im Himmel. Denn das gleiche haben ihre Väter den
Propheten getan. (LUT 1984)

Rejoice ye in that day, and leap for joy: for, behold, your reward is
great in heaven: for in the like manner did their fathers unto the
prophets. (KJV)

Réjouissez-vous en ce jour-là et tressaillez d’allégresse; ainsi, en

effet, leurs pères trataient les prophètes. (NTF 1922)

Alegraos en aquel día y regocijaos, pues vuestra recompensa será

grande en el cielo. Así hicieron sus padres con los profetas. (SBN
1975)

Alegraivos nesse dia e exultai porque grande será a recompensa

no céu. Pois assim fizeram seus pais com os profetas. (BSB 1982)

Freut euch und jubelt, wenn man euch das antut. Denn im Himmel
werdet ihr reich entschädigt.
Den Propheten ist es mit den Voreltern dieser Leute genauso
ergangen. (DNT 1999) [Rejoice and feast if they do this to you.
For you will be generously compensated in heaven. The prophets
have been treated like this by the foreparents of these people.]

Of course, Spanish and Portuguese translators do not find any structural

problem here since padres or pais means both fathers and parents.

8. Conclusions

Owing to the limitations in the length of this paper, I was only able to
refer to some of the ideological aspects present in the translation of bibli-
cal texts. Yet I hope to have shown that in such translations almost any
decision is – consciously or unconsciously – guided by ideological cri-
teria. Therefore, the ‘objective translator’ does not exist. What we may
expect, however, is consistency of source-text interpretation, translation
skopos and translation strategies. This means that translators have to de-
cide beforehand what their translation is intended to mean to the addressed
audience – in other words: what kind of communicative function(s) it is
aiming at. Since in the case of biblical and apocryphal texts there is a
large variety of possible skopoi, translators should be obliged (and given
the opportunity, e.g. in a preface) to justify and defend their translational
decisions. A team of translators and other experts who do not disclose
112 Function and Loyalty in Bible Translation

their identity (like in GNG 1997) can create the false impression of hav-
ing translated objectively and thus violate their obligation to loyalty with
regard to the target readership. It is always function plus loyalty (Nord
1997:123ff.) that is at stake – loyalty being an ethical (and, therefore,
ideological) aspect which is particularly important in the translation of
religious texts.
The Translation Bureau Revisited
Translation as Symbol

ÔEHNAZ TAH¤R-GÜRÇA–LAR

This paper discusses the ways in which translation was used as an

instrument of modernization in Turkey by exploring the ideological
backdrop of the state-sponsored Translation Bureau. The Bureau,
which was operational in 1940-1966, produced over a thousand
translations of mainly western classics and proved to be the most
influential translation institution founded in republican Turkey.
The paper carries out a critical analysis of the discourse formed
around this institution and looks at how it recently achieved a
symbol status for certain sections of the society mainly due to its
ideological grounds. The paper argues that the Translation Bureau
was established in order to create a common cultural basis and a
new literary repertoire for the newly forming Turkish nation. This
function, which only remained partially fulfilled, was modified as
the political context changed through the later decades of the
Republic. It was also this initial function that eventually granted a
symbol status to the Bureau whereby its products came to be
identified with the modernization and westernization project of
early republican Turkey.

1. Introduction

“Translation is a political act”. This statement has been confirmed many

times in the works of numerous translation scholars during the past three
decades or so. Translation is political because, both as activity and prod-
uct, it displays processes of negotiation among different agents. On a micro
level, these agents are translators, authors, critics, publishers, editors, and
readers. Such a view presents translation as a result and determinant of
social interaction inevitably placed within an often implicit ideological
context. In certain cases, however, the ideological implications are rather
manifest. At times, larger entities, such as state institutions which at first
sight appear to be irrelevant to translation activity, may be involved in the
production, marketing, and reception of translations and attempt to make
use of translation in order to achieve certain ideological goals. In specific
places and time periods, translation is attached a special mission and its
implicit political character becomes exposed. A case in point is Turkey
114 The Translation Bureau Revisited

where translation came to be regarded as an instrument of enlightenment

and modernization in the late Ottoman and early Republican periods both
by the ruling elite and the intellectuals of the country. This view reached
a peak with the establishment of a state-sponsored Translation Bureau set
up in 1940 to translate world classics into Turkish. In this paper, I shall
review the discourse formed around this institution and look at how it
achieved a symbol status for certain sections of the society mainly due to
its ideological grounds.
The single-party era in Turkey (1923-1946) was a unique period where
translation became a vehicle for nation-building. The newly-founded Turk-
ish Republic needed to create itself a new ‘culture’, detached from its
Ottoman heritage, and translation was one of the instruments chosen by
the government in order to achieve this goal. As Itamar Even-Zohar
(1997:2) suggests, the making of collective entities, such as nations, is
often the product of conscious ‘culture planning’. Even-Zohar (1997) de-
fines ‘culture planning’ as “a deliberate act of intervention, either by power
holders or by ‘free agents’, into an extant or a crystallizing repertoire”. In
the case of Turkey, the ruling government, backed by the support of cer-
tain sections of the intelligentsia, intervened in the field of literature and
took the initiative in launching an extensive translation movement. Their
aim was to create a ‘Turkish renaissance’ and a ‘Turkish humanism’,
which they hoped, would establish a common cultural basis upon which
the new Turkish cultural and literary repertoire would rise. They were no
doubt aware of the importance of a common cultural repertoire to rein-
force a sense of nationhood, which they needed with urgency.
Today, it is debatable whether the Translation Bureau was actually
able to serve its intended function of establishing a common cultural rep-
ertoire for Turkish citizens. The tools needed to measure the actual success
of the Bureau would have to include a study on the reception of the prod-
ucts of the Bureau by the readership. On the other hand, carrying out a
descriptive study on the translations would also be useful in terms of lo-
cating the norms at work in the Translation Bureau and analyzing their
relationship to larger political forces. Instead, what I propose to do in this
paper is to delve into extratextual sources and tackle the discourse sur-
rounding the products of the Translation Bureau. For the purposes of this
paper, I am interested in the way the Bureau and its activities were received
(or anticipated) rather than the actual nature or ‘effect’ of individual trans-
lations. I aim to reveal the ideological premises and consequences of the
Bureau’s activities through a critical analysis of the discourse surround-
Ôehnaz Tah¥r-GürHa—lar 115

ing the Translation Bureau. This will be a diachronic study, demonstrat-

ing that the function and image of the Translation Bureau was transformed
over time, and that the way it shaped (and was shaped by) ideological
considerations also changed.
Descriptive translation studies can be a significant tool in studying not
only translated texts, but the discourse formed around them which may
indicate collective trends and intentions (see Toury 1995:65). Describing
and analyzing extratextual material may serve as a significant explana-
tory tool revealing the reasons underlying translational decisions, and also
serve to complement or challenge textual findings. The study of individual
comments or criticisms about translation may reveal some common de-
nominators, as well as variances. This process leads to the formulation of
certain ‘regularities’ which are indicative of collective ways of looking at
translation. On the other hand, ‘irregularities’ may point at interesting
directions, drawing one’s attention to resistance and conflict.

2. Translation within a political context

Translation, of especially Western classics, was considered to have sig-

nificant ideological implications in the late Ottoman and early Republican
periods. Translation activity was identified with attempts at giving a West-
ern vocation to Turkish culture and society. In fact, translation from
Western literatures into Turkish is a rather recent phenomenon. Before
the nineteenth century, the Ottoman system of translated literature was
dominated by Persian and Arabic works. Translations from Western lan-
guages first appeared in technical and scientific subjects and Western
literature only started to be translated after the Ottoman Reformation
(Tanzimat) of 1839. The first Western narrative to be translated into Turk-
ish was Fénélon’s Télémaque. The work which is also considered to be a
milestone in terms of the entry of the Western novel into Turkish as a
literary form, was translated by Grand Vizier Yusuf Kamil PaÕa and printed
in 1862 (Özön 1985:115). From that date on, Western prose started to be
translated into Turkish at an increasing rate. However, translations from
Western languages were criticized to varying degrees by proponents of
different views. Some criticized translations by commenting on the devi-
ant moral values they conveyed (Akbayar 1985:450), some, like the famous
author and translator Ahmet Mithat Efendi made clear calls for the trans-
lation of Western classics into Turkish as an educational tool (Ar kan
1999:84). Translation activity was very much carried out by private
116 The Translation Bureau Revisited

publishers and especially newspapers which allocated large space to seri-

alized translated novels. Their selection of titles was rather arbitrary and
shaped by popular demand, rather than an ideological programme. The
Ottoman state attempted to regulate translation activity through several
official translation institutions but had only limited success (see Ülken
1997; Kayao—lu 1998). The idea of forming a corpus made up of trans-
lated Western literature in Turkish was often debated, but it remained
largely unimplemented.
The situation changed little after the proclamation of the Turkish Re-
public following a four-year War of Liberation. In 1923, Turkey emerged
as a new country under a new name and a new political system whose
goal was economic and cultural modernization mainly through Westerni-
zation. The Ottoman Empire had not been indifferent to the issue of
modernization and Ottoman intellectuals had been occupied with the ques-
tion since the eighteenth century. However, it was the Republican era
which institutionalized and regulated the Westernism trend in Turkey.
This trend was especially evident in the first twenty-five years of the Re-
public when there were clear efforts to build a sense of nationhood and a
unique Turkish identity severed from its Islamic-Ottoman heritage. These
efforts were carried out through culture planning starting in the 1920s
with a series of reforms in a number of fields. The reforms covered gen-
eral issues such as economics, politics, and education as well as issues
related to the private sphere such as dress codes. The intention was to
establish a new and secular Turkish identity based on a common culture,
language, and history instead of the older order of religion (Güvenç
1997:225-245).
One of the most significant reforms was the alphabet reform of 1928.
This reform resulted in the adoption of the Latin alphabet to replace the
Arabic-based Ottoman script, which had been in use for centuries. The
proponents of the reform mainly argued that the Ottoman script was diffi-
cult to learn and was the main cause of illiteracy in the country which
stood at around 90 per cent in 1927 (ÔimÕir 1992:244). However, there
was more to the abandonment of the Ottoman script. As the script of the
holy Koran, Arabic letters reinforced a sense of Islamic community ver-
sus the idea of the modern nation state which the officials were trying to
install (Kato—lu 1997:413; Halman 1973:30; Lewis 1961:273). This was
why the alphabet change was a delicate issue and was debated quite a
long time before it was finally declared.
The alphabet reform had important consequences in the field of litera-
Ôehnaz Tah¥r-GürHa—lar 117

ture. It virtually severed the younger generation from literature written

in Ottoman script and there emerged a need to construct a new national
library. This is an argument overwhelmingly present in discussions
around literature, publishing and translation in the 1930s (see, for exam-
ple, the Proceedings of the First Turkish Publishing Congress held in
1939). Translation of especially Western classics was regarded as one of
the ways this library could be developed (Nay r 1937:163). There was
also a general agreement as to how such a wide translation movement
could be launched. The intellectuals of the day called for state interven-
tion and suggested that such a large-scale movement could only advance
under the auspices of the state (S rr 1934:1; ‘Klasiklerin Tercümesi’
1933; Birinci Türk NeÕriyat Kongresi 1939:190). The initiative to start
this movement came around the time the First Turkish Publishing Con-
gress was held. The Congress which provided room for the discussion
of issues related to the planning of publishing activity was attended by
state officials, authors, publishers and journalists.1 There were seven com-
mittees established to prepare reports for presentation in the Congress.
One of these committees was the Translation Committee, however trans-
lation was also dealt with in the reports of other committees such as the
Literary Property Committee, Youth and Children’s Literature Commit-
tee, Awards, Assistance and Propaganda Committee. The Congress
concluded that a Translation Bureau would be launched under the Min-
istry of Education. This Bureau would oversee the translation and
publication of ‘classics’.
The Bureau was founded in 1940. It published a total of 1,247 titles
selected mainly from among Western classics until 1966. This was a vast
translation movement unsurpassed even to our day. Nonetheless, it was
never regarded as a ‘mere’ translation movement, before, during or after
the operation of the Bureau. Its goal was not confined to the publication
of translations and its political mission was often emphasized by those
who wrote about the Bureau.
In the remaining part of this paper I shall explore the changing dis-
course around the Translation Bureau and discuss an invariant in this

1
It is interesting to note that although there were translators among the number, they
were usually referred to by their other and more ‘legitimate’ profession, such as teacher,
author or journalist in the official records. This offers interesting evidence about the
translator’s (in)visibility during that period (Venuti 1995).
118 The Translation Bureau Revisited

discourse: The Translation Bureau as a symbol2 of a specific kind of mod-

ernization. I have chosen to study this discourse in its three stages, the
discourse before 1940, stressing the need for a Translation Bureau, the
discourse during the activities of the Bureau, i.e. 1940-1966, and retro-
spective discourse, discourse formulated after the closure of the Bureau
until our day, i.e. 1966-2000.

3. Creating the canon

The first stage, leading up to the establishment of the Translation Bureau

in 1940 was marked by several interrelated ideas. The first and perhaps
the most significant of all was the creation of a ‘need’ for the translation
of classics. This idea was communicated in various articles and books
emphasizing the importance of translating Western classics and lament-
ing a lack of such translations in Turkish. This discourse has largely
contributed to the creation of a new literary canon in Turkey. By drawing
attention to the significance of certain literary traditions for Western cul-
ture and literature, intellectuals of the day created a ‘discursive centre’
for the Turkish literary system which was suffering from a vacuum
mainly due to the alphabet reform and the radical cultural transformation
the country was undergoing. It is interesting to note that although terms
such as ‘Western culture’, ‘Western civilization’ and ‘classics’ were
abundantly used in this period, little was written about what these terms
signified. A study of the writings of philosophers and literary figures of
the late Ottoman/Early Republican periods reveals that the West was
mainly an intellectual construct. It was the idea of a civilization into which
the new Turkey wished to transform itself. Author and publisher YaÕar
Nabi wrote: “The West is a cast of mind, it is a spirit, a mentality” (YaÕar
Nabi in Tunaya 1999:59). Likewise, Hilmi Ziya Ülken (1948:23) held
that the concept of the West had no absolute boundaries and that it re-
ferred to an open and universal civilization.
With the appearance of translations from Western literatures in the
nineteenth century, mainly via French, Ottoman intellectuals started de-

2
I am using the term ‘symbol’ in the Barthesian sense as an order of signification to
refer to an object (in this case the Translation Bureau) which has acquired through
convention and use a meaning that enables it to stand for something else (in this case
modernization) (Barthes 1977).
Ôehnaz Tah¥r-GürHa—lar 119

bating the role of this literature in the introduction of Western modes of

thought. It is difficult to argue for the existence of a homogenous and
dominant ideology of Westernism at that stage. Some intellectuals ap-
proved Westernization in both culture and science while some held a
partialist view supporting the imports of scientific ideas detached from
their philosophical and cultural context. The latter group defended a pres-
ervation of local traditions and values from Western influences (Tunaya
1999:118). The proponents of the first view suggested that modernization
could only be realized by adopting the whole of the Western civilization
with its Greek and Roman roots. This group called for the creation of a
Western-inspired culture and morals in Turkey and stressed the impor-
tance of exposure to Western literature at an early age (A—ao—lu 1972:
75-79). The Republican era put an end to the debate between the ‘wholists’
and ‘partialists’ and adopted a Western vocation in both sciences and cul-
ture. This became the main ideology underlying the series of reforms
carried out within the first decade of the Republic.
This brings us to the second idea which emerges from the discourse
on translation before 1940: ‘Turkish humanism’. The philosophical frame-
work of Turkey’s orientation towards the West was to be found in this
concept. Humanism was a term widely used through the first couple of
decades of the Republic. It covered the body of works representing West-
ern civilization as a homogeneous structure. The aim was to realize a
‘Turkish renaissance’ by importing these works into Turkey via transla-
tion and making them instrumental in creating a new culture and literature
which would be national in essence but rising upon Western concepts and
ideas. This is why the Translation Bureau and the concept of humanism
have been identified with each other even to this day. During the first few
years of its activity, the Bureau explicitly propagated the creation of the
spirit of humanism in Turkey.
The creation of a Turkish humanism had been laid down as the mis-
sion of translation activity in Turkey long before the Translation Bureau
was conceived. For instance in 1934, in an article he wrote, Kaz m Nami
Duru stressed the need to introduce Greek and Roman classics into school
curricula and suggested that this would provide a sounder foundation for
the teaching of Turkish folk literature (Duru 1934:332-336). Translation
was expected to help a national Turkish literature to flourish. For instance,
in his Edebiyat m z n Bugünkü Meseleleri (Current Issues in Our Litera-
ture) in 1937, author, translator and publisher YaÕar Nabi Nay r wrote
that the translation of seminal works of Western literature into Turkish
120 The Translation Bureau Revisited

was vital for the development of a contemporary Turkish literature be-

cause Turkish culture needed to create a new foundation for itself. He
expressed his concern about a lack of basis for this new literature and saw
the Ancient Greek culture as a potential source for creating this basis:

The great civilization and language reforms we have undergone

have broken our ties with our former literature and culture which
was of a different aspect and language. Since there can be no cul-
ture without a basis and since today we do not have the possibility
of making use of the literature of yesterday, it is essential for us to
base our new literary and cultural works on the artistic and intel-
lectual corpus originating in Ancient Greece which underlies
contemporary European literature. (Nay r 1937:162)3

¤smail Habib Sevük, in his seminal two-volume anthology on European

literature and Turkey, stressed the importance of providing access to
Western works for speakers of Turkish. He suggested that the way to
become ‘fully European’ went not through learning foreign languages,
but through translation. He wrote:

The secret for making Turkey fully European lies in reflecting

Europeanness in Turkish. The issue of translation is not one of our
secondary tasks, it stands before us as a great ideal, as the mission
of all missions, as our greatest flag. It is only through ‘true transla-
tions’ that we will arrive at ‘true Europe’. (Sevük 1940a:VII)

Much of the discourse on translation and literature throughout the 1930s

set the translation of canonized Western works as a priority. However,
except for a few scattered efforts by mainly the Remzi and Vakit publish-
ing houses, private publishers remained aloof to translations of canonized
literature and concentrated more on the publication of popular works which
had a larger market and was therefore more lucrative. The translation and
publication of canonized works was expected from the state.
The call by authors and publishers for state intervention was another
feature of the discourse around translation prior to 1940. A short article
appearing in the literary magazine Varl k in 1933 put this very clearly:

3
All translations are mine.
Ôehnaz Tah¥r-GürHa—lar 121

[…] publishers and newspapers do not want to publish these kinds

of works [translations of classics] for which there exists only a
limited market (…) It is only through the efforts and selection of
the Ministry of Education that we can have a well-structured li-
brary of classics. Expecting this from private initiative would mean
expecting sacrifices which will never be delivered. (‘Klasiklerin
Tercümesi’ 1933)

In the same vein, Nay r (1937:163) wrote that the ‘regulating hand’ of the
state had to be there for a systematic translation movement. Author Ahmet
Hamdi Tanp nar (1998:79), in a newspaper article he wrote in 1939, em-
phasized that translations required money and programme and that this
could only be provided by the state. The Translation Committee of the
Publishing Congress (Birinci Türk NeÕriyat Kongresi 1939:125), also
stressed the need for state involvement and suggested that an institution
be established under the Ministry of Education to start up a planned trans-
lation movement. This strong expectation might have originated from past
experience, as the Ministry of Education had been involved in planned
translation and publishing activity since its conception within the first
Grand National Assembly in 1921, first through the Committee on Origi-
nal and Translated Works (Kayao—lu 1998:200), then the series of
translated literature it launched after the proclamation of the Republic.
Yet this series was limited to abridgements and it was discontinued in
1928 after the alphabet reform (Sevük 1940b:38). The call for state in-
volvement is also related to the political context of the day, since one of
the major principles underlying the practices of the governing Republi-
can People’s Party and the Republican reforms was the idea of étatisme
(state involvement) in the fields of economics and culture. State involve-
ment was generally favoured; authors, journalists, and publishers accepted
the state’s patronage as natural and necessary. In his article published in
the magazine Yeni Adam immediately after the establishment of the Trans-
lation Bureau, Yunus Kaz m Köni referred to the establishment of the
Bureau as a ‘great event’ and he made some suggestions about the struc-
ture of the newly-founded institution. He called for even more intensive
state involvement than the planned structure of the Bureau and wrote:
“Translation activity should become a scientific and official state body
just like the Offices of Statistics and Meteorology” (Köni 1940:19).
Perhaps the only critical voice raised against state involvement in trans-
lation was Ahmet A—aol—u’s, often referred to as ‘the First Turkish Liberal’.
122 The Translation Bureau Revisited

He commented on the proceedings of the First Turkish Publishing Con-

gress by saying that culture is made up of the feelings and thoughts of
individuals which cannot be planned within a structured programme. In
his opinion, such planning attempts would result in a ‘standardization’ of
cultural products (A—ao—lu in Birinci Türk NeÕriyat Kongresi 1939:189-
190). This view also forms the basis of some of the criticisms raised against
the Translation Bureau today.
The Translation Bureau was established following the First Turkish
Publishing Congress and its first products were issued in 1940. The Bu-
reau also published a translation journal under the title Tercüme which
ran for 87 issues until 1966. This was a step towards the creation of a
literary and cultural canon in Turkey which had thus far remained mainly
rhetorical. A critical review of articles about the activities of the Transla-
tion Bureau reveals that the period between the establishment and the
closure of the Bureau in 1966 is marked by somewhat different discursive
elements than the periods preceding or following it.

4. The Translation Bureau at work

As the above section attempted to demonstrate, the Translation Bureau

was a long-desired entity in Turkey and its establishment was more than
welcome by the intelligentsia. However, as the Bureau’s publications in-
creased in number, critical pieces also began to be published. In fact, the
most intensive critique of the Bureau and its products is to be found in
this period and pieces emphasizing the Bureau’s symbolic meaning are
juxtaposed with comments on actual translations and on the working
methods of the Bureau. There is also some difference between comments
published before and after 1946 which marks a peak for the Bureau’s
activities. This is as much due to the political context as it is due to a
decline in the Bureau’s activities as will be explained shortly.
Most intellectuals of the day received the establishment of the Bureau
rather enthusiastically and gave large support to its activities especially
during its first six years. A few comments selected from many will suffice
to demonstrate this. In 1941, Bedrettin Tuncel (1941:22) who was one of
the founding members of the Bureau wrote that the first year of the Bu-
reau resulted in great success and praised the state officials for having
provided the opportunity for the establishment of such a Bureau. Orhan
Burian (1944:17), one of the translators working for the Bureau, wrote
that the Bureau was not only successful in terms of its own production,
Ôehnaz Tah¥r-GürHa—lar 123

but also worthy of praise in the sense that it introduced a certain dis-
cipline in terms of the content and style of translations which were
subsequently adopted by private publishers. An anonymous piece pub-
lished in Varl k magazine (‘Klasiklerin Tercümesi’ 1946:2) called the
activities of the Bureau “the main achievement in the field of culture since
the establishment of the Republic, a valuable and honourable effort”.
The Translation Bureau which was attributed the mission of creating a
Turkish humanism even before its establishment continued to be assigned
the same mission during its first six years. This mission did not remain
rhetorical. Publications of the Bureau included many Greek classics which
were considered to make up the origins of humanism.4 Burian (1944:17)
wrote that translation was a sign for the spirit of humanism and the state,
through the Translation Bureau, emerged as the main humanist. Ôinasi
Özdeno—lu (1949:32) pointed out that the Translation Bureau had been
instrumental in bringing the intellectuals of the country in contact with
humanist culture. In his introduction to the translations published by the
Bureau in the early 1940s, the Minister of Education of the time, Hasan
Ali Yücel made the Bureau’s mission explicit and wrote:

The first understanding and feeling of the spirit of humanism starts

with the adoption of works of art which are the most concrete ex-
pression of human existence. Among art forms, literature is the
richest in terms of the intellectual elements of this expression.
Therefore when a nation repeats the literatures of other nations in
its own tongue, or rather in its own conception, it increases, re-
vives and re-creates its intellect and power of understanding. This
is why we consider translation activity so important and influen-
tial for our mission. (Yücel 1961a:12)

Humanism was not an end in itself. It was considered to be a tool for

modernizing Turkish culture and producing a unique national character.

4
For instance, seven of the first 13 translations published by the Bureau were works
by Sophocles. By 1955, the Bureau had published 860 works. 80 of these were trans-
lations of Greek classics (9 per cent) while 29 were translations of Latin classics (3.3
per cent) (Ediz 1955:3). 78 of these 109 Greek and Latin classics (71.5 per cent) were
translated and published between 1940-1946. It is also interesting to note that al-
though the translation of Eastern classics was among the initial tasks assigned to the
Bureau, the proportion of these works within the whole of the Bureau’s production
remained at only 5 per cent at the end of the first 15 years of its operation.
124 The Translation Bureau Revisited

It was also closely associated with the ideas of renaissance, enlighten-

ment and education that were considered to be among the major tasks of
the Translation Bureau. The ideological infrastructure of the Translation
Bureau was already there. The discourse throughout the 1930s had al-
ready defined the way the Translation Bureau would become one of the
educational instruments of the state and create a common culture of hu-
manism. Hasan Ali Ediz (1955:3), one of the translators working for the
Bureau, formulated the Bureau’s tasks as “to enlighten the masses, to
strengthen our intellectual life and to enhance our language”. However,
there is some doubt as to whether the products of the Translation Bureau
reached the intended ‘masses’ and fulfilled their function of edifying them.
The discourse around the Bureau is rather paradoxical. Although many
articles have references to the popular appeal of these books, some also
offer clues showing that they were initially intended for the intelligentsia.
The best example illustrating this paradoxical view is Köni’s article re-
ferred to earlier. Köni (1940:22) writes, “these works are reading material
for the intellectuals of the country” and three paragraphs further he adds,
“it is pleasing to see the kind of popular interest these works have gener-
ated”. There are some anecdotal accounts about the reception of these
books among lay readers which will be referred to in the next section.
However, it seems rather unlikely that a newly literate society would be
highly receptive to these works. The readership for popular literature
was larger at that time and the style and content of these books were
rather incommensurable with the works published by the Bureau. There
is indication that the classics were distributed through the Ministry of
Education especially to the ‘Village Institutes’ which made up a unique
educational system very much in line with the modernist ideology of the
young Republic. Otherwise, they were sold in bookstores along with works
marketed by private publishing houses. Nurullah Ataç, the first chairman
of the Translation Bureau wrote in a critical article in 1952:

Why aren’t these books [books published by the Translation Bu-

reau] sold? First of all they are expensive. There are other reasons
as well. People of this country are not used to reading, it is diffi-
cult for people to get used to books telling about things and
situations which are not similar to the traditions of the society they
live in. (Ataç 1952:231)

The discourse around the Translation Bureau was rather in favour of the
movement prior to 1946. The situation changed after 1946 when the Min-
Ôehnaz Tah¥r-GürHa—lar 125

ister of Education Hasan Ali Yücel, considered to be the founding father

of the Bureau, resigned from his post. This was a political turn brought
about by the adoption of the multi-party system in the country. From 1946
until 1950 when the Democrat Party took over the government, the ruling
Republican People’s Party had to agree with populist policies shifting
gears towards a more conservative line. The Translation Bureau suffered
from this shift and in 1947, the production of the Bureau dropped to 58
books from 165 books the year before (Yücel 1961b:18). This illustrates
how immediate the effect of ideological changes can be on translation
activity.
The demise of the Translation Bureau generated some criticism that is
evident in Ataç’s article referred to above, as well as the writings of Orhan
Burian after 1946. In an article Burian (1944:17) praised the humanist
inclination of the Bureau, its editing mechanism, the high fees paid to
translators as well as the high print quality of the books. His positive tone
appears to have changed in 1947 when Burian (1974:1-5) criticized the
selection criteria of the Translation Bureau and wrote that the editing sys-
tem of the Bureau was failing and that the printing and binding of the
books were not up to desired quality. His discourse turned completely
hostile to the Translation Bureau in another article published in 1953 where
he wrote that the Translation Bureau was no longer competent to deal
with its task and was causing large expense. He made a call for the clo-
sure of the Bureau and added that the selection and translation of classics
could be performed by universities.
Despite a significant decline in production, the Translation Bureau
continued to function until 1966. The country went through a great deal
of political turmoil during the Democrat Party government that ended with
a military coup in 1960. The Democrat Party’s ideology had direct impli-
cations on the activities of the Bureau. The party, which supported
liberalism in economics and conservatism in culture, attempted to reverse
some of the cultural reforms of the early Republican Period. The kind of
Westernization it sought was a ‘partial’ one and it attempted to revive
Turkey’s Islamic cultural heritage. During the Democrat Party govern-
ment the Bureau gained a different orientation and the publication of Greek
and Latin classics lost impetus. The Bureau’s symbolic status was not so
evident throughout this period and intellectuals remained largely silent
about its activities. Its mission of creating humanism was no longer men-
tioned and the discourse on humanism remained associated with the
practices of the single-party era. However, thirty years after the closure of
126 The Translation Bureau Revisited

the Bureau, in the late 1990s discourse on the Translation Bureau was
revived as well as the Bureau’s symbolic status. This was due to the po-
litical context in which Turkey found itself as I will present in the next
section.

5. The Translation Bureau in retrospect

Little was written about the activities of the Translation Bureau through-
out the 1970s and 1980s. The scarce material from this period presents a
very positive picture of the Bureau, concentrating mainly on the activities
of the first few years. This is also the period when the Translation Bureau
and the Village Institutes came to be associated as different façades of the
same movement of modernization. An article written in 1981 by Vedat
Günyol, one of the translators who formerly worked for the Bureau, is
very telling in this respect. He wrote,

Although institutions such as the Translation Bureau and the Vil-

lage Institutes which have been set up and functioned to take Turkey
to civilization are no longer here, the seeds they have sown have
blossomed despite conservative forces. No doubt, all internation-
ally known Turkish artists have been associated with these
institutions. (Günyol 1981:65)

Another feature of this period is the identification of the Translation Bu-

reau with its founder, Hasan Ali Yücel, a trend present also today. Melahat
Özgü (1970:183), another translator who worked for the Bureau, wrote in
her article on Hasan Ali Yücel’s view of translation, “The series ‘Trans-
lations from World Literature’ launched with a humanist spirit and thought
is the finest monument erected for the then Minister of Education Hasan
Ali Yücel”. The focus on Hasan Ali Yücel’s role in the establishment and
activities of the Translation Bureau increased in the 1990s, especially in
1997, on the occasion of Hasan Ali Yücel’s 100th birthday celebrated by
books and articles dedicated to the late Minister (a selection includes Ç kar
1997; Anamur 1997; Ôengör 1998; Cumhuriyet Kitap June 25, 1998).
The late 1990s witnessed increasing coverage of the activities of the
Translation Bureau by the press which published critical reviews and com-
ments. Comments from conservative circles included a criticism of the
Bureau and the Village Institutes as institutions imposed on the people by
the government. These also included a critique of the books published by
Ôehnaz Tah¥r-GürHa—lar 127

the Bureau on the grounds that the focus was mainly on Western classics.
The liberalist critique of the Bureau called the classics it published ‘a
fetish object’ and the activities of the Bureau “the official ideology of the
state” (TürkeÕ 1998:6).
Humanism as the major ideological framework underlying the estab-
lishment and the early activities of the Bureau once more appeared in the
agenda of those producing the discourse around translation. Throughout
this period, translation scholars and other researchers started paying more
attention to the Bureau and its relation to the concept of humanism. Some
academic works adopted a purely descriptive framework, refraining from
critical judgement (c.f. Karantay 1991; Paker 1998; Demirel and Y lmaz
1998; Kurultay 1999). Some created descriptive discourse with a degree
of critical judgement (Anamur 1997; Kayao—lu 1998; Ar kan 1999). Most
often, they referred to the Bureau and its activities in terms of the trans-
lated titles and the discourse created by the members of the Bureau. There
exists no study of translational norms at work in specific books published
by the Bureau.
On the other hand, in the late 1990s, there were also certain publica-
tions idealizing the Bureau and its activities, invoking its capacity as a
symbol of Turkish modernization. Some of these drew attention to the
edification function of the Bureau and stressed the wide appeal of the
classics in the 1940s, referring to stories of peasant boys and soldiers
carrying copies of these books and people rejoicing over the release of
each new book (Baykurt 1997:130; Yücel qtd. in Kaynarda— 1997:12;
Kaynarda— 1998:4; BaÕaran 1998:6). Some of this discourse appeared in
the articles published by Cumhuriyet, the oldest daily newspaper in Tur-
key known for its secular republican stance.
Turkey, which has been experiencing economic and political liberal-
ism for the past two decades, now witnesses the clash of several ideologies:
liberalism, political Islam and secular republicanism. Faced with the chal-
lenge of especially political Islamists, proponents of secular republicanism,
which can be described as the founding ideology of the republic based on
Kemalism, started to feel the need to formulate this ideology through a
clearer and more elaborate discourse creating their symbols along the way
(badges with the founder of the Republic Mustafa Kemal Atatürk’s por-
trait, bumper stickers with republican slogans, organized mass events
such as concerts and parades). The idealization of some of the practices
and institutions of the early Republican Turkey is another hallmark of
this discourse. The secular republican view of the Translation Bureau and
128 The Translation Bureau Revisited

its products is in the same vein, a rather idealized view. Mixed with the
idealization one can also sense a lamentation and a longing, creating a
tone which presents the Bureau and its products as the symbol of an ideal
that was consumed in the past, that of a fully enlightened Turkey.
An attempt to revive the translation movement launched by the Bu-
reau came from Cumhuriyet which started to reprint some of the classics
published by the Bureau, distributing one work a week free of charge.
This effort which complements works published by the Translation Bu-
reau by more recent translations of classics, took place between 1988 and
2000. As the newspaper launched this service, it presented its aim as fol-
lowing the path of Hasan Ali Yücel and his colleagues in forming a ‘Library
of Enlightenment’ (Cumhuriyet Kitap June 25, 1998:7). The majority of
the thirteen authors interviewed about the classics published by the Trans-
lation Bureau on the occasion of the launch of this series, assigned an
educational and enlightening function to the Bureau using terms such as
‘humanism’, ‘enlightenment’ and ‘Turkish renaissance’. They positively
associated the translation of classics with concepts beyond the sphere of
literature such as peace, civilization, and awareness of world history
(Cumhuriyet Kitap June 25, 1998:5-7).

6. Conclusion

Translation is always a part of the larger political, economic, and cultural

context and is a process that is negotiated, shaping and being shaped by
its context. The case of the Turkish Translation Bureau illustrates this in
clear terms. The Translation Bureau stands as a unique institution in Turk-
ish translation history and offers translation scholars an interesting case
of the ideological mechanisms that rule translation. Such explicit usage
of translation as an ideological instrument is indeed rare and translation
scholars can learn a great deal from the Turkish experience.
The discourse in circulation during the period leading up to the estab-
lishment of the Translation Bureau sets an interesting example of how
literature and translation can be used as instruments of creating a com-
mon culture to underlie the emergence of a new nation. In cases where no
common culture exists, or where the old repertoire is overthrown to be
replaced by a new one, importing that culture via translation may be the
most convenient and viable alternative.
The case of the Translation Bureau also demonstrates that culture plan-
ners do not wish to import foreign literatures only due to their literary
Ôehnaz Tah¥r-GürHa—lar 129

value. They assign translation a specific function and prepare the neces-
sary infrastructure for the fulfilment of that function, often within a
patronage structure.
Planners also elaborate the concepts and terms that define the scope
and the goals of the translation activity they sponsor. ‘Westernization’,
‘Turkish renaissance’, ‘humanism’ were some of the concepts used by
the Turkish state officials and intellectuals to refer to the expected results
of the Translation Bureau activities. Nevertheless, such concepts need to
be analyzed carefully, for they may carry a paradoxical character. For
instance, the Translation Bureau was expected to bring about Westerni-
zation in culture, which would, in turn, be used to unearth Turkish history
and literature. In other words, the intellectual framework would be im-
ported from the West, while the material to fill in that framework would
be supplied locally.
Different perceptions of the Translation Bureau and its products
throughout the years show us that shifting ideologies may also bring about
shifting perceptions of the same historical facts. The recent revival of the
interest in the Translation Bureau can certainly be associated with the
ideological challenges republican secularism is facing. Indeed, this inter-
est concentrates on the Bureau’s status as a symbol of modernization,
rather than results in a serious re-evaluation of the Bureau’s activities or
an analysis of its products. The activities of the Translation Bureau can-
not be analyzed in isolation from their ideological and political
infrastructure. Sixty years after its establishment, the products of the Bu-
reau are seen as a collective symbol of an incomplete enlightenment
precisely because of the political context surrounding them. Their sym-
bolic status has not been challenged by writers adopting negative or
positive views of the Bureau. The symbol is produced and reproduced by
the discourse around the Translation Bureau. Nothing has been done to
deconstruct that symbol through a study of the translated texts themselves.
Such a study may reveal surprising findings about the kinds of norms
adopted by the translators working for the Bureau which will, no doubt
shake the symbolic status of the Bureau and force one to adopt a fresh
view. Only through a study of the translated texts themselves can the frame-
work for a descriptive analysis of all aspects of the Translation Bureau be
complete.
This page intentionally left blank
Submerged Ideologies in Media Interpreting
DAVID KATAN AND FRANCESCO STRANIERO-SERGIO1

Consumer capitalism and popular television are the two main

ideologies moulding an interpreter’s performance on television.
These two apparently invisible forces form the base layer of an
iceberg model, and are creating significant changes in the
interpreter’s traditional habitus. Gatekeeping opportunities and
constraints are provided at every level of the submerged part of
the iceberg. The more visible layers of the iceberg illustrate how
the interpreter’s strategies and performance are regulated and
evaluated by norms which result from these ideologies, and are
significantly at variance with the traditional prescriptive conference
interpreting norms based on the traditional interpreter’s identity
and status. One overriding norm we call ‘the comfort factor’: the
degree to which the TV audience is entertained. Examples are
given of how broadcasters and hosts may – logically, according
to this model – control the translation process before, during and
after the interpreted event. Finally, from examples taken from our
corpus, we sketch what we see as an emerging prototype of the
media interpreter, one who is able to manage the interpretation in
the new habitus. The media interpreter is, thus, a highly profes-
sional and visible performer, able to embody the values of the
two main ideologies, and match the expectations of both
broadcasters and viewers.

1. Introduction

In this paper we wish to present a model of a system of relations which

links an interpreter’s performance on television to two basic ideological
forces: the ruling sets of beliefs broadcast by the dominant power group
in our society (consumer capitalism) and the need to satisfy the desire of
the television viewer, the couch potato (popular culture). These forces, as
we shall see, act through a logical series of opportunities and constraints
and are beginning to transform the traditional interpreter into one whose
face is acceptable on television.

1
David Katan was responsible for sections 1-6, and Francesco Straniero-Sergio
for sections 7-11.
132 Submerged Ideologies in Media Interpreting

Most of the examples come from a qualitative analysis of 50 hours of

Italian talk show material (see Straniero-Sergio 1999a; Katan and Straniero-
Sergio 2001).

2. The Iceberg Model

The ideologies of consumer capitalism and popular culture are, as our

title suggests, submerged. They are, for most people, for most of the time,
as Hall (1982) comments, ‘out-of-awareness’; and yet they are the force
controlling every visible interpreter’s action, and TV host’s reaction, in
front of the camera. The tip of the iceberg is what we see. However, the
rest is not always totally submerged, or ‘out-of-awareness’. At times, some
more of the iceberg comes into view above the waterline. So, as the model
below illustrates there are three levels of ‘submergence’.
Ideology and (anthropological) culture, however they are defined,
share the same function of giving meaning to, and orienting, human ex-
perience through a system of selection of reality to fit its own map of
the world. In fact, ideologies, as expounded by Marx, are “made up of
sets of beliefs about the world, which nevertheless produce a distorted
account of the world”. Further, ideologies “mediate and refract reality
through a network of existing categories […] selected by the dominant
group” (Jenks 1993:73).
The refraction of the dominant group in this particular case is capital-
ist, consumer driven, and – we argue – is tending to radically change the
interpreter’s traditional habitus: “their ordinary relations to the world”
(Bourdieu 1990:78). In particular, it is the traditional interpreter’s beliefs
about invisibility, the supremacy of the text and equivalence which are
being challenged.
What appears to be happening is that the interpreter is being judged,
no longer on source text/target text criteria, but in terms of, as Marx sug-
gests, ‘Commodity Fetishism’. The TV show is regarded as a commodity,
and is assigned a value on the market. The interpreter is a producer of a
commodity and has social relations with other producers according to the
high or low value of the ‘goods’ (the interpretation) in question. Hence
the bottom-line, short-term profit and ability to maintain or increase audi-
ence share, is becoming the pre-eminent value guiding media interpreting
performance. We should remember here that: “Broadcasting is the busi-
ness of delivering audiences to advertisers […] programmes themselves
are merely the ‘bait’ to attract customers to the advertisements” (Smythe
David Katan and Francesco Straniero-Sergio 133

1981, qtd. in Moores 1997:225). What is more, in Italy, all television,

both state and commercial, is dependent upon its commercial sponsors.

3. Popular culture

Audiences have to be found, but, more importantly, they also need to be

satisfied. So, a broadcaster’s profit is dependent on sufficiently satisfying
the desires or needs of the consumer, the TV audience. Interpreted events
on TV in general attract a popular culture: “ordinary people as origin-
ators, interpreters, and users of symbolic resources” and their “cultural
experiences” (Lull 1995:190). This culture, like any other, has its own
ideology which “fulfils a need or desire of a particular, […] genuine, kind
of taste or tastes” (Jenks 1993:112). Accordingly, the exponents of this
culture will have their own set of beliefs about what, how and why they
decide to watch a particular programme. What the TV viewer is looking
for will be logically related to how the interpreter’s production will be
valued. In particular, we will be focusing on how the successful media
interpreter actively contributes to the ‘comfort factor’ through entertain-
ment, and also how s/he helps maintain the viewers ‘environmental bubble’.

4. The Comfort Factor

The comfort factor, related to Bourdieu’s “cultural comfort zones and

characteristic ways of acting” (Lull 1995:69), we suggest, is the basic
core orientation guiding the viewer. We presume, therefore, that the viewer
is looking for maximum cognitive effect for minimum cognitive effort
(Wilson and Sperber 1988). This suggests that an interpreted TV pro-
gramme must first and foremost be entertaining.
Television is also a ‘fast message’ medium compared to, for example,
print (see Hall and Hall 1989). As Hartley (1992:97) puts it, popular cul-
ture viewers “have the capacity to apprehend social totality through mere
appearance of a single look”. This is what he calls ‘power viewing’. Hence
a programme must capture the viewer’s attention immediately, and pro-
vide the variety necessary to prevent the consumer from reaching for the
remote control: “the deadly click of the thumb” (Hartley 1992:97). This,
in turn, suggests that the management of time is a high priority, as is the
need for scoops and sensational reporting.
The other side of the comfort factor refers to the ‘protective walls’ of
134 Submerged Ideologies in Media Interpreting

“the environmental bubble: where ‘familiarity is at a maximum, novelty

at a minimum’” (Cohen 1972:166-167). Though, superficially, ‘novelty’
may be attractive, it is a natural part of the human defence system to react
as if “what is different is dangerous” (Hofstede 1991:109);2 and full im-
mersion in a foreign language or culture can indeed be highly threatening
(Katan 1999:175). So, in general, both the tourist and the viewer will
expect to stay within the safety of their own bubble, and will expect the
interpreter to domesticate (Venuti 1999), localize and appropriate the
message, so that the interpreted event is transferred to within the safety
and comfort of the viewer’s cognitive bubble. The Principle of Analogy
(Brown and Yule 1983:64-67) suggests that viewers will expect what
they see and hear to fit their existing map of the world. The Principle of
Local Interpretation (Brown and Yule 1983:59), likewise, would sug-
gest that viewers will reach for the remote control rather than having to
spend more than the minimum time necessary processing what they see
and hear. Sternberg (1984:283), who has studied processing behaviour
and general intelligence, notes that “‘more-intelligent persons’ are more
likely to spend time in ‘global (higher-order)’ cognitive processing while
their ‘less-intelligent’ colleagues are more likely to be involved with
‘local (lower-order)’” cognitive effort. Hall and Hall (1989) also note
how popular culture attention span diminishes in comparison with high-
brow culture audiences.

5. The three levels

The most important level of the iceberg model is that of ideology. Con-
sumer capitalism (divided here into the broadcasting and the viewing, or
popular, culture) is in direct antagonism with the traditional ideology of
the interpreter’s model of the world. The ideologies are also totally sub-
merged or rather ‘out-of-awareness’, being at the base if not the outer
frame of the cognitive environments of both media producer and receiver.
The three distinct levels can also be explained in terms of Popper’s three
worlds (discussed in Chesterman 1997:14-15). Though it is not a deter-
ministic world, but the dominant beliefs and values inherent in the
ideologies mentioned above largely influence, through a form of natural

2
There are, of course, cultural differences regarding the degree of tolerance or avoid-
ance of the unknown. Italy, according to Hofstede (1991), has a particularly marked
avoidance of what is different.
David Katan and Francesco Straniero-Sergio 135

selection, the type of interpreter who will be called back to work for the
next media event. This would suggest that the ideological cognitive pool
of consumer capitalism will have a form of plastic control (to use Pop-
per’s term) moulding the interpreter’s identity, belief system and role
around the mediated event. The ‘type’ of interpreter selected will also,
logically, function as a gatekeeper for certain types of skills or abilities,
which in turn will allow both producers (broadcasters, interpreters) and
receivers to opt for those strategies which would most likely satisfy the
values inherent in the dominant submerged ideologies.
The strategies, such as the organisation and editing of an interpreted
interview are certainly less submerged. At times, both producer and re-
ceiver will be entirely conscious of the patterns. For the producer, there
may well be implicit or explicit, visible, house rules regarding the styling
of a programme. Again there will be conflict between a traditional inter-
preter’s beliefs about strategies, and those driven by popular culture.
Finally, the most visible level of the iceberg is the realization of the
interpreted media event, in terms of behaviour within a particular envi-
ronment. It is this reality which is at odds with the traditional interpreter
habitus. The model (Fig. 1) may be illustrated as in page 136.

6. Gatekeeping and discourse practice

Translating, just like other activities such as news planning, news gath-
ering, news making and news reporting, is a gatekeeping activity: “the
process of controlling the flow of information into and through commu-
nication channels” (Vuorinen 1997:161). The broadcaster gatekeepers
decide not only what to translate but also, importantly, how an event is
to be translated.
Once a situation involving a foreign language (e.g. an interview) has
been selected by the programmers, regardless of the fact that the partici-
pants directly involved might have the interlinguistic competence to
dialogue by themselves, there is always some form of linguistic media-
tion offered on the screen. This is because the actual receivers of the text
are not themselves the on-screen (physical) participants but the undiffer-
entiated (invisible) mass audience.
The gatekeeping decision to use an interpreter, whether simultaneous,
consecutive3 or dialogue during social interaction on screen (or only in

3
In contrast with other countries (see e.g. Kurtz and Bros-Brann 1996) Italian TV
has used ‘consecutive’ interpretation on a regular basis since the late seventies.
 136

Environment Interpreted media event

Behaviour
translation of text interaction, audience reaction
VISIBLE dynamics

Strategies interpreting skills H programme use of the

A packaging remote control
B
simultaneous, broadcaster as viewer as
Strategic role I
consecutive, interpreter, 'housewife', 'child'
T
PARTIALLY dialogue, interpreter controller,... 'vox populi'
U
SUBMERGED
S

Values fidelity to the text C commodity comfort

neutrality O audience share entertainment
distance N profit time
SUBMERGED formality F visibility
IDEOLOGIES invisibility L
Consumer capitalism
I
C
Identity Interpreter Broadcaster Popular culture
T

Figure 1: The Three Levels

Submerged Ideologies in Media Interpreting
David Katan and Francesco Straniero-Sergio 137

audio) is only one of the ways in which interlanguage transfer is man-

aged. Use is also made of subtitling and voice-over by professional
speakers; and ‘interpretation’ may also be carried out by the journalists
and presenters themselves.
The decision to use one modality rather than another (e.g. voice-over
or simultaneous interpreting) will be directed by broadcaster and pro-
gramme controllers according to: programme strategies, general channel
broadcasting policies, the TV genre (talk show, live media event, pre-
recorded interview etc), the target audience, and the particular effect
that the programme director wishes to achieve. Clearly, a number of
modalities may be used together in one programme, where, for example,
simultaneous interpretation might be interspersed by the presenter who
steps in to add a narration, a comment or wishes to paraphrase the in-
terpreter’s words. Over a period of time these modalities will become
established practices and hence ‘product norms’ (Chesterman 1997:64;
Hermans 1999b:79).
Translation is also a discourse practice. The term ‘discourse’ refers
both to the linguistic (propositional) and the social (interactional) as-
pects of discourse activity, since institutions and the social context play
a crucial role in the development, maintenance and circulation of dis-
courses. As McDonnell (1986:1) puts it: “Discourses differ with the kinds
of institutions and social practice in which they take shape and with the
position of those who speak and whom they address”. What is impor-
tant in media discourse is how texts are produced and received by
audiences and how different identities are constructed and negotiated.
Following the iceberg model we will now focus on how broadcast-
ers control the translation process by gatekeeping both the verbal and
non-verbal behaviour of the interpreter and how they shape the iden-
tity of the interpreter.

7. Voice

Empirical studies on quality in conference interpreting (Bühler 1986; Gile

1990; Kopczynski 1994; Kurtz 1989, 1993; Mach and Cattaruzza 1995;
Marrone 1993; Meak 1990; Vuorikoski 1993) though limited in scope
have clearly shown that voice quality and other related parameters such
as intonation, prosody, accent, pleasant speech rhythm, fluency and de-
livery rank the least important aspects affecting quality. Conversely, in
TV interpreting (Daly 1985; Kurtz 1990, 1997; Kurtz and Pochhacker
138 Submerged Ideologies in Media Interpreting

1995; Kurtz and Bros-Brann 1996; Stimoli 2001) these paralinguistic ele-
ments suddenly become the most important.4
The quality of the voice, in fact, is one of the most important com-
fort factor criteria; and a number of valid interpreters are rejected for
media work on these grounds alone. Logically, then, an interpreter (like
any other producer of a commodity) has to adapt to current broadcast
standards set by professional speakers; and at least two generations of
TV audiences have grown up with the standards offered by the voices of
excellent film dubbing actors and TV voiceover professionals. It is these
product norms which now drive the expectation for similar voice quali-
ties from the interpreter.
This quality includes the ability to empathize and to act the part. Many
dubbers have now become famous names in their own right. 5 They repro-
duce the interjections, vocalizations and false starts of an interviewee,
and at times follow the phonetics of the guest’s words. The voice, then, is
not simply the vehicle for transferring the content of a text, but it is also
an instrument of emotional orientation.
The interpreter’s voice on TV has to be flexible enough to sound
like a presenter, a sports reporter or even a veejay, as well as a polit-
ician, economist, scientist as well as a whole host of other celebrities.6
The mediating interpreter also translates ordinary people, those invited
not to express an opinion but to share their personal experiences and
emotions with a large audience, hungry for the scoops and for sensa-
tional reporting. In these cases, the interpreter working on TV will be
instructed to give the appropriate emotion and drama to suffering, pain,
and disease; to emotional pleas from relatives to find missing loved ones;
to live confessions, and so on. Following the norms set by the dubbers,
the programmer will attempt to match interpreters for gender, though

4
The same results come from the simultaneous interpretation of films as the film
festival questionnaire results show (Guardini 1994; Palazzini Finetti 1999).
5
Ferruccio Amendola, for example, began dubbing films. As a result, he now
appears on prime-time chat shows and his voice sells brand name products on
national television.
6
Interviews with pop stars, actors, showgirls, models, soap opera stars and TV advert
testimonials form a healthy part of the interpreter’s work, which we might call gossip
interpreting (Straniero 1999b). Personal information about the private lives of the
famous is the raison d’etre not only for talk shows but also for current affairs pro-
grammes and media events (e.g. royal Weddings).
David Katan and Francesco Straniero-Sergio 139

much less often voice and age. In the case of children, the interpreter is
usually instructed to use simpler words and to simulate more hesitation.
The conference interpreter, on the other hand, usually translates a
number of speakers, one after another, alternating autonomously with a
booth-mate rather than according to speaker. During a TV programme,
on the other hand, when there is more than one foreign guest (whether
physically present or virtual), the norm is ‘one guest one interpreter’ irre-
spective of turn length. The partially submerged objective is to improve
the viewers’ comfort factor by smoothing away the potential incon-
gruencies between what is seen and what is heard. The use of different
interpreters is particularly effective during panel interviews when guests
have expressly been brought together for their different opinions.
The idea of a debate is, however, subordinate to the more impor-
tant ideological needs to produce a television event which will attract
the public in sufficient quantities for a sufficient period of time to
warrant payment for the sale of advertising time. The programmers
are acutely aware that their public are more interested in how the par-
ticipants speak and argue than in the actual content. This is also true
outside the entertainment world, where the dissemination of informa-
tion in Italy tends towards favouring expert opinion over fact, and
feeling over form (Katan 1999:221-226). So, the television, being situ-
ated in the lounge (rather than the study or the office), is the logical
setting for further sentiment. As a result, the ‘conflict’ created in a
television debate will generally be designed to create argument for its
own sake, or rather for the sake of entertainment.
The media interpreter, congruent with this setting, mirrors the per-
formance, the bickering and the squabbling, without worrying about
interruptions or overlapping. If the guests get upset then the interpret-
ers should follow suit – for that is exactly what the TV audience is
interested in.
The overriding importance of voice can be seen in a scathing article
published in a respected national daily, La Stampa, the day after the fu-
neral of Lady Diana. The author ungraciously demolished the simultaneous
interpretation of the Earl of Spenser’s funeral speech. The criticism was
based exclusively on the quality of voice, the suprasegmental traits, with
no reference at all to any other quality. The performance, according to the
author, resembled that of ‘heavy breathing on a chatline’.
140 Submerged Ideologies in Media Interpreting

8. Lexicon and register

Given that broadcasters operate under a set of assumptions and expecta-

tions about an imaginary interlocutor, they tend to cater to the more popular
and the more acceptable. The absence of physical recipients results in a
necessary stereotyping of the viewing public in terms of shared values
and a collective morality. For this reason, broadcasters attach particular
attention to language. There are two particular aspects.
First, language is simplified through ‘conversationalization’ of the dis-
course. This is not only true for the (pseudo) science and technology
documentaries, where the scientific arguments are explained in lay terms,
but also in the talk shows focusing on medicine, health and fitness. The
norm is ‘Keep it short and simple’. In Italy, this norm is usually reserved
for parent-children talk, but is accepted ‘for the viewers at home’ partly
because the TV in the lounge is the setting for entertainment rather than
for information. The values behind this norm relate again to the comfort
factor, and in particular to relevance theory, this time with reference to
the child in the family, or to the family that accepts being cast in the role
of the child.
Italian media interpreters are fully aware of these gatekeeping re-
straints, and feel that they should reduce the quantity of excessive technical
terms (personal communication). Hence, in accordance with the iceberg
theory these restraints are only partially submerged.
Secondly, broadcasters are also moral gatekeepers. Many of the house
rules explicitly given to the interpreters, in fact, refer to language decency.
Our corpus shows a high presence of interpreter addition of hedges,
downtoning, cushioning, and other ‘tact and diplomacy’ strategies – as
well as a general ‘improvement’ of style.
On the other hand, in a number of particular situations, the interpreter
may also be requested to remain faithful to register (e.g. mirroring the
crude style of the French far-right leader, Le Pen). In politically sensitive
contexts, broadcasters are particularly aware of a guest’s possible reac-
tions. In an interview with Fidel Castro’s aide, the Spanish interpreter
was instructed to avoid using ‘capitalist lexis’ where possible. At times
these instructions can take the form of actual censorship. For example,
during Bill Clinton’s hearing in front of the Grand Jury (1998), the inter-
preters were called to the RAI 2 TV news editor’s office before the live
broadcast to be told that if Clinton were to speak explicitly about any
indecent or embarrassing details of the affair, the interpreters were to limit
David Katan and Francesco Straniero-Sergio 141

themselves to saying the following words:“the President is giving per-

sonal details about his affair with Monica Lewinski”.
Interpreters may also be obliged or encouraged (depending on their
habitus) to use journalistic equivalents even when these are by no means
text equivalents. One of the interpreters during the Clinton hearings origi-
nally translated ‘inappropriate relations’ with relazioni sconvenienti, the
stock equivalent. However, the presenter then rebutted explaining to
the audience that the ‘right translation’ was relazioni improprie. Though
this collocation is, in fact, ‘inappropriate’ Italian, the presenter was re-
ferring to the expression which had been specifically coined by the not
particularly linguistic-minded media.
In media genres, such as talk shows, game and quiz shows, interpret-
ers are particularly expected to abandon their traditional ‘conference’
style in favour of a more informal and witty style, mirroring that of the
presenter. These interpreters comfortably use the language of TV (di-
minutives, terms of endearment, colloquial expressions, etc.) in harmony
with TV culture.

9. Turn-taking

It is in media interpreting, above all, that interpreters have to adjust their

turntaking and décalage to the wide range of broadcasting requirements
(Straniero-Sergio 1999a, 1999b). An emblematic example is that of a jour-
nalist who asked the interpreter to wait a few more seconds before
delivering her translation of the Queen’s live speech to let the audience
hear ‘the pathos’ (personal communication) of the original.
On the other hand, on one of the most popular morning shows (I fatti
vostri), there is never any décalage. The interpreter sits, as usual, next
to the guest, but is required to deliver a simultaneous translation, a mo-
dality that normally entails the invisibility of the interpreter, and
relegation to a booth. The strategy, explicitly stated, is to protect ‘the
average housewife’ from any risk of ‘the foreign’ which might punctu-
ate the domestic bubble with unintelligible talk. What lies behind this is
a response to the perceived threat, that “your average housewife at home
might get bored and change channel” (programme director, personal
communication).
Evening formats (with different target audiences), for example Il
Maurizio Costanzo Show, tend to rely on classic consecutive interpreting
albeit with shortened turns – again to reduce the impact of the foreign.
142 Submerged Ideologies in Media Interpreting

10. Interactional control, editing and manipulation

It may well be that the presenter actually takes the interpreter’s turn, ei-
ther anticipating or overlapping the official interpreter’s translation.
Alternatively the presenter may reformulate, integrate, distort or comment
on the interpreter’s words. In each case, the presenter is in competition
with the interpreter. This rivalry can generate tension and conflict par-
ticularly when the presenter, replacing the interpreter, insists on his or her
own personal version. This particular behaviour is part of the more gen-
eral requirement to make the translated text more interesting, entertaining
or newsworthy. Thus, for example, the cautious statement made by the
Iraqi minister regarding the release of the hostages (including an Italian)
taken during the Gulf War, which was translated faithfully by interpret-
ers, was reformulated by the journalist hungry for a scoop as meaning
“the imminent release of the hostages” (Studio Aperto, Italia 1).
There are three phases to gatekeeping control on television. First, the
potential translation is filtered before the programme goes on air through
instructions to the interpreter. Second, the programme presenter will
exert interactional control during the programme; and third, there is ex-
tensive control during the editing stage for the programmes that do not go
out live. This is of particular interest, as neither a conference nor dialogue
interpreter would ever have the opportunity to return to the text once it
has been translated.
During the editing stage, the interpreter may have the opportunity to
listen to the text before ‘simultaneously’ translating it, or alternatively s/
he may return to the text to correct or retouch an earlier interpretation on
request of the programme director. It is quite possible also, for example,
for a simultaneous interpretation during the programme to be re-edited
and subtitled, or voiced over, by another speaker – and unbeknown to the
original interpreter.
When an interpreter works with journalists on a piece to be trans-
lated s/he usually gives them an outline translation before the piece is to
be aired. Any stylistic changes are then made by the journalists them-
selves. In theory, the task of deleting, adding, substituting and generally
reorganizing the text should be the interpreter’s: it is their habitus. In
reality, it is the privilege of the journalist, often due to the fact that “the
journalists do not seem to perceive their work as translation but as ‘ed-
iting’ or ‘production’ […]” (Vuorinen 1997:169). Ideologically, for the
non-translators working in the media, translation is “mere transcoding”
David Katan and Francesco Straniero-Sergio 143

(ibid.:165) and a “passive and slavish imitation” (ibid.:169) whilst edit-

ing is the real creative activity.
With the broadcasting authorities’ immense power comes a cavalier
attitude towards text fidelity. During the Gulf War, for example, the CNN
correspondent, Peter Arnett, was simultaneously interpreted into Italian.
However, for the evening news, the editor used the original text at ran-
dom, as background colour to the interpreted text which was being
transmitted. In general, this denotes a declassification of the role of the
interpreter. What will be important for the programmer will be rendering
the programme as a package. However, as we shall see, through the con-
tinued public exposure of a small number of able interpreters, who have
had to become active participants in the package, their TV role is being
reclassified; and we may hope that this will lead to interpreters in all
spheres having more control over their work in the future.

11. Status and identity

From what we have just said, it is clear that interlingual transfer is not
only the interpreter’s habitus, but may well be co-managed by the talk-
show host (or journalist). The results may be a more creative interpretation
where meaning is cooperatively negotiated through two mediators. How-
ever, as the iceberg model shows there may very well be conflict at the
level of role, capacity and text meaning, which means that when working
with another ‘translator’ the interpreter will also be involved in repair and
face-saving strategies (Straniero-Sergio 1999a). The TV host’s institu-
tional identity de facto also encompasses translation and interaction (e.g.
turn-taking, interrupting and topic agenda setting). From this viewpoint
we have a partially submerged ideology, in that the TV host actually in-
terprets, i.e. takes over some of the interpreter’s habitus, even though s/he
does not have the status of interpreter.7
On the other hand, TV interpreters are being encouraged, through
the natural selection process, to enter the media habitus. Broadcasters
expect interpreters not just to have the relevant linguistic skills but also
to be good performers and to participate in the non-verbal interactions8

7
When a TV host substitutes the interpreter, his discursive and translating behaviour
can generate norms (in Gideon Toury’s sense of the word) which can influence the
perception and expectations of the role of an interpreter within media discourse.
8
Up to only a few years ago, in Italy’s most popular talk-show (Il Maurizio Costanzo
144 Submerged Ideologies in Media Interpreting

(Straniero-Sergio 1999a). The ‘deadly click’ power of popular culture

is obliging or encouraging interpreters (depending on the their own com-
fort factor) to take on roles which traditionally have not been part of
their profession.
Due to these gatekeeping manoeuvres, the identity of the media inter-
preter is rapidly changing. A prime example is the constant and extremely
visible presence over a ten-year period of Olga Fernando, a TV inter-
preter, on Italy’s most popular talk show. Now, for the first time, an
interpreter has not only a visible face but also a name. She not only has
become a public figure but has also become the prototype of a media
interpreter tout court. Visibility, and in turn, well-earned popularity, have
transformed Ms Fernando into a model (norm-setter), the benchmark for
media interpreters, against whom others are judged. The mass-media have
become interested in her (and in her colleagues), with interviews and lead-
ing articles in national newspapers dedicated to her, regarding not only
her performance but also her private life. Interestingly enough, the ex-
pressions of positive appreciation used by the critics and journalists about
her further confirm the bedrock of the iceberg model: popular culture’s
overriding desire to satisfy the comfort factor. To quote from the press
(Corriere della sera, Giornale di Sicilia): “Ms Fernando has a good word
for everybody”, displays ‘delicacy’, ‘profound sensitivity’, ‘sympathy’,
‘emotion’, and, importantly “does not limit herself to a cold translation”.
Clearly, then a media interpreter’s high product value is the ability to
reduce tension and lubricate social interaction, to be uplifting, to reassure
and be diplomatic. The values which guide this strategy are those of fos-
tering a climate of comfort and hence the maintenance of the domestic
environmental bubble.
To conclude, the force of TV’s submerged ideology is producing me-
dia interpreters who can no longer feel comfortable in their traditional
habitus, and are no longer being valued according to current accepted
interpreting norms: the mere production of an invisible and neutral link
between two languages. On the contrary, as Italian TV becomes more
globally oriented, and “the foreign” is brought into the Italian sitting room,
so consumer capitalism is demanding a slicker media-professional and a
more visible performer to maintain the comfort factor.

Show), the interpreters (along with all the guests) were obliged to walk on stage and
parade in front of the invited audience, in front of the TV cameras, and to back-
ground music and audience applause. In another talkshow the interpreter entered the
studio dancing the signature tune along with the host.
The Manipulation of Language and Culture
in Film Translation
PETER FAWCETT

Because film translation operates under a number of technical

constraints, it is often assumed that the final target text is largely
conditioned by those constraints and nothing else: x was left out
because there was no space in the subtitles; x was substituted by
another form of wording because of the need for lip sync. It is
possible to argue, however, that the apparently objective, material
constraints are in fact conventions or, in the terminology of
Descriptive Translation Studies, norms, which raises the question:
how much of the target text is itself manipulated, consciously or
not, by norms rather than constraints? Can we detect normalising,
repressing, levelling and censoring strategies in operation where
there is no need for them other than the need for ideological, moral,
and social control? This paper examines a small corpus of mainly
subtitled French films and discovers that although, indeed, such
strategies are dominant, film translation, like other modes of
translation, is also subject to human randomness and simple
cussedness, thereby countering the claims of those scholars who
believe that they have found, in the concept of the invisible
translator, the key to Western translation practice.

1. Introduction

Much of the literature on film translation, especially that written by prac-

titioners, focuses on the technical constraints, but an analysis of subtitles
demonstrates other forces at work, other factors which can be said to form
a translational ideology for film transfer:

• what amount of work the translator expects the audience to do

in order to receive the work, which is a relationship along the
solidarity-power cline;
• the moral, political and legal concerns of the translator and/or the
translation commissioner, which is a measure of authority rather
than power (power is ‘might’, authority is ‘right’),
• the translators’ often fluctuating perception of their task as com-
municator, mediator and author and their positional attitude to their
146 The Manipulation of Language and Culture in Film Translation

role in the translation chain and responsibility to its various elements;

• the dominant discourse on film translation.

All of these form a not always stable constellation of ideas, thus a shifting
ideology, derived from a variety of sources, among which we would ex-
pect training, practice, instruction, personality, company culture, national
culture and general translational culture to be influential. We have de-
scribed this as fluctuating because, as we shall see, translation in the West
is not a matter of blind adherence to a canon of behaviour (normalisation,
transparency, invisibility) but a form of behaviour subject in reality to
considerable randomness, a characteristic which also affects the ‘con-
straints’ on film translation, which are presented as inescapable
technicalities, but which are not immune from the effects of culture and
ideology, as the next section shows.

2. Constraints or conventions?
In the case of films translated by subtitles, there are supposedly two major
‘technical’ constraints which influence the end result. The first is to en-
sure that the number of characters (letters, punctuation marks and spaces)
in the subtitle is restricted to what time-honoured calculation suggests is
the greatest number that can be read and understood with least difficulty
by an averagely educated audience.
None of the literature that I am aware of actually tells us how and by
whom this calculation was arrived at. Caillé tells us that film is projected
at 24 frames per second, that 16 frames is one foot, and adds “Sur ces
données élémentaires est basé le travail du sous-titreur à qui l’on accorde
généreusement par pied 8 signes d’imprimeries, intervalles compris”
(1960:108) [On these elementary data is based the work of the subtitler
who is generously granted 8 characters, including spaces, per foot of
film].1 The ‘on’ of ‘on accorde’ (which is the French for ‘one/they’) is not
given an identity by Caillé, and in translation it tends to disappear into the
passive, thus losing completely the notion of agency, but equally notable
in this quotation is that the number 8 appears as if by magic and stands in
no obvious relation to the numbers that precede it.
Writing much later, Delabastita (1989:204) simply talks of a ‘first con-
vention’. That the calculation is indeed not a purely technical constraint

1
All translations are my own and are deliberately as literal as possible.
Peter Fawcett 147

but is, as the word ‘convention’ implies, directed by other, non-technical,

cultural attitudes, is made clear by two things. Firstly, the ‘averagely edu-
cated audience’ referred to in the literature as the standard receptor
presumed to be able to process these 8 characters per second is a social
construct without definition. It presumably refers to the same class of au-
dience much favoured by House, namely the ‘educated middle-class
speaker’ (1981:60). The level of educational attainment deemed appro-
priate to be a translation receiver (in print or on film) is never stated, and
is therefore left open to whatever interpretation we want to put on it, but
the class affiliation is clear. Secondly there has been some really quite
considerable fluctuation over the years in the ‘agreed’ number of charac-
ters that can be comfortably read by such an audience.
In the French system referred to by Caillé the dialogue list delivered to
the subtitler indicates for each rejoinder the number of characters allowed
for the subtitle based on the allocation of 8 characters per foot of film.
But Caillé then adds to the brew the comment that the subtitler is never
allowed more than 70-72 characters per title. Marleau later wrote that the
maximum number of characters per subtitle “est déterminé par le temps
nécessaire à l’œil humain pour lire un seul mot de 5 à 8 lettres. Ce temps
est à peu près d’une seconde, temps que dure précisément le déroulement
de 24 images, soit 1½ pied (ou 47 cm) de 35 mm” (Marleau 1982:276) [is
determined by the time necessary for the human eye to read a single word
of 5 to 8 letters. This time is about one second, which is precisely the
duration of 24 frames, which is 1½ feet (or 47 cm) of 35 mm film]. Again,
however, he gives no indication of where this figure comes from, but
concludes that “la somme des lettres, des signes de ponctuation et des
espaces entre les mots du sous-titre, doit égaler 50, c’est-à-dire ne pas
dépasser 50 ou s’en rapprocher le plus possible” (ibid.:279) [the total of
letters, punctuation marks and spaces between the words of the subtitle
must equal 50, that is not go over 50 or come as close as possible].
Delabastita says “Mostly a maximum of some 60 or 70 characters is ac-
cepted (Delabastita 1989:204). Jan Ivarsson does refer to tests done by
Hansson in 1974 and Montén in 1975 (Ivarsson 1992:37-38), but these
studies postdate considerably the articles by Caillé and Marleau. When
Ivarsson himself gets down to the nitty-gritty, he tells us only that “Some
film importers […] have established a norm, which may be expressed as
follows: 2 lines = 80 characters” (Ivarsson 1992:42).
In other words, the longest reading time ‘allowed’ is 6 seconds, but
the number of characters presumed readable in those 6 seconds has been
148 The Manipulation of Language and Culture in Film Translation

set at different times at anything between 50 and 80, implying that we are
not dealing with a scientifically or technically defined solution to a prob-
lem, but one with an admixture of artisanal guesswork related to cultural
expectations of and assumptions about the ‘educated middle-class’ audi-
ence. In his latest work, Ivarrson justifies the increased number of
characters in modern subtitles by asserting that “Cinema goers today tend
to absorb information faster” (Ivarsson and Caroll 1998:67), which may
well be true although he gives no support to the claim. It is not inconceiv-
able, however, that in the power relationship, such as it is, he is giving
comfort to the subtitler, rather than the audience, by giving them more
leeway than in the past. Their task becomes easier; the spectator lives
with the consequences. He further claims that “For many youngsters these
days, subtitles merely aid their understanding of the dialogue” (ibid..)
because they have a better knowledge of English. However, this seems
not to be supported by research done by Luyken et al. (1991) which finds
that people’s estimation of their ability to understand English often ex-
ceeds the reality.
The second technical constraint influencing the subtitling process is
the need for some degree of time-synchronisation between spoken utter-
ance and written title, which, together with the reading-time constraint,
produces the condensation typical of subtitles since it takes longer to read
and understand than it does to hear and understand the same utterance.
The usual ‘instruction’ is to leave the title on film for the duration of the
spoken words to avoid confusion from overlap. Again, however, this is
not purely a technical matter (Delabastita calls it a ‘second convention’
[ibid.]). Different cultures have very different attitudes to what they are
prepared to expect in terms of title length, colour, positioning, the number
of languages on screen, and so on. There is also some difference of opin-
ion within the profession as to whether it is appropriate for the title to
synchronise completely with the spoken sound, whether it should appear
shortly before a character begins to speak, and remain on screen for a
brief second after the end of the spoken word, or appear on the screen
shortly after the character begins to speak in order to give the spectator
time to identify the speaker.
Both of these technical, in reality techno-cultural, constraints result
in forms of condensation which, at the simple linguistic level, can be
achieved by a variety of translation moves which will be explored below
and which result in various forms of suppression or replacement of the
foreign culture.
Peter Fawcett 149

At other times, however, the modifications observed in film transla-

tion do not seem to be motivated by the need to adhere to the technical
constraints, but are rather connected with the ideological/cultural factors
referred to in the first paragraph. In this paper we will see how this ap-
plies to the handling of language (section 3), imagery, metaphor, and pun
(section 4), cultural allusions (section 5), register (section 6) and bad lan-
guage (section 7). The translator or commissioner may take a particular
line on such things as obscenity or the need to avoid offending social or
national groups (often by substituting another group in their place), or the
translator may believe the audience needs the text not translated but in-
terpreted, explained, or replaced. Sometimes, however, as we shall see in
section 8, a particular screen translator may, consciously or not, have an
ideology of free translation even when it is not necessary, whilst even
within the constraints of film translation it is possible to find unexpected
displays of flamboyance which demonstrate that translation behaviour
can be just as much self-directed, a form of self-expression, as receptor-,
culture- and ideology-directed.
The following is a discussion of the variously culturally, ideologically
and idiosyncratically directed moves made at various levels in a small
corpus of mainly French films of different genres. The corpus includes
the following films:

L’Appât (1995) by Bertrand Tavernier. The French title means The

Bait. The English distribution title is Fresh Bait. The film is a so-
cial drama about three young Parisians using illegal means to get
the money to go to America.

Ça commence aujourd’hui (1999) by Bertrand Tavernier. The

English distribution title is It All Starts Today. The film is a social
drama about an inspirational headmaster.

Cible émouvante (1993) by Pierre Salvadori. The French title is a

pun on ‘cible mouvante’ [moving target]: ‘émouvant’ means emo-
tionally moving. The English distribution title was Wild Target. The
film is about a meticulous hit man whose life falls apart when he
takes on an impetuous assistant and falls in love with his next hit.

La Fracture du myocarde (1990) by Jacques Fansten. The French

title is a pun on the French for ‘myocardial infarction’ (heart at-
tack) and means ‘fracture of the myocardium’. The English
150 The Manipulation of Language and Culture in Film Translation

distribution title is Cross My Heart. The film is a story of how a

group of children help one of their comrades to hide the fact that
his mother has died and so stay out of the orphanage.

Hasta Morir (1994) by Fernando Sariñana. The Spanish title means

Until Death. The English distribution titles are ‘Til Death and All
the Way. The film details the violent lives of Mexican street kids.

Le Jeune Werther (1997) by Jacques Doillon. The French title

means Young Werther. A group of schoolchildren in their early
teens stand around talking about their complicated love lives and
the suicide of one of their class mates.

Milou en Mai (1989) by Louis Malle. The English distribution

title is either Milou in May or May Fools. It is a comedy of man-
ners narrating the goings-on in a French family in the country during
the unrest of 1968.

Une Semaine de Vacances (1980) by Bertrand Tavernier. The

English distribution title is A Week’s Holiday in the UK and A
Week’s Vacation in the US. A schoolteacher suffers a nervous
breakdown in the French educational system in the aftermath
of 1968.

Stalingrad (1993) by Joseph Vilsmaier. The battle for Stalingrad

from the German point of view.

Les Visiteurs (1993) by Jean-Marc Poiré. English title The Visitors.

Two medieval men are time-transported to modern France and
undergo a series of comic adventures.

The following notation and usual sequence are used to present the data:

1. the source text dialogue is given in italics;

2. followed by my own literal translation in square brackets;
3. followed by the subtitled text in italics;
4. with the film title in parentheses at the end.

3. Linguistic condensation: techniques

To match reading time to listening time for a film spectator, it is usually

necessary for the subtitles to contain a condensed form of the original
Peter Fawcett 151

dialogues. To give a flavour of the techniques used to achieve this, and to

begin already to see minor cases of how the cultural other may be re-
pressed in film translations, we shall begin with some examples of a purely
linguistic nature (with one minor exception). Some reductions are achieved
by implementing (almost certainly unwittingly) the translation techniques
described in the taxonomies of Vinay and Darbelnet (1958) or Shveitser
(1987), which can be found conveniently summarised in Fawcett (1997).
Thus, je ne veux pas que vous ayez l’air d’un sauvage [I don’t want you
to look like a savage] is considerably shortened by applying the technique
of reverse modulation to become I want you to look nice (Milou en Mai)
with negative-positive commutation and binary reversal of the appropri-
ate terms. By contrast, minor condensation is achieved by the use of
syntactic reversal to turn mangez, elle ne serait pas contente de vous voir
comme ça [eat, she wouldn’t be pleased to see you like that] into she
wouldn’t have liked to see you not eating (ibid.), the rationale for which is
hard to decipher, since a literal translation would have contained only
two more characters than the original and so have been well within the
acceptable limit. Sometimes mathematics can be pressed into service in a
form of the translation technique known as generalisation as in the reduc-
tion of est passé de 0,2 francs à 3 francs le kilo [has gone from 2 centimes
to 3 francs a kilo] into has more than tripled (ibid.), a translation which
reads plausibly since even the bilingual spectators would scarcely have
the time to work out that the maths are wrong, with only that ‘more than’
to cover the translator’s shame. At the same time, of course, the French
cultural reference is deleted.
Asset stripping of this kind can be quite savage, as when il n’est pas
spécialement beau mais pas spécialement malin [he’s not particularly
handsome but not particularly bright] is reduced and generalised to just
the two words nothing special (ibid.). The long line Dans un palace où
les gamins les plus pauvres ont une poussée d’urticaire s’ils n’ont pas
300 mètres carrés pour étaler leur Lego [In a luxury hotel where the poor-
est kids get nettle rash if they don’t have 300 square metres to lay out
their Lego] undergoes a combination of semantic modulations and omis-
sions to give In a beautiful hotel where children throw a tantrum if they
don’t get a suite (Cible Emouvante). On this occasion, for once, the cul-
tural allusion which gets the chop is not French.
Careful study of such moves can reveal what, if any, are the favoured
techniques both in subtitling in general and with individual translators, in
so far as the latter can be identified, although one comment we can make
152 The Manipulation of Language and Culture in Film Translation

about the above translations is that they are quite complex compared to
the far more common SVO subtitles of many film translations. The above
examples, motivated by technical rather than ideological constraints and
showing only minor cases of cultural interference, serve as an introduc-
tion to the kind of moves made by subtitlers in the exercise of that part of
their job which caused Caillé so much despair: “En condensant des phrases
on s’aperçoit qu’on peut presque tout dire en si peu de mots que l’exercice
du langage paraît une fonction humaine pour ainsi dire superflue”
(1960:109) [In condensing sentences one notices that one can say almost
anything in so few words that the exercise of language seems a human
function so to speak superfluous]. But what kind of thing happens if, in
addition to the technical constraints in which reduction has to be achieved
to match reading and listening times, there are other factors to account
for, when the language is thickened by form?

4. Formally marked language

Given the constraints of film translation, one might think that puns, rhymes,
metaphors etc. would, via simple omission, be a particular victim to the
ideology which dictates the presence of nothing complicated in subtitling
translation (the ideology of total transparency), but on the whole they tend
to be no more problematic than in written translation and there are films
where the subtitler seems to have approached the task with relish, as with
John Minchinton’s translations of puns in Une Semaine de Vacances,
done at a time when the dominant ideology meant that censorship was not
so rampant on British television. So, for example, he gives us My first
was Ab because Ab-dic-ate to translate Mon premier c’était Ro parce que
Robespierre [My first is Ro because Robespierre, where the name
Robespierre can be read in French as Ro baise Pierre, ‘Ro fucks Peter’],
although the possible spelling of Ab-dick-ate to make the reference to
fellatio clear was presumably not allowed. A cuddlier example is the trans-
lation of the rhyming line pirouette, cacahuète [pirouette, peanut] in a
children’s song by topsy-turvy, peanut-curvy in Ça commence aujourd’hui.
This particular attempt to emulate form in translation is especially wel-
come since it goes against the dominant discourse on subtitling songs
which allows for three conventions and models which make no attempt to
replicate formal features: do not translate a song in subtitles; translate
only the first line; translate the meaning but not the form. John Minchinton
is another subtitler who goes against the model. In the one song in Une
Peter Fawcett 153

Semaine de Vacances he translates on vote à gauche parce que c’est dans

l’air [we vote left because it’s fashionable] as we vote left because it’s
savoir fairy in order to produce a rhyme with revolutionary, while the
two lines Je donne un franc à la madame pipi/Elle me croit propre et
gentil [I give a franc to Mme wee-wee/She thinks me clean and nice] are
very successfully translated as I leave a tip at the local wc/And the at-
tendant thinks the world of me.
If a pun is not related to a visual element on screen, it requires only
verbal imagination in order to preserve rather than suppress the form of
the original. In the film L’Appât, one character says mock poetically le
temps de ma splendeur est révolu [the time of my splendour has passed]
but his not very bright friend gets it wrong and echoes it as le temps de ma
splendeur est résolu [the time of my splendour is resolved]. Having se-
lected the cliché the glory of bygone days for the first, the translator arrives
at those doggone days for the second. The same film contains the childish
joke M et Mme Golbien ont un fils. Il s’appelle Henri, Henri Golbien [Mr
and Mrs Golbien have a son. He’s called Henri, Henri Golbien], where
Henri Golbien can be read as on rigole bien [we’re having a good laugh/
a great time]. In the subtitles this becomes Mr and Mrs Dewing have a
son called Howie, Howie Dewing. Neither of these examples is a purely
linguistic transposition; both have been filtered through a dominant cul-
ture. In the first, ‘doggone’ is pure American, while the second only works
with an American accent. Spectators with other varieties of English would
either have the irritation of mentally re-reading the subtitle with an Ameri-
can accent to get the intended effect or they would simply not be able to
understand the joke at all.
This Americanisation of the original, with its creeping colonisation,
is seen also in a text that should be unproblematic. Thus il n’a pas l’air
commode [he doesn’t look easy to get on with] becomes the rather bi-
zarre, and surely by now old-fashioned, Americanism he looks ornery
(Les Visiteurs) while mon chat becomes honey (ibid.) rather than dar-
ling or love.
Americanisation is a frequently deployed technique in dealing with cul-
tural matters, but it is not the only move that can be made.

5. French culture

Cultural references are inevitably a problem, and are most acutely the
sites of ideological interference in film translation. It is often claimed that
154 The Manipulation of Language and Culture in Film Translation

one advantage subtitles have over dubbing is the possibility of adding

brief explanations where the translator anticipates problems of compre-
hension, and this certainly sometimes happens. For example, a television
documentary on slavery in the modern world contained the subtitle – in
Korhogo [in the Côte d’Ivoire], where the words in brackets were not
actually spoken in the source language. In actuality, however, space con-
straints impose severe limits on this possibility, and the main strategies
used to deal with these problems are ideologically motivated strategies of
cultural repression or colonisation, although the translator may, as always,
be unaware that he or she is making an ideological move. The supporters
of foreignising translation would, of course, condemn this practice out of
hand, but as we shall see, there are, in film translation, perfectly good
reasons for adopting the normalising approach.

5.1 Problems can be caused, surprisingly enough, by such apparently

simply matters as how to deal with things like money, so that in the film
L’Appât, a first reference to 2000 francs was Americanised into $350,
and yet a second reference to the same sum of money shortly after was
transcribed as 2000 francs, preserving the source culture. Given the ear-
lier colonising translation, the second example is obviously not a sudden
burst of political correctness but rather a demonstration of randomness in
translation behaviour.

5.2 Similar confusion is seen in handling other cultural allusions.

Thus, references to French TV and media personalities in the corpus were
never left as such, on the not unreasonable grounds that they would most
likely be unknown outside France and that little is gained from obfusca-
tory transliterations. Sometimes they were dealt with using the technique
of generalisation, so that Quand il y a Foucault à la télé [When Foucault’s
on the box] becomes a generic programme type When there’s a chat show
on (La Fracture du Myocarde) while Il ne sait pas qui est Michel Drucker
[He doesn’t know who Michel Drucker is] suffers a rather more drastic
generalisation into He says he’s never watched TV (Les Visiteurs). French
culture again is made invisible in the language of the translation.
On occasion, however, we are witness to some hesitation between trans-
lating the function or the style, as when an allusion in the same film to
Eddie Barclay could have been subjected to the technique of adaptation
or substitution to become an equivalent person in the target culture but
was in fact dealt with by the translation technique of explanation: a big
Peter Fawcett 155

time agent (ibid.), whilst again in the same film a name which sounds
like Estève de Roane (which no French informant has yet been able to
identify for me) is erased and replaced by a full-blown colonising substi-
tute Madonna.

5.3 Place names are easier to deal with since they often function in
the specific-general dialectic identified by Levý (1969:102-108), so that
when a character says On ferait mieux d’aller dans le 16e ou à Neuilly
[We’d be better off going to the 16th district or Neuilly] where the inten-
tion is to commit burglary, this is generalised into its connotational
meaning We’d be better off in the chic area (L’Appât) while près du Champ
de Mars; c’est une bonne addresse [near the Champ de Mars; that’s a
good address] is translated by omission, losing the geographical refer-
ence to become just an explanation It’s a fancy area (ibid.). Although one
could again denounce the imperialism of suppressing the Other, the reader
with no French is spared the misery of trying to read words in a language
they can’t pronounce, which is no small mercy in a subtitling context.
This was probably not a consideration which occurred to the translator,
however, who wanted simply to remove an obscure reference, without in
this case substituting an alien culture for the French originals.
However, there are occasions in this particular domain when, prob-
ably because of insufficient time to do the job, there seems to be little
choice other than to reproduce the original and so supply the audience
with meaningless text. For example, the not very funny dialogue in
L’Appât:

• L’Amérique c’est pas l’Hexagone

• L’Hexa quoi?

is translated literally as:

• America’s no ‘Hexagon’
• Hexa-what?

which must be a pretty pointless exchange for most people in the audi-
ence, who will have no idea that Hexagone means ‘France’ (a term derived
from the country’s hexagonal shape). This would seem to be a situation in
which the combination of deadline and the translator’s over-familiarity
with the source language and culture, coupled with the impossibility of a
156 The Manipulation of Language and Culture in Film Translation

sensible translation, have drowned out sensitivity to the informational

needs of the audience. Deadlines in film translation are, by the way, in-
credibly tight (counted in days rather than weeks) and they may well be
an important factor in militating against the wholesale adoption of a con-
sistent strategy, thereby accounting to some extent for the randomness of
the results.

5.4 History and institutions similarly receive confused treatment, so

that by a part-whole modulation one phase in the French Revolution, le
Directoire, becomes the whole thing, the Revolution (Les Visiteurs) and
acceptably so since a film audience is in no position to consult an ency-
clopedia to find the meaning of a literal translation. However, a first
reference in the same film to Le Saint-Cyrien (a student or graduate of the
French military academy) is translated into what could be taken as an
acceptable generic term applicable to any country: in the Naval Academy
but on its second appearance soon after becomes the very specific Royal
Navy Cadet which either single-handedly reverses the Revolution and re-
stores the monarchy or puts the training of matelots into the hands of the
old enemy across the water.
In a standard metonymical move, a reference to the Tour de France –
il a gagné le maillot jaune [he won the yellow jersey] – is shifted side-
ways to another major sporting event in he won the gold medal (L’Appât)
even though the current commercialisation and globalisation of sports
viewing means that most people would now understand if not a straight
translation then at least a generic reference to the Tour. By contrast, it is
perhaps more understandable to see le calendrier des Telecom substituted
by the Unicef calendar (Les Visiteurs) although whether they have the
same function is open to doubt, as is the number of English-speakers who
are aware that Unicef publishes a calendar.
However, hackles may rise amongst supporters of la différence to
see French culture submerged when Je ne connais pas d’enchanteur, mais
je connais La Rivière Enchantée [I don’t now any wizards (enchanters)
but I know the Enchanted River] is Americanised into No sorry, no wiz-
ards, but I know the Wizard of Oz (Les Visiteurs). And although the
following declaration from L’Appât does not refer to a specifically French
institution: On va faire des casses, one can still wonder what subliminal
liking for and acculturation to American-style violence led the subtitler to
substitute it with We’re gonna pull hold-ups when the characters in the
film don’t pull any hold-ups but do commit ‘break-ins’, which is what
casses means.
Peter Fawcett 157

5.5 Substances may seem easier to deal with but can still pose prob-
lems when they are culture-specific, leading usually and as usual to
repression of the cultural Other. While there can be no real exception to
replacing Dragonal with Valium (Les Visiteurs) translating minute-soupe
by the brand name Cup-a-Soup (ibid.) when instant soup would have done
may well be seen as a form of cultural colonisation, although in this case
simply confirming linguistically the factual colonisation of French cui-
sine by the instant-mix culture. It is quite sad for those who know and
love it to see the delicious clafoutis (cherries baked in batter) substituted
by fritters, especially since for an English audience the most frequent col-
location of fritters is with Spam, a substance mocked at by Monty Python.
But the only other alternative would have been a generalisation, since the
time constraints make a wordy explanation unacceptable.

6. Register: Familiar and slang language

A constant headache in all forms of translation is posed by phraseology

marked as familiar or slang. Representing this aspect of another culture is
always problematic, and the ideological stance of many translators is that
it should be suppressed because, as with dialect, the connotations rarely
match. It can be a problem getting the right level. Sometimes it can be a
problem just getting it right, and the following examples show why it may
well be best to follow the dominant model. The translator who turned
c’est nase [it’s bust] into it’s zilch (L’Appât) has obviously mislearnt one
of the words, and has missed out on one of those occasions when it might
have been useful to apply Newmark’s otherwise silly advice, borrowed
from Larbaud, to look up especially the words you think you know
(Newmark 1981:16). Similarly, translating Ils sont tarés [They’re mental
defectives] by They’re losers (Le Jeune Werther) was clearly not motiv-
ated by a problem with character count, and can only be attributed either
to ignorance or to American cliché kicking in. Not giving any translation
at all for il est injuste, le monde, il est brutal, il est dégueulasse [the world
is unfair, it’s brutal, it’s filthy] (Milou en Mai) may have been motivated
by technical reasons rather than ignorance. The problem word here is
dégueulasse which is a very common word, but is described by the Collins-
Robert dictionary as the kind of word which “should be handled with
extreme care by the non-native speaker unless he is very fluent in the
language and is very sure of his company” (Atkins et al. 1993:xxviii).
Translating Les Romanos [gippos] as scuzzballs (Les Visiteurs) either again
158 The Manipulation of Language and Culture in Film Translation

shows ignorance and/or laziness or tells us something unpleasant about

the translator’s internalised ideological values on race.
More marked still is the translation of Embête pas mon pote [don’t
annoy my mate] by Don’t knock my main man (Le Jeune Werther) while
translating dans les apparts des bourges by in boojy homes (L’Appât) not
only imposes the verbally expressed class ideology of an American sub-
culture, but also for most non-Americans leads simply to incomprehension.
As far as I can tell (I’ve only ever heard the word used by Eddy Murphy
and it’s not in my dictionaries of standard English), the word boojy – the
j is pronounced like a French j – is black American slang for bourgeois.
The translation is therefore semantically accurate and makes some at-
tempt at getting the slanginess of the French abbreviation of bourgeois to
bourges, but a non-American who has never heard the word has no hope
of understanding.
In Fawcett (1997:131-2) I spent some time discussing why the transla-
tor of Hasta Morir chose not to translate the Spanish words in the dialogue
exchange “I want the pachuco with the lady” – “A cholo did that for
me”. An explanation that did not then occur to me has since been sug-
gested by one of my students, Dimitrios Asimakoulas, which is that the
translator may have been anticipating a specific receptor, namely an
American audience familiar with these words through the register of His-
panic Americans. Although it might be thought refreshing that the
translator’s ideological stance here involves not repressing the Otherness
of the characters, the consequences are once more incomprehension for
most spectators.

7. Bad language

The problem of language level becomes even more acute when the
phraseology is marked as vulgar or obscene because in something as
public as film translation the translator no longer has a duty of simple
fidelity to the original but must also take into account the instructions of
the translation commissioner and the age and sensitivities of the possible
audiences. In this situation, Skopostheorie comes into its own.
In the broad comedy Les Visiteurs, although two vulgar puns are still
marked as vulgar in the translation, the level of vulgarity is reduced. Thus
we are told that somebody called François Lecul... [Frank Arse] changed
his name to Lefut and in translation this becomes Francis Twat... chang-
ing his name to Watt while the name Jacouille (couille is a very vulgar
Peter Fawcett 159

word for ‘penis’, but see also below) is translated as Jackass. But other-
wise, this same film was on the whole quite coy about translating vulgarity,
so that Oh putain, which dictionaries usually translate, if they include it at
all, as the already not very shocking ‘Bloody hell!’, became the innocu-
ous No kidding. The exclamation is very common among young French
people in particular, but they do try not to use it in front of their parents.
Similarly, La Fracture du myocarde about a group of 12-year olds,
and which the Corel All Movie Guide 2 Compact Disc reviews with the
words “Warning: Explicit Language”, is translated into tame enough
English for the English television channel BBC2 to screen it using the
titles on the video version rather than redoing them for a potentially wider
audience.
Thus Elle se fout de notre gueule? [Is she taking the piss out of us?]
becomes simply Is she having us on? while C’est dégueulasse qu’on
emmerde les pédés [it’s disgusting the way they harass queers] loses all
three of its vulgarities to become the politically correct It’s disgusting.
They should leave gays alone. Dégueulasse, which we saw earlier, is com-
mon in everyday French, but it can cause offence to some because of its
origin in the word for to vomit. The present author was once asked to
refrain from using it in polite company. ‘Leave alone’ is a reverse modu-
lation of the vulgar French word emmerder which the dictionary translates
as ‘to give somebody trouble’ but is stronger in French because of its
origin in merde [shit], and pédé is usually translated as ‘queer’ even though
that translation now misses the mark since gays have reclaimed and
repositivised the word ‘queer’ while the French ‘pédé, derived as it is
from the misconception that homosexual men are paedophiles, remains
negatively connoted.
Similarly, lèche-cul [arse-licker] becomes just teacher’s pet while Il a
besoin d’un pote pas d’une pute (a play on words meaning “He needs a
mate not a tart”) is not translated at all. The word chier in various uses
causes the translator some pain: T’es chiante comme nana [you’re a pain-
in-the-arse girl] becomes the painless You’re such a pain and the shit
continues not to hit the fan in Ça sert à rien de se faire chier [there’s no
point shitting bricks] which becomes the innocuous Why worry?

8. Letting rip

In the erratic world of film translation, however, repression is not always

the order of the day, especially when it comes to language. There are
160 The Manipulation of Language and Culture in Film Translation

occasions when the translators, or their commissioners, realize that a film

is directed at a specific audience and a decision is taken to allow the trans-
lation to reflect their values and attitudes rather than to censor the work.
Le Jeune Werther is a film about young people who are not much older
than those in La Fracture du Myocarde, but they are precocious kids with
affairs of the heart, and the translator has been allowed to target the trans-
lation at a very different audience. C’est chiant à notre âge [it’s a pain at
our age] becomes It sucks being a kid, while faecal matter rises to the
surface again in the translation of C’est con ce que tu dis [what you’re
saying is rubbish] by Cut the shit.
The language gets even stronger when C’est de la très grosse connerie
[it was a very big piece of stupidity] becomes It was a major fuck up not
to mention the translation of Je n’ai jamais dit que le prof n’était pas un
enculé by a way-off-the-scale I never said the teacher wasn’t a mother-
fucker. The French word enculé is slang for sodomite but gets hurled
around as a general insult, especially by car drivers. The word ‘mother-
fucker’, which comes up again shortly, once more marks the film as
translated for Americans, although in a rare burst of modesty and good
manners J’en ai plein les couilles is translated as I’m sick of this. Couilles,
which we saw above in the singular as ‘penis’, becomes in the plural slang
for testicles: the French sometimes come across as verbally confused about
sexual matters, since cul (arse), which we saw in enculé (sodomised), is
also a general term for heterosexual sex. Finally, still in Le Jeune Werther
the racism of Les blondes, ça fait toujours bander les bicots [blond women
give wogs (Arabs) a hard-on] is toned down in the rather bizarre trans-
lation Black guys like Barbie dolls which, without any help from the
context, is likely to be interpreted as meaning that Mattel’s best custom-
ers are black men.
However, in the film L’Appât, addressed to an older audience, the
translator does not flinch from bad language. Indeed, he/she even eggs
the cake with almost visible relish, since bande de naves [bunch of idiots]
is translated as dickheads, joue pas au con [don’t act the fool] as don’t
fuck us around, and fuckfolles is mistranslated as fuckups, although this
may be understandable as it does not even figure in any of the slang dic-
tionaries in my possession (I assume it means sex mad).
Furthermore, even where there was nothing in the original to translate,
this particular translator was unable to resist adding in the words they
fucking think, which suggests that he or she was getting more pleasure
out of the job than one normally does.
Peter Fawcett 161

Finally, however, the translator is in some doubt as to what sexual

practice to identify with our old friend enculé. On its first appearance, in
a kind of variable geometry, things are turned round to give the transla-
tion cocksucker (my beginning is in my end, so to speak), while on its
second outing we adopt the Oedipal position with the translation
motherfuckers.
Both of these films would either not get an airing on terrestrial televi-
sion or would almost certainly have to be re-titled for such a showing,
since the BBC re-banned the use by its film translators of the f- and the c-
word in the late 70s (personal communication from John Minchinton).
One thing is clear, however: when the translator is allowed by the com-
missioner to aim at a proper representation of the level of language of the
original, what we see is still a form of colonisation because the best re-
sults seem to be achieved by turning to America for some of its more
lively terms of abuse.
This article has chosen to concentrate on translating French films, but
the points made can be reinforced by references to other cultural zones.
Thus, the hesitation in dealing with potentially offensive language was
also found in the Mexican film Hasta Morir, where the word ‘puto’ (not
given in my Collins Spanish dictionary, but presumably a masculine form
of ‘puta’ or ‘prostitute’) is translated by the demure Don’t be silly for Es
puto but by fucker as a stand-alone lexical item. Likewise, the word
‘cabrón’, described by the Collins as ‘tabu’ and meaning ‘bastard’, is trans-
lated only once by that insult, and on other occasions as ‘sucker’ and
‘pimp’. The tendency to Americanise also emerges in some subtitles from
Stalingrad, where tatsächlich [really] becomes No shit, Du Flasche [you’re
a dead loss] becomes Jewish-American You klutz, and Drecksack [dirty
bastard] is translated as Asshole. Perhaps the translator’s fixations are
coming to the surface here, because Pferdepissse [horse piss] was trans-
muted into Horse shit.

9. Conclusion

It is clear from the above analysis that language and culture in film trans-
lation into English tend to be normalised into the target language and
culture, or, more precisely, into American language and culture. This nor-
malisation of language may be typical only of subtitles. In film dubbing,
Herbst (1994) finds very many examples of the Anglicisation of German
162 The Manipulation of Language and Culture in Film Translation

in the production of film scripts, a fact which he attributes to the practice

of beginning the dubbing process by the production of a ‘raw translation’.
Since his study is purely linguistic, he has nothing to say about what hap-
pens to the Other in dubbing. For that we have to turn to the long and
detailed study by Hesse-Quack (1967), but it should be said that his study
may well be outdated. It is over thirty years old, set very specifically within
a theoretical framework of modes of social control, and details the effect
on film translation of, among other institutions, the German Church. Given
the kind of material seen in modern German original productions, it may
be that attitudes have changed in film translation. The issue needs to be
revisited.
In subtitling, the normalisation of culture, as our examples show, is
more variable, although suppression and substitution certainly seem to be
the dominant modes. But the question as to whether this is to be deplored
in a prescriptivist manner (since the foreignisers are every bit as pre-
scriptive as the normalisers) or simply documented descriptively calls up
another question: do film translators really have any other serious option?
It is a simple fact that films, like the vast majority of books, can only be
translated once rather than being brought out in different versions for
different receptors (which casts doubt on the main tenet of Skopos-
theorie for anything other than very specific text types aimed at very
specific audiences). It is also a fact that, in the Western world at least, by
far the greater percentage of today’s cinema-going audience is below
the age of 25. This age group is more familiar with American pronunci-
ation, phraseology and culture than that of any other country apart from
their own (as witness the German army conscript in a TV documentary
whose immediate reaction to a snarling donkey was to say ‘Oh shit’,
rather than to speak German). And it is finally also a fact that even though
the technical constraints of film translation can be shown to be as much a
convention as a technical reality, there are nonetheless very real con-
straints. An audience ‘reading’ a film has no time to do anything other
than absorb the subtitles as fast as possible in order to maximise watching
time. The luxury of footnotes is simply not an option. Translators have no
choice but to normalise.
There are those who might claim that this makes no difference any-
way. Detailed studies of cultural and ideological manipulation of many
texts may be completely beside the mark, because the only people to take
note of these manipulations will be the researcher and his academic audi-
ence. For the general public, especially in the cinema, who are the real
Peter Fawcett 163

target of the translations, there is simply no time to notice what is being

done to them. I am not, however, convinced of this viewpoint. One does
not have to subscribe to subliminalism in order to believe that hard-to-
notice manipulation has an effect. Cumulative presence and repeated
absence build up a world view. And in translated film, that view is domin-
ated by the hegemonic power. But film translation can hardly offer a site
for resistance.
This page intentionally left blank
The Power of Originals and the Scandal of
Translation
A Reading of Edgar Allan Poe’s The Oval Portrait1

ROSEMARY ARROJO

Most of the dominant discourse on translation usually revolves

around the desire to neutralize difference and to achieve perfect
repetition. In Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Oval Portrait,” I intend to
examine the main implications of the ethical code that inspires
essentialist expectations towards the translator’s task. In this
exemplary plot, which brings a peculiar twist to the traditional
association between translation (as portraiture) and the death of
the original, Poe’s protagonist miraculously produces a perfect
repetition of his model and beloved bride and, thus, seems to
achieve the ultimate goal of total fidelity to the original. At the
same time, however, he is also punished with (and indirectly
blamed for) the death of his beloved as her life and beauty are
literally transferred to the portrait. Moreover, to the extent that
it punishes the painter/translator for his authorial dedication to
the portrait, Poe’s plot seems to reflect the same distrust that
essentialism generally associates with translation. Also, to the
extent that it also shows that the portrait/translation, in spite of
its apparently radical fidelity to the model, inevitably acquires
an independent life and becomes more real than the (dead)
original, Poe’s tale offers us an emblematic illustration of the
complex relationship that is usually established between originals
and translations, and how most of us still react to it.

Can we not, then, speak of God’s jealousy? Out of resentment

against that unique name and lip of men, he imposes his name, his
name of father; and with this violent imposition he opens the
deconstruction of the tower, as of the universal language; he

1
This paper is part of a research project sponsored by Brazil’s National Council for
Scientific and Technological Development (Conselho Nacional de Desenvolvimento
Científico e Tecnológico ? CNPq). It was presented, as a plenary lecture, during the I
Encuentro Internacional de Estudios de Filología Moderna y Traducción de Las
Palmas de Gran Canaria, Universidad de Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, Las Palmas,
Canary Islands, Spain, on November 30th, 2001.
166 The Power of Originals and the Scandal of Translation

scatters the genealogical filiation. He breaks the lineage. He at the

same time imposes and forbids translation.

Jacques Derrida
Des Tours de Babel
(1985:170)

The complex relationship between original writing and translation has

often been compared to the kind of ambiguous connection which is gen-
erally established between painters and their live models, as well as
between such models and the portraits which are meant to reproduce them.
Such a comparison usually suggests not only the status of translators as
mere copyists in their effort at being faithful and invisible, but also the
flagrant inadequacy of their work, usually perceived as a clumsy attempt
at reproducing an idealized original in another context, language or me-
dium. In the blatant contrast between the model and its portrait, in which
the shortcomings of translation are dramatically associated with a form of
death, or loss of ‘spirit’ or ‘soul’, the translator is the daring perpetrator
of such an impossible transferal of essence from the original to its deriv-
ation who traditionally bears the blame for whatever happens to go wrong
or to get lost in the process. An appropriate example can be found in Du
Bellay’s Deffence et illustration de la langue francoyse (written in 1549)
which, in Theo Hermans’s words,

resolutely denies that translation can play a part in the growth of

literature or the enrichment of the vernacular [...] because of its
inability to transfer intact “that energy, and ? what shall I call it ?
that spirit, which the Romans would have termed genius’ and which
apparently resides in works of art. The translator, then, is like a
painter who can depict a person’s body but not his soul.” (Du Bellay
ed. 1948:32, 38, 40-41; quoted in Hermans 1985:104)

The intricacies of such images and relationships, as well as the implica-

tions which they entail for a reflection on language and translation, also
find an exemplary scenario in Edgar Allan Poe’s tale Life in Death (The
Oval Portrait), first published in 18422, which I propose to read as a sharp
exploration of those age-old metaphors which ultimately associate trans-

2
All references to Poe’s story in this paper come from a 1983 edition. See details in
the reference section.
Rosemary Arrojo 167

lation and translators with death and loss. Such metaphors may be par-
ticularly revealing if we approach them with an interest in the broad
ideological ground, or in the ‘system of representations,’3 which has given
implicit or explicit support to the general discourse on translation and
translators produced either by the so-called common sense, or by transla-
tion scholars and non-academic commentators that share the typically
essentialist belief in the possibility of forever stable meanings and texts.
It is such a belief which has allowed, for instance, the establishment of a
clear-cut hierarchy between original writing and translation which usu-
ally attributes to originals and their authors all that which is denied to the
translator’s work and other forms of ‘reproduction.’
The plot of Poe’s story is apparently simple: a wounded, feverish nar-
rator resting in an abandoned chateau tells us of his ‘reverent awe’ towards
the ‘lifelikeliness of expression’ in the oval portrait he found hanging
from one of the walls (Poe 1983a:737). One may say, in fact, that the
story is constructed on several relationships which basically depend on
the mechanisms of translation as transformation. The first one is of course
the central focus of the tale and involves the history of the portrait which
Poe’s narrator finds in a book at his bedside after he “could no longer
support the sad meaning smile of the half-parted lips” of the portrayed
woman that had moved him so deeply (ibid.). As we learn, she was “a
maiden of rarest beauty, and not more lovely than full of glee”, who “loved,
and wedded the painter [..., and who] lov[ed] and cherish[ed] all things:
hating only [her husband’s] Art which was her rival: dreading only the
pallet and brushes and other untoward instruments which deprived her of
the countenance of her lover” (ibid.). On his part, the ‘wild and moody’
painter, who was “passionate, studious, austere, and having already a bride

3
The expression is borrowed from contemporary Marxist theory, largely indebted
to the work of Louis Althusser, which has provided the general conception of ide-
ology which informs this paper. According to James H. Kavanagh, contemporary
Marxist theory

has reworked the concept of ideology in the light of the more complex
notion of subject-formation given by psychoanalysis, and the more elabor-
ate system of ideological practices that have developed in late capitalist
societies. In this framework, ideology designates a rich ‘system of repre-
sentations’, worked up in specific material practices, which helps form
individuals into social subjects who ‘freely’ internalize an appropriate
‘picture’ of their social world and their place in it. Ideology offers the
social subject not a set of narrowly ‘political’ ideas but a fundamental
168 The Power of Originals and the Scandal of Translation

in his Art” worked so obsessively that he would not see that his young
wife “grew daily more dispirited and weak” (ibid.). In the end, “as the
labor drew nearer to its conclusion”, and as “the painter had grown wild
with the ardor of his work”,

he would not see that the tints which he spread upon the canvass
were drawn from the cheeks of her who sate beside him. And when
many weeks had passed, and but little remained to do, save one
brush upon the mouth and one tint upon the eye, the spirit of the
lady again flickered up as the flame within the socket of the lamp.
And then the brush was given, and then the tint was placed; and,
for one moment, the painter stood entranced before the work which
he had wrought: but in the next, while yet he gazed, he grew tremu-
lous and very pallid, and aghast, and crying with a loud voice, “This
is indeed Life itself!’ turned himself suddenly round to his beloved
who was dead. The painter then added: “But is this indeed Death?”
(ibid.:737-738)

Apart from the relationship between the painter and his bride, other rela-
tionships in Poe’s tale have been associated with translation: “the woman
and her painted likeness, [...the] portrait and the wounded narrator, and
[...] the quaint anecdote in the art book and the narrator’s truncated story”
(Kennedy 1987:60). According to J. Gerald Kennedy, each of those pair-
ings “figures an opposition between life and art, between one who gazes
and one who is gazed at; more revealingly, each implies a relationship
between translator and text or between text and translation” (ibid.:61).4
From such a perspective,

The painter translates his wife in a double sense – into a visual

icon and into a lifeless model. Like all translation, this process
entails duplication and effacement, a retracing which both mirrors
the original and abolishes it in the sense that every translation sac-
rifices the letter of the original text to reconstitute its spirit in another

framework of assumptions that defines the parameters of the real and the
self; it constitutes what Althusser calls the social subject’s “lived rela-
tion to the real”. (Kavanagh 1995:310)

4
To my knowledge, besides Kennedy’s, there are two other texts which explicitly
relate Poe’s story to translation: Caws 1983a and Caws 1983b.
Rosemary Arrojo 169

language. The young bride and the portrait manifest the fatality of
translation, inasmuch as the picture lives by virtue of the wifes
death; yet the wife paradoxically ‘lives on’ in the painting and her
essence in effect sustains the life of the translation. [...] The narra-
tor, for his part, translates the painting into writing, into a text which
is twice removed from the original. (ibid.)

To the extent that such pairings reveal the inevitability of translation as

transformation, and, thus, to the extent that they show the impossibility of
absolute, eternal faithfulness, they constitute an appropriate illustration
of the typically essentialist idealization of the ‘original’ and its conse-
quent general dissatisfaction with translation. Such a view is also perfectly
compatible with the notion that the alleged loss brought about by transla-
tion is somehow the translator’s fault and as such it might be avoided, or
controlled, as Kennedy’s synthesis of Poe’s tale suggests.5 However, while
the notion of loss is generally related to the translator’s unwelcome inter-
ference in the translated text, how do tradition and Poe’s story deal with
the notion of gain in translation?
What I intend to explore in Poe’s paradigmatic text is precisely that
which for Kennedy is ‘the scandal of translation’6: the fact that for the
painter and for Poe’s narrator – that is, for both the translator and his
reader, the oval portrait, or the translation, takes on

5
According to Kennedy’s synthesis of the tale, “the volume of art criticism [...which
happens to describe the paintings in the bedroom...] provides a brief account [...] of a
‘wild and moody’ painter who worked so obsessively to idealize his young bride
through portraiture that he did not notice her failing health and so completed his
masterpiece only to discover that he had killed the beloved subject”(1987:60, my
emphasis).
6
Lawrence Venuti’s The Scandals of Translation – Towards an Ethics of Difference
(1998) is probably the best known theoretical text on translation which explores its
‘scandalous’ vocation. However, a much earlier text, George Mounin’s Les Problèmes
Théoriques de la Traduction, first published by Editions Gallimard in 1963, also
associates translation and ‘scandal’:

The activity of translation brings a theoretical problem to contemporary

linguistics: if we accept current theses about the structure of languages,
we will have to say that translation should be impossible. However, trans-
lators do exist, they produce translations, we take advantage of their work.
It would be almost possible to say that the existence of translation con-
stitutes the scandal of contemporary linguistics. (1975:19; my translation
from the Portuguese)
170 The Power of Originals and the Scandal of Translation

an independent life more real [...] than that of its original. [...] In
its preternatural vividness, the portrait has become a frightening
double of the young bride. Its ‘lifelikeliness’ simultaneously sig-
nifies an immortality and a fatality: while the beauty of the portrait
will endure, its living counterpart will not; the woman will resem-
ble the sign of herself less and less until she is at last translated
into a corpse. (Poe 1987:63)

What stands out in this treatment of the metaphor of the translator as

painter – and which goes unnoticed in Kennedy’s comment – is that it
radically reverses the recurrent equation of life and death usually asso-
ciated with the relationship between originals and their derivations. While
in the usual comparison it is the translation which somehow carries the
sign of death, at the same time that the original allegedly remains for-
ever alive and energized, in Poe’s plot it is the model that slowly dies as
her life is miraculously extracted from her beautiful face and transferred
to its representation. Paradoxically, as the young woman is long gone
and transformed into a corpse, it is her portrait as translation which lives
on and which impresses Poe’s narrator who initially “mistakes the head
[in the painting] for that of a living person”:

I saw at once that the peculiarities of the design, of the vignetting,

and of the frame, must have instantly dispelled such idea [that the
woman in the painting was actually a ‘living person’] – must have
prevented even its momentary entertainment. Thinking earnestly
upon these points, I remained, for some hours perhaps, half sit-
ting, half reclining, with my vision riveted upon the portrait. At
length, satisfied of the true secret of its effect, I fell back within
the bed. I had found the spell of the picture in a perfect lifelikeliness
of expression, which, at first startling, finally confounded, subdued
and appalled me. (Poe 1983a:737)

It is also this scandalous reversal which destabilizes the traditional economy

of gain and loss which is usually attributed to the relationship between
original and translation. In contrast with tradition, according to which what
is missing in the translated text is somehow the life, or the spirit, or even
the soul of the original, in Poe’s main plot, as in the subplot that involves
the portrait and the narrator, that is, in the relationships which are estab-
lished between the translator/painter and the translation as portrait, or
between such text/portrait and its reader, there is actually no loss involved.
As the story goes, at the very moment that the painter finishes his job he
Rosemary Arrojo 171

also realizes the miraculous perfection of his translation which literally

managed to capture the life and the expression of the original. And, para-
doxically, even though the portrait literally captures the life of the model,
it is never truly faithful because at the very instant that it is finished and in
itself, at least from the painter’s perspective, a perfect repetition of the
original, the original is already different and irremediably dead. Thus, it
is no longer in the model, but in her translation, that a particular (and
privileged) view of her former beauty and liveliness is to be admired and
cherished. Similarly, as the narrator/reader gazes at the portrait and as he
is so deeply moved – and even ‘appalled’ – by the beauty of the woman
portrayed, it is the translation which interests him, not the original. Thus,
even if it is in the name of the original that the translation is done, at the
very moment that it becomes a text, it follows a path of its own.
Within such a context, the scandal of translation seems to be related
not only to the fact that Poe’s narrator appreciates the portrait in itself
and, thus, can very well do without the original, but most of all to the
painter’s ‘improper’ behavior which is directly associated with his young
wife’s death. Divided between the original and his own work, Poe’s
painter/translator clearly forgets about the first and devotes all his at-
tention to the latter:

[...] he, the painter, took glory in his work, which went on from
hour to hour, and from day to day. And he was a passionate, and
wild, and moody man, who became lost in reveries; so that he would
not see that the light which fell so ghastily in that lone turret with-
ered the health and the spirits of his bride, who pined visibly to all
but him. Yet she smiled on and still on, uncomplainingly, because
she saw that the painter, (who had high renown,) took a fervid and
burning pleasure in his task, and wrought day and night to depict
her who so loved him, yet who grew daily more dispirited and weak.
And in sooth some who beheld the portrait spoke of its resem-
blance in low words, as of a mighty marvel, and a proof not less of
the power of the painter than of his deep love for her whom he
depicted so surpassingly well. But at length, as the labor drew nearer
to its conclusion, there were admitted none into the turret; for the
painter had grown wild with the ardor of his work, and turned his
visage from the canvass rarely, even to regard the countenance of
his wife. (Poe 1983a:737-738)

At the same time that this (seemingly) efficient painter/translator sup-

poses that he has achieved perfect equivalence, as the essentialist ethics
172 The Power of Originals and the Scandal of Translation

of translation recommends, and, thus, at the very moment that he rejoices

in his success, he is also punished with (and indirectly blamed for) the
death of his beloved bride who, instead of resisting her husband’s obses-
sion, gave in to his authorial desires and his passion for translation as art.
How can that be explained within the logic of Poe’s tale? A plausible
explanation may be found in the peculiar relationship which the painter
establishes both with his beloved model and with his own work, a rela-
tionship which, as we have seen, is clearly marked by excess. If we consider
that Poe’s character, despite his love for his beautiful wife, literally de-
votes all his attention to his work and disregards his model’s well-being,
sacrificing the latter for the first, it is possible to conclude that even though
he apparently fulfils the ethical expectations which traditionally regulate
the relationship between originals and their reproductions, he breaks one
of the fundamental principles implicitly and explicitly established by such
ethics, that is, he ignores the asymmetry of power which has generally
constituted the opposition between original and reproduction, and between
author and translator. Instead of protecting the original above all other
interests and, thus, instead of repressing his authorial will-to-power –
which also implies, of course, accepting the humble invisibility and self-
effacement which is required of translators as they adequately celebrate
someone else’s right to creation – Poe’s remarkable translator dares to
feel and behave like an author, subverting the traditional dichotomy be-
tween creation and reproduction which is generally taken for granted both
by common sense and specialists alike.
To the extent that such ethics is determined by a conception of mean-
ing which establishes a clear hierarchy between origin (as the container
of essence) and its usually inadequate or illegitimate reproduction, or
between idealized originals and their translations, it is particularly sig-
nificant that in Poe’s plot what seems to be ultimately defended as
‘proper’ is the Creator’s exclusive right to produce or destroy life. After
all, the painter is punished precisely because of his excessive dedica-
tion to his work and, more importantly, because of his improper success:
his uncanny capacity to reproduce his live model and, thus, to recreate
life itself. As his passionate dedication to his translating job not only
surpasses his commitment to the well being of his model but also man-
ages to achieve a miraculous result, Poe’s painter dares to play God
and, for that, seems to be severely punished with the death of his be-
loved bride. Implicitly, thus, the only one allowed to play God in such a
plot is the Author himself.
Rosemary Arrojo 173

In order to further understand the mechanisms of such complex rela-

tionships, it might be insightful at this point to bring to my reading of The
Oval Portrait two other texts: a piece by Freud, “Creative Writers and
Daydreaming” (in Kurzweil and Phillips 1983:24-28), and a well-known
essay by Poe himself, “The Philosophy of Composition”, first published
in 1846 (Poe 1983 b:1079-1089).
As Freud recognizes:

we laymen have always been intensely curious to know [...] from

what sources that strange being, the creative writer, draws his ma-
terial, and how he manages to make such an impression on us with
it and to arouse in us emotions of which, perhaps, we had not even
thought ourselves capable”. (in Kurzweil and Phillips 1983:24)

The obvious answer, for Freud, is that such ‘sources’ should be found in
childhood:

The child’s best-loved and most intense occupation is with his play
or games. Might we not say that every child at play behaves like a
creative writer, in that he creates a world of his own, or, rather,
rearranges the things of his world in a new way which pleases him?
It would be wrong to think he does not take that world seriously;
on the contrary, he takes his play very seriously and he expends
large amounts of emotion on it. The opposite of play is not what is
serious but what is real. In spite of all the emotion with which he
cathects his world of play, the child distinguishes it quite well from
reality; and he likes to link his imagined objects and situations to
the tangible and visible things of the real world. (ibid.:25)

Similarly, “the creative writer does the same as the child at play”:

He creates a world of fantasy which he takes very seriously – that

is, which he invests with large amounts of emotion – while sepa-
rating it sharply from reality. [...] The unreality of the writer’s
imaginative world, however, has very important consequences for
the technique of his art; for many things which, if they were real,
could give no enjoyment, can do so in the play of fantasy, and
many excitements which, in themselves, are actually distressing,
can become a source of pleasure for the hearers and spectators at
the performance of a writer’s work. (ibid.).

Moreover, as creative writers, and, particularly, as ‘story-writers’ rearrange

174 The Power of Originals and the Scandal of Translation

the “things of [their] world in a new way which pleases [them]”, their
plots necessarily follow the interests of “His Majesty the Ego, the hero
alike of every daydream and of every story” (ibid.:26).
Now, if we try to apply Freud’s argument to our reading of The Oval
Portrait, who might be the hero of Poe’s tale? If we consider the way its
plot seems to condemn the painter for his ‘illegitimate’ translation, we
may infer that there is, implicitly, a legitimate way of creating beauty
which transcends the painter’s passionate work and which, in this par-
ticular case, seems to be equated with the divine itself as the force which
created and, ultimately, destroyed the beautiful model’s life. From such a
stance, the true ‘hero’ of Poe’s story could very well be the Author Him-
self, the privileged producer of originals, implicitly celebrated as the only
legitimate creator of beauty, whose power even approaches the divine.
Therefore, to the extent that it surreptitiously takes the place of creation
and produces such a perfect simulacrum, the activity of translation as por-
traiture poses a dangerous threat to originals (and to the Author as Creator)
and, as such, should be severely punished.7 Within such a logic, in order
for it to be ‘safe’ as a reproduction, translation must keep intact the usual
hierarchy between origin and derivation and should not (illegitimately)
try to replace that which is essential in its model and original. In other
words, the portrait as translation should not speak to its reader as if it
were the original. From such a perspective, Poe’s epigraph to the story
(“Egli è vivo e parlerebbe se non osservasse la rigola del silentio” [“He
is alive and would speak if he did not observe the rule of silence”]) which,
as we learn, is an “inscription beneath an Italian Picture of St. Bruno”,
becomes particularly significant. That is, if we relate Poe’s epigraph to
his actual plot, the oval portrait, like the picture of St. Bruno, should have
“observed the rule of silence”, and, therefore, should not have ‘spoken’
in the place of the original.
Again, it is not the painter as translator but the Author as Creator who
can legitimately decide what the work is supposed to say to its readers.
And this is precisely what Edgar Allan Poe explicitly proposes to teach us
in his widely known essay “The Philosophy of Composition”, first pub-
lished in 1846, whose main goal is to offer the reading public

7
In Arrojo 2002, I have also discussed Freud’s reflection on creative writing and
some of its implications for the general ideology of essentialism which has deter-
mined the dominant relationship usually established between translation and
authorship.
Rosemary Arrojo 175

a peep behind the scenes, at the elaborate and vacillating cru-

dities of thought – at the true purposes seized only at the last moment
– at the innumerable glimpses of idea that arrived not at the maturity
of full view – at the fully matured fancies discarded in despair as
unmanageable – at the cautious selections and rejections – at the
painful erasures and interpolations – in a word, at the wheels and
pinions – the tackle for scene-shifting – the step-ladders and de-
mon-traps – the cock’s feathers, the red paint and the black
patches, which, in ninety-nine cases out of the hundred, consti-
tute the properties of the literary histrio. (1983 b:1080)8

Above all Poe is interested in discrediting the romantic notion according

to which it is intuition that guides a writer in constructing his work and,
as he carefully tries to show us,

nothing is more clear than that every plot, worth the name, must be
elaborated to its dénouement before any thing be attempted with
the pen. It is only with the dénouement constantly in view that we
can give a plot its indispensable air of consequence, or causation,
by making the incidents, and especially the tone at all points, tend
to the development of the intention. (ibid.:1079)

Since every detail of the text must be subject to calculation, Poe proposes
to offer us a description of “the modus operandi by which some one of
[his] own works was put together” (ibid.:1081). The work chosen, as we
know, is his poem “The Raven” and it is his “design to render it manifest
that no one point in its composition is referrible either to accident or in-
tuition – that the work proceeded, step by step, to its completion with the
precision and rigid consequence of a mathematical problem” (ibid.).
Such strict calculations and rigid planning not only have the design
“of rendering the work universally appreciable” (ibid.:1082), as Poe him-
self declares but, most of all, intend to make sure that what readers get
from the text is exactly that which the author intends them to get. It seems
that, for Poe, writing and, particularly, the “literary histrio’s writing”, is
also an attempt at having total control over a reader, whose role is re-
duced to that of a passive receptor of the author’s conscious intentions.
As Poe explains, the ‘progressive steps’ of his composition of “The
Raven,” we also learn that

8
For another discussion of Poe’s “The Philosophy of Composition” in connection
with Freud’s text on creative writing, see Arrojo 1996.
176 The Power of Originals and the Scandal of Translation

the initial consideration was that of extent. If any literary work is

too long to be read at one sitting, we must be content to dispense
with the immensely important effect derivable from unity or im-
pression – for, if two sittings be required, the affairs of the world
interfere, and every thing like totality is at once destroyed. But
since, to dispense with any thing that may advance his design, it
but remains to be seen whether there is, in extent, any advantage
to counterbalance the loss of unity which attends it. (ibid..: 1081)

In such a coherently essentialist scenario, in which a text is seen as the

stable depository of its author’s conscious intentions, authorship is, again,
almost equated with divinity. After all, it is the writer of originals who
has all the power of deciding over meaning and, thus, must keep total
control over his text and, most of all, over his reader. In this context, in
which reading is viewed as an idealized form of decoding only that which
the author has deliberately intended to say, it is understandable why
translation (and, particularly, translation as portraiture, or as the repro-
duction of an original which is supposed to be perfect and full of life,)
should be viewed as a somewhat scandalous or illegitimate activity which
ultimately endangers the ‘essence’ of that which it attempts to repro-
duce in another medium.
As we go back to “The Oval Portrait”, after having examined Freud’s
reflections on creative writing and Poe’s “The Philosophy of Composi-
tion”, we may certainly understand a bit further the intimate relationship
that the story seems to suggest between creation (virtually identified with
divine creation) and reproduction. As I pointed out earlier, it is the economy
of such a relationship which could explain the translator’s exemplary pun-
ishment at the end of Poe’s tale. However, what we still have to try to
explain in the complex network of relationships which I have been trying
to weave here between Poe’s and Freud’s texts is the painter/translator’s
extraordinary success. If we have come to the conclusion that what the
story ultimately celebrates is the Author’s desire for the exclusive right to
decide over meaning – and, thus, also the Author’s need to keep an asym-
metrical relationship between original and reproduction, and between
author and translator – how can we account for the fact that Poe’s plot
actually attributes so much authorial power to the translator/painter? In
other words, if the power to control meaning is to be the exclusive at-
tribute of original writing and their authors, how could Poe’s character
actually succeed in producing such a perfect simulacrum and, so, how
does he succeed in speaking so forcefully to his impressed ‘reader’?
Rosemary Arrojo 177

The answer may be found precisely in the characterization of Poe’s

narrator who alsso happens to be the privileged audience of his remark-
ably successful portrait painter. As the story opens, we learn about the
narrator’s peculiar state: he is seriously wounded, has lost a lot of blood
and his fever has been “excessive and of long duration” (1983a:734).
Since “all the remedies attainable” in the “wild Appennine region” where
he finds himself have been “exhausted to no purpose”, he reaches for
his “little pacquet of opium” (ibid.). As we learn, he used to smoke a
mixture of opium and tobacco and, at times, as a consequence, experi-
enced “symptoms of mental derangement” (ibid.). Now, in such a
desperate state, he has decided to swallow some of his opium and, as he
warns us, he has no idea of how much he should take or, even, what
kind of reaction it might produce:

Pedro [his valet] knew no more respecting the proper quantity to be

taken, than myself – and thus, in the sad emergency, I was left alto-
gether to conjecture. Still I felt no especial uneasiness; for I resolved
to proceed by degrees. I would take a very small dose in the first
instance. Should this prove impotent, I would repeat it; and so on,
until I should find an abatement of the fever, or obtain that sleep
which was so pressingly requisite, and with which my reeling senses
had not been blessed for now more than a week. No doubt it was
this very reeling of my senses – it was the dull delirium which al-
ready oppressed me that prevented me from perceiving the
incoherence of my reason – which blinded me to the folly of defin-
ing any thing as either large or small where I had no preconceived
standard of comparison. I had not, at the moment, the faintest idea
that what I conceived to be an exceedingly small dose of solid opium
might, in fact, be an excessively large one. (ibid.)

Thus, it is a feverish, wounded, heavily drugged narrator who tells us of

the painter’s extraordinary accomplishment. In fact, as he tells us, it is his
‘incipient delirium’ which might have “caused [him] to take deep inter-
est” in the paintings hanging from the walls of his dark chamber (ibid.).
Furthermore, gazing at such paintings and looking through the book which
discusses them becomes an alternative to sleep, or an escape from his
feverish condition:

[...] so that having swallowed the opium, as before told, I bade

Pedro to close the heavy shutters of the room – since it was al-
ready night – to light the tongues of a tall candelabrum which
178 The Power of Originals and the Scandal of Translation

stood by the head of my bed – and to throw open far and wide the
fringed curtains of black velvet which enveloped the bed itself. I
wished all this done that I might resign myself, if not to sleep, at
least alternately to the contemplation of these pictures, and the
perusal of a small volume which had been found upon the pillow,
and which purported to criticise and describe them. [...] Long –
long I read – and devoutedly I gazed. I felt meantime, the voluptu-
ous narcotic stealing its way to my brain. I felt that in its magical
influence lay much of the gorgeous richness and variety of the
frames – much of the ethereal hue that gleamed from the canvas –
and much of the wild interest of the book which I perused. Yet this
consciousness rather strengthened than impaired the delight of the
illusion, while it weakened the illusion itself. Rapidly and glori-
ously the hours flew by, and the deep midnight came. (ibid.:736)

To the extent that the narrator is not by any means a reliable source, what
Poe’s intricate plot seems to be literally telling us is that the translator’s
alleged capacity to recreate life is, quite probably, only a product of the
narrator’s feverish delirium. In his altered state, and as he approaches his
own death, the possibility of a painting that supposedly manages to keep
intact the beauty and the life of a woman long dead is certainly a wel-
come, soothing illusion.
In perfect harmony with Poe’s essay “The Philosophy of Composi-
tion”, which demands an absolutely rational author who can predict every
effect his text might produce, as well as every move his reader is allowed
to make in order to preserve the original at all costs, “The Oval Portrait”
ends up discrediting the legitimacy of translation as a performative activ-
ity. Therefore, the possibility of a translation which would rob the original
of its life and beauty and, thus, efficiently survive it and even ‘speak’ in
its place, could only be considered from the narrator’s obviously unreli-
able point of view. To the extent that the translator/painter’s alleged ability
to recreate beauty might be just an illusion produced by an inadequate
reader’s altered perception, the real notion of translation with which Poe’s
story ends up leaving us is, after all, permeated by the often repeated be-
lief that translation is indeed unable to preserve the ‘spirit’ or the ‘energy’
of the original. In fact, it is such a notion which underlies the whole plot
as it is represented, for instance, by the narrator’s own ‘failed’ translation
of the painting. According to J. Gerald Kennedy, as the narrator trans-
lates the painting for us,

he can tell us about ‘the true secret’ of the painting’s effect, its
astonishing ‘lifelikeliness’ but the verbal account does not leave
Rosemary Arrojo 179

us “confounded, subdued, and appalled” as it does the narrator.

What has been lost is precisely the life of the twice-translated
text; what has been gained is access to the idea of the painting.
(1987:61-62)

The general ‘system of representations’ grounded on essentialism and,

thus, on a necessarily asymmetrical relationship between original and deri-
vation, which is paradigmatically reflected both in Poe’s tale and in
Kennedy’s reading, cannot accept the transformational nature of transla-
tion and keeps idealizing the translator’s role in terms of an invisible,
non-interfering, absolutely faithful dedication to the original. In fact, in
another of Poe’s texts, more precisely in one of his best known stories,
“The Gold Bug” (first published in 1843) (Poe 1983c:806-836), we can
find a perfect counterpoint to the painter/translator in “The Oval Portrait”.
Mr William Legrand, Poe’s impoverished protagonist in “The Gold Bug”,
might be viewed as an efficent illustration of the absolutely faithful trans-
lator whose dedication to the ‘original’ is generously rewarded with the
discovery of a valuable treasure. Our reading of such a plot (which I in-
tend to develop in another text) could be properly guided by the exploration
of at least two recurrent metaphors usually associated with translation as
a form of submission: the ‘footsteps’ metaphor, suggesting the need to
carefully follow the author of the original step by step; and the image of
the translator as a zealous digger of valuable treasures.9 Thus, just as “The
Oval Portrait”, “The Gold Bug” can be read as a remarkable illustration
of the kind of asymmetrical relationship between writing and interpreting
which is taken for granted by essentialism.
The implied ethics of invisibility and blind faithfulness which seems
to be implicitly at stake in both stories and in essentialist conceptions of
interpretation will find an exemplary reflection in another well-known
plot directly associated with translation: the myth of Babel. It is, after all,
the confrontation between the sons of Shem – who dared to build them-
selves “a city and a tower whose summit touch[ed] the heavens [...] and
to make [themselves] a name” (Louis Segond’s Bible, originally pub-
lished in 1910, quoted in Derrida 1985:168) – and their punishing God
which has destined us to the inevitability of translation. As the myth
goes, it is the very need (and, paradoxically, also the very impossibility)
of translation which has been inflicted on humans as a punishment for

9
See Hermans 1985, pp. 106-108.
180 The Power of Originals and the Scandal of Translation

their desire to be divine. It is precisely such a need and such an impos-

sibility (and the necessary frustration they entail) which marks us as
humans who keep longing for a pre-babelic, perfect correspondence be-
tween word and object.
It is some version of this exemplary asymmetry between the divine
and the human, or between origin and derivation, creation and reproduc-
tion, which still seems to inform most of our dominant thought on language.
In our (postmodern) world, which has been heavily dependent on the
mechanisms of translation as transformation, it is certainly urgent that we
try to understand why most of us cannot give up our desire to be divine
and still insist on viewing the translator’s role as an ideally neutral, self-
less tribute to originals.
Ideology and the Position of the Translator
In What Sense is a Translator ‘In Between’?

MARIA TYMOCZKO

The ideology of a translation is complex, resulting from the

layering of the subject of the source text, the speech acts of the
source text, the representation of the content by the translator, and
the speech acts of the translation itself, as well as resonances and
discrepancies between these aspects of the source text and target
text as ‘utterances’. If such ideological aspects of a translation
are inextricable from the ‘place of enunciation’ of the translator,
which is as much ideological as geographical and temporal, how
does the discourse of ‘in between’ relate to an analysis of the
ideology of translation? Why is this trope popular at present?
After considering reasons for the use of the trope, this article argues
that the discourse of ‘between’ is ultimately misleading and even
retrograde with respect to understanding both the role of the
translator and the notion of ideological engagement itself.

Some of the most searching and revealing discussions of translation in

the last decade have focused on questions of ideology; indeed, there has
been a productive, ongoing academic dialogue about various facets of
the issue, extending for years now, with contributions from people on
all parts of the globe. Raised principally by those who have an invest-
ment in social engagement, questions about the translator as an ethical
agent of social change have gone to the heart of both the practice of
translation and the theory of translation.1 Part of the ongoing conversa-
tion, this essay is an attempt to clarify issues pertaining to the position
of the translator by teasing out some philosophical implications of con-
temporary discourses about translation. Although successful cultural
programs do not necessarily depend on clear and logical philosophical
premises, in my experience a firm cognitive and theoretical foundation
makes it more probable that a cultural project will draw together groups
of people and inspire them to work in concert.
For at least a quarter century now, it has been generally agreed that
translation is a text about a text or, to put it another way, a form of

1
See Hermans 1999a; Pym 1998; and Tymoczko 2000, as well as sources cited.
182 Ideology and the Position of the Translator

metastatement.2 If we put this seemingly innocuous observation in an

ideological context, then we must recognize that the ideology of transla-
tion is quite complex. A translation’s ideology is determined only partially
by the content of the source text – the subject and the representation of
the subject – even though this content may itself be overtly political and
enormously complicated as a speech act, with locutionary, illocutionary,
and perlocutionary aspects of the source text all contributing to the effect
in the source context. The ideological value of the source text is in turn
complemented by the fact that translation is a metastatement, a statement
about the source text that constitutes an interpretation of the source text.
This is true even when that metastatement is seemingly only a form of
reported speech (cf. Jakobson 1959:233) or quotation uttered in a new
context, for in quoting a source text, a translator in turn creates a text that
is a representation with its own proper locutionary, illocutionary, and
perlocutionary forces which are determined by relevant factors in the
receptor context. Thus, even in a simplified model, the ideology of a trans-
lation will be an amalgam of the content of the source text and the various
speech acts instantiated in the source text relevant to the source context,
layered together with the representation of the content, its relevance to
the receptor audience, and the various speech acts of the translation itself
addressing the target context, as well as resonances and discrepancies
between these two ‘utterances’.3
A concrete example of this layering is found in the well known rewrit-
ing and staging of Sophocles’s Antigone by Jean Anouilh, produced in
Paris in 1944 during the Nazi occupation of France. Clearly Sophocles’s
text had its own ideological significance in its original context. Produced
for the Great Dionysia festival held annually in Athens, as a statement
about the dangers of tyranny and the importance of heroic resistance to
tyrants, Antigone implicitly celebrated Athenian democracy and attempted
to instill independence and moral responsibility in its audience, as well
as pride in and allegiance to the city-state of Athens itself, among other
things. 4 When Anouilh transposed Sophocles’s play into French and staged

2
See, for example, Holmes 1994:23-33; Lefevere 1985, 1992.
3
On speech act theory see Austin 1975, Searle 1969, and Sperber and Wilson 1995.
The ideological aspects of reported speech have been discussed by Vološinov
1971:149.ff. and Parmentier 1993. A comprehensive study of translation as reported
speech is found in Folkart 1991; see also Gutt 2000; Hermans 2000:269: Mossop
1998; and sources cited.
4
Antigone is the first of the Theban plays written by Sophocles, performed in Athens
Maria Tymoczko 183

it for his own time, however, those early ideological meanings were
overwritten with contemporary meanings: he was implicitly commenting
on the Nazi occupation of France, inciting his contemporaries and en-
couraging resistance against the Nazis, calling for them to act out against
Nazi usurpation. Here I’ve tried to emphasize the words associated with
the illocutionary and perlocutionary dimensions of Sophocles’s work and
Anouilh’s refraction, as well as to indicate briefly some of the relevant
contextual dimensions that must be considered in determining the ideol-
ogy of Anouilh’s play.
Ideological effects will differ in every case of translation – even in
translations of the same text – because of the translator’s particular choices
on all these various levels – on the levels of representation of the subject
matter, as well as representation of the relevant locutionary, illocutionary,
and perlocutionary effects of the source text, and on the relevant
locutionary, illocutionary, and perlocutionary acts in his or her own name
as translator. That is, the ideology of a translation resides not simply in
the text translated, but in the voicing and stance of the translator, and in
its relevance to the receiving audience. These latter features are affected
by the place of enunciation of the translator: indeed they are part of what
we mean by the ‘place’ of enunciation, for that ‘place’ is an ideological
positioning as well as a geographical or temporal one. These aspects of a
translation are motivated and determined by the translator’s cultural and
ideological affiliations as much as or even more than by the temporal and
spatial location that the translator speaks from.
Although more extensive and more precise vocabulary pertaining to
the ideology of translation has been developed in the last few decades,

probably in 442 or 441 B.C. At the time the democratic system was firmly entrenched
in Athens and the prevailing ideology emphasized free speech, free association, and
open access to power, limited by loyalty to the laws of the polis. These ideals were
being actively negotiated with the Delian League and Samos, in particular, having
been established in Samos initially by a campaign of 40 ships from Athens. At the
period of Sophocles’s play, however, the oligarchs of Samos were seemingly foment-
ing secession from pro-Athenian rule. In 441-40, after the staging of the play, Athens
responded with a second expedition to Samos, this time a hosting of 60 ships under
the leadership of Pericles and Sophocles himself, designed to remove the rebels and
restore democratic, pro-Athenian rule to the island. Thus the play was staged against
a highly politicized historical background and its discourses were probably ideologi-
cal in very specific ways, in addition to the general ones emphasized here. See
Sophocles 1999:1-4; 1973:3-4.
184 Ideology and the Position of the Translator

these issues of enunciation have been implicitly recognized for years in

writing about translation, even if not stated explicitly in the terms that I
have used above. Thus, for example, the affiliation and place of the trans-
lator were a concern in translation theory as early as 1813 when Friedrich
Schleiermacher stated that “just as a man must decide to belong to one
country, just so [a translator] must adhere to one language”, affiliating
himself thus with one particular culture, assumed by Schleiermacher to
be the translator’s native land.5 The issues behind Schleiermacher’s con-
cerns have continued to be central in translation scholarship and theory.
More than 150 years later, for example, in attempting to delineate a
descriptive approach to translation, Gideon Toury took up questions per-
taining to the position of translation and translators, stating categorically
that translated texts are ‘facts’ of one language and one textual tradition
only, namely the target culture’s (1980:82-83), and that translators are
‘persons-in-the-culture’ of the target system (1995:40)6. Although one
might contest Toury’s argument on these points, disagreement should not
obscure the importance of his addressing issues of positionality for the
evolution of translation studies.
A very nice – albeit brief and circumspect – pragmatic survey of the
variety of places the translator can write from is found in an early essay
by Norman Simms (1983). Simms shows how the politics of translation
intersects with the translator’s position. This is true, he indicates, no mat-
ter whether the translator is a member of a postcolonial culture using
translation into an imperial language as a means of cultural advocacy, or
whether the translator holds one of the many possible subject positions
within which translation is produced for members of the target culture
itself in a specific ideological complex. Descriptive studies and theoreti-
cal arguments by many writers, including Simms, illustrate that the
translator can be positioned within the receptor culture (the most com-
mon case), within the source culture (as, for example, authorized
translations of Mao’s writings into English that were undertaken in the

5
Trans. in Lefevere 1977:84; cf. the discussion in Pym 1998:181 ff.
6
These notions have been hotly debated. See, for example, Pym 1998:179 ff. and
Hermans 1999:40 ff., as well as sources cited. The impact of translation on many
contemporary writers – from Borges to Kundera – whose status ‘at home’ was imme-
diately enhanced by the translation of their works into English or French is a trivial
refutation of Toury’s view, despite the importance of his insights about descriptive
approaches to translation in general.
Maria Tymoczko 185

People’s Republic of China during the period 1949-79), or elsewhere (as

in a third culture, the case when German philologists translated Irish lit-
erature into English and published them in German series, or when U.S.
Bible translators translate the New Testament into South American na-
tive languages).
Despite the fact that the affiliation and orientation of the translator
have been a continual topic in writing about translation for more than a
century, the issues remain an active concern in the field, particularly as
they impact on questions of the ideology of translation. These questions
about the place of enunciation of the translator – both the ideological
positioning and the geographical and temporal positioning – are related
to the recent development within translation studies of a tendency to speak
of translation itself as a place or space somehow disjoined from (or map-
pable over) the actual physical and cultural space that the translator
occupies, and somehow distinct from the ideological position of the trans-
lator as well. Particularly employed by progressive and engaged writers
on translation theory and practice, translation has been characterized as a
place or a space in between other spaces. The locution between has be-
come one of the most popular means of figuring an elsewhere that a
translator may speak from – an elsewhere that is somehow different from
either the source culture or the receptor culture that the translator medi-
ates between – as well as the culture the translator lives in – an elsewhere
that is often seemingly not simply a metaphorical way of speaking about
ideological positioning, but that ipso facto affords a translator a valorized
ideological stance. An exploration of this discourse – including aspects
of its origin, logic, rationale, usefulness, and import – takes us to the heart
of the ideology of translation7.
Let us begin by considering specific recent instances of the figuration

7
This is a topic that more people than myself have set their minds to. I am particu-
larly indebted to Annie Brisset with whom I’ve had conversations on this topic and
who has herself published on this topic (1997). Although we come to similar conclu-
sions, we approach the issues from somewhat different directions. The importance of
understanding the implications of discourses and metaphors about translation for both
the history of translation and the theory of translation has been increasingly recog-
nized. Groundbreaking studies with implications for the ideology of translation are
found in Hermans 1985 and Chamberlain 1992. On the general significance of meta-
phors for the structuration of thought, see Lakoff and Johnson 1980. Because metaphors
have ideological power and also structure our thought and our lives, it is important to
investigate their implications and to ascertain that they have intellectual integrity.
186 Ideology and the Position of the Translator

of translation as a place between. Sherry Simon offers convenient examples

in her excellent and provocative book entitled Gender in Translation
(1996). She speaks (1996:162), for example, of “the blurred edge where
original and copy, first and second languages, come to meet. The space
‘between’ becomes a powerful and difficult place for the writer to oc-
cupy”. She compares the domain of translation to the domain of a person
with multiple cultural affiliations: “the space which Bhabha works in is
the liminary terrain of the translational, that hybrid space which stands
between the certainties of national cultures but does not participate in
them” (1996:153). In her usage Simon follows Gayatri Spivak, whose
essay “The Politics of Translation” (1992) has become one of the most
influential explorations of the ideology of translation. Spivak alludes to
translation as an activity “where meaning hops into the spacy emptiness
between two named historical languages” (1992:178), clearly using spatial
figurations. Similarly, in “Translation and the Postcolonial Experience”,
Samia Mehrez asserts, “these texts written by postcolonial bilingual sub-
jects create a language ‘in between’ and therefore come to occupy a space
‘in between’” (1992:121). Although examples could be multiplied8, these
instances suffice to indicate the type of usage that has proliferated. Why
are scholars and theorists inclined to use the metaphor of translation as a
space – a space ‘in between’ – in talking about the ideology of translation
and in delineating a valorized position for the translator to occupy? 9
Before addressing this question directly, we must make a brief detour
to consider what sorts of answers might be considered adequate. We

8
For example, the trope is integral to the argument in Iser 1995. Brisset (1997) offers
an excellent critique of Iser’s position, arguing that his view is ultimately utopian
rather than programmatic for translation per se.
9
Translation studies is not alone in using spatial metaphors. They have become popular
in other domains contemporary culture and are perhaps most remarkable in language
pertaining to computer activities, as exemplified by such terms as cyberspace, chat
rooms, Web sites, and so forth. Koppell (2000) suggests that spatial vocabulary has
been adopted in the domain of computers to give it status, notably to avoid compari-
sons with television, to avoid downgrading it to the status of a mere medium, and to
avoid the suggestion that Web denizens are passive recipients of electronic signals.
Metaphors of space make the Internet seem more intriguing and exciting, helping to
sell computers and related products. Moreover, spatial metaphors are part of what
has allowed the government to consign decisions about the Internet to profit-seeking
companies and commercial interests, skewing its development to favor the corpora-
tion rather than the individual or society as a whole.
Maria Tymoczko 187

should note that a question like “why do scholars use the spatial metaphor
of between?” admits different responses, depending on the different types
of causality to be considered. There are many types of causality. As a
starting point on the types of answers provided for the question ‘why?’,
we can consider the sorts of causes that might be given for natural phe-
nomena, say the phenomenon of a sneeze. In this case we could note,
first, the proximate cause; in the case of a sneeze, the proximate cause is
the contraction of the muscles involved in producing a sneeze. Second
might be the ultimate cause or the functional cause; the ultimate cause of
a sneeze is to expel material from the breathing passages. Third could be
the ontogenetic cause, the developmental reason for a phenomenon; in
the case of a sneeze, the ontogenetic cause is that the organism is exposed
to irritants which must be ejected from the organism. Fourth might be the
phylogenetic cause. In biological phenomena, the phylogenetic cause is
the causality associated with the characteristics of the organism’s nearest
relatives; thus, in the case of a human sneeze, the phylogenetic cause is
that primates sneeze, hence human beings sneeze. There would be other
ways to respond to such a physiological question as well, but these an-
swers suffice for the present context10.
As is apparent, within the domain of this simple biological example,
there are many different ways to answer the question ‘why?’. More-
over, other natural sciences would recognize forms of causality proper
to their own domains, with adequate explanation differing from one do-
main to another (Salmon 1998:323). In addition to the types of causes
admitted by the natural sciences, also to be considered are the types of
causalities accepted by other disciplines, including the social sciences
and the humanities. There are anthropological answers to the question
‘why?’, philosophical answers, and so forth. These various ways of ap-
proaching causality – and the question ‘why?’ – are not mutually
exclusive, nor do the answers invalidate one another (cf. Salmon
1998:74). Thus, in trying to answer the question before us in the domain

10
Also troubled by issues of causality, Pym rests a similar discussion on the types
causalities distinguished by Aristotle: the material cause, the final cause, the formal
cause, and the efficient cause (cf. Pym 1998:144-59). I am adopting a somewhat
broader framework than Pym does, incorporating current thinking about causality in
the contemporary sciences. For a general discussion of causality and explanation see
Salmon 1998; I am also indebted to Julianna Tymoczko for aspects of the argument,
as well as to Irven DeVore.
188 Ideology and the Position of the Translator

of translation studies, we should expect a number of different ways to

respond that are at once disparate and yet do not necessarily undermine
or contradict each other. We must also implicitly delineate a theory of
causality for translation studies itself.
To turn to the main question before us, therefore, one way to answer
the question “why has speaking of translation as a space between become
popular in translation studies?” is, of course, to seek answers within these
established frames of causality. We might, for example, turn to phylogeny
and seek a phylogenetic cause. That is, because primates are imitators,
humans are imitators: as the English proverb puts it, ‘monkey see, mon-
key do’. Thus, with respect to an academic discourse of the sort we are
considering, we see our colleagues using a particular figure of speech, a
trope, or a discourse, and as imitators we tend to take up such things our-
selves without much reflection. Perhaps the phylogenetic cause in this
instance has to do with the specific behavior of our nearest relatives and
ancestors in an intellectual or critical sense. From an individual’s point of
view, the reasoning behind the use of these expressions goes something
like this: between is a trendy term; if critic X can use the phrase, so can I;
indeed perhaps, so should I, insofar as I see myself in her lineage – or
phylum – of thinkers. Clearly in the case of intellectual pursuits, a
phylogenetic cause for behavior, while perhaps good for accruing patron-
age, is not the best intellectual reason to adopt a mode of thinking or
speaking: we might want to be careful in such circumstances of the im-
pulse to imitate without critical reflection. Moreover, from a phylogenetic
perspective, particularly the phylogenetic perspective of creatures who
can elect their intellectual lineages and choose their critical and theoreti-
cal forebears, we must ask ourselves whether there are other lineages,
other contemporary thinkers, whom we as translators and translation
theorists might wish to claim as close ‘relatives’ or ‘ancestors’, who must
be considered as we approach these questions regarding translation as
being a space between. Obviously, a phylogenetic reason for spatializing
translation is not the strongest rationale for the use of these tropes.
A second reason for the easy acceptance of the discourse of transla-
tion as a space between may reside in the actual physical location which
the translator assumes in the archetypal translation encounter, namely the
position of the translator-as-interpreter. In many situations of interpre-
tation, from community interpretation to certain affairs of state, the
interpreter literally stands between two speakers, performing the neces-
sary vocalizations of interpretation, turning physically back and forth as
Maria Tymoczko 189

the work proceeds, occupying a physical space between the principals.

This physical positioning we might identify as the proximate cause for
considering translation as a space between and for conceptualizing the
translator as speaking from in between.11 Although this proximate cause
deserves our consideration in assessing the idea of translation as a space
between, we should be wary of an uncritical generalization of one physi-
cal aspect of the interpreter’s role to other domains of the activity,
particularly the symbolic domain of language transfer. Moreover, it is
questionable how far the physical location of the interpreter can serve as
a literal or metaphorical guide to the ideological positioning of a transla-
tor of written texts.
Perhaps a stronger reason for conceptualizing translation in spatial
terms has to do with the meaning and history of the words used for trans-
lation in certain Western languages. Such a reason may be looked on as
the ontogenetic – or developmental – reason for translation being figured
in terms of space in Western translation theory. The source of the English
word translation is the Latin word translatio, which means ‘carrying
across’. Used originally in the very concrete sense of moving things
through space, including both objects like the relics of saints and cultural
phenomena like learning and power, its meaning was extended relatively
late in time, during the fourteenth century, and applied to the activity of
interlingual translation in English (OED s.v.). This usage was pioneered
by Bible translators in what seems to be a metaphoric extension of more
central semantic meanings of the word, which included the movement
from earth to heaven, as well as the transference of things from one spot
to another on earth.
This lexical shift is interesting in the context of earlier usages in
Western tradition. In Old French in the twelfth century, for example, to
translate in the sense of textual mediation between languages was to put
‘en romanz’; this was standard usage all over the francophone world,
which at the time included the British Isles, and such textual mediation

11
This is perhaps one factor inspiring the title Between for Christine Brooke-Rose’s
novel about a simultaneous interpreter, who literally mediates in the sound channel
between the speaker’s voice and the audience’s ear. In written studies about transla-
tion, it is also related to the graphological representation of the translator (and the
translator’s mediation) as positioned between the source language and text on the
one hand, and the target language and text on the other, realized variously in dia-
grams, such as the following: ST + SL > Translator > TT + TL.
190 Ideology and the Position of the Translator

could be rather literal, as indicated in certain saints’ lives, but more typ-
ically involved fairly free adaptation permitting radical shifts of all sorts in
vernacular materials12. When the term translation comes into use in Eng-
lish in the fourteenth century, it seems to be associated with a new esthetic
of translation, one more text based, more oriented to the source text, more
literal, and less associated with the informal standards of medieval ver-
nacular literature, ad hoc oral interpretation, and other sorts of refractions:
in short, with translation strategies that are seen as more appropriate for
the growing movement to translate the Bible into the vernacular languages.
In this regard, the earliest citation of the word in the OED is suggestive:
in 1340 in his prologue of his translation of the Psalms, Hampole writes,
“in the translacioun i folow the lettere als mykyll as i may”.
Implicit, then, in the English word translation, and as well in the
words used for translation in the Romance languages deriving from the
Latin root trans-ducere, ‘to lead across’, 13 is the idea of a between, a
space, that such an act of mediation will cross or bridge. In this histori-
cal sense of the word translation, there are similarities with the Greek
concept of metaphorein, which gives the English term metaphor and
which also involves the etymological sense of carrying across, namely a
carrying across of an idea or relationship from one field of reference to
another. Both terms – translation and metaphor – involve extensions of
a known concept (specifically the physical act of carrying across) to
new ideas, respectively the transposition of texts from one language to
another and the transposition of an idea or relationship from one con-
ceptual field to another.
When we explore the rationale for these words denoting interlingual
translation as involving a between in a concrete sense, we can hypoth-
esize that these modes of speaking derive from an implicit recognition
that ideas and knowledge, modes of understanding and learning, are all
ultimately local, bound to a specific place, a specific cultural framework,
and a specific linguistic mode of construing the world. Indeed, stated this
way, such a view seems singularly modern, congruent as it is with con-
temporary views that meaning is language specific; these arguments have
been developed within translation studies by scholars such as J.C. Catford

12
Tymoczko 1986; vernacular translation procedures in the Middle Ages show cer-
tain congruences with the processes of translation in oral tradition (cf. Tymoczko
1990).
13
E.g. French traduction, Spanish traducción.
Maria Tymoczko 191

(1965). Such a framework is also stressed by contemporaries writing

about the phenomena of globalization. Anthony King, for example, ar-
gues that the “autonomy of cultural competence exists at the local level”
(King 1997:17; cf. Hannerz 1997:124) and “meaning only exists within a
language game, a discourse, practices, etc., negotiated locally and dis-
continuously” (King 1997:159).
In earlier times, however, before the modern age, the local nature of
knowledge and ideas to be translated was less abstract and philosophical.
Indeed, translation of such local knowledge might involve a very con-
crete crossing of space, for it often presupposed physically transporting
yourself (translating yourself or carrying yourself across) to a new place
so as to learn about the ideas current in that place, as a precondition of
transposing those ideas from one language to another, from one local cul-
tural system to another. As an alternative to translating yourself across
space, of course, you could choose to translate some source of knowl-
edge across space to yourself; such a source of knowledge might take a
variety of forms – it might be a scroll, a codex, or even a learned person
(such as a wise man, captive, slave, or other native of the source culture),
who could then serve as a source and interpreter of that distant local
knowledge. Some mixture of the two alternatives was also possible: you
might undertake a journey to secure a relic and bring it through space to
your own land, so as to have leisure in your own space to make the trans-
position from one language to another. This idea of translation is
graphically illustrated in the ancient Chinese legend about the journey to
secure Buddhist scriptures from India so they could be translated into
Chinese; this tale is at the heart of the legend of Monkey, one of the most
popular and productive literary complexes of Chinese culture, but it inter-
sects with actual historical practice as well. In fact the Chinese versions
of Buddhist scriptures were textually translated in the Great Wild Goose
Pagoda, still standing in Xi’an at the eastern terminus of the ancient Silk
Road, after copies of the Buddhist scriptures had been physically trans-
lated along that road to China. The legend of Monkey memorializes for
us the material conditions of a time when translation East or West in-
volved travel and transport across and through space.
This conceptualization of translation, then, derives from a time when
the movement of religious relics through space was not in fact so very
different from the transportation of the precious physical and material
bases of new knowledge to be transposed into a receiving language. Such
a source of learning – whether a scroll, a codex, or a person – was itself a
192 Ideology and the Position of the Translator

relic of another culture, another time or space. Because in former times

the translator himself might have to undertake or to underwrite a danger-
ous journey across space in order to secure a precious document or source
for translation, to undertake translation was to undertake adventure: the
translator was a culture hero, one who would brave danger for the sake of
knowledge. (The appropriation of this concept of translator as culture hero
in itself might be an attractive feature of the current discourse in transla-
tion studies of between, especially when used by translators themselves.)
A reason for the appeal of the discourse of translation as a space be-
tween, therefore, is our continued awareness of the residual sense of these
older meanings associated with words in Western languages pertaining to
translation, such as translation in English or traduction in French, as well
as our historical sense of the difficulty in ancient times of transposing and
expanding cultural knowledge everywhere in the world. In this regard,
skilled speakers of English still know what the translation of a saint is,
and most people are still aware that trans- in translation means ‘across’,
a meaning we retain cognitively in part because of our knowledge of other
words with the same formant, words such as transcontinental or even the
automobile name TransAm.14 Although it is suggestive to consider these
old meanings and associations of the Western words for translation, we
must nevertheless be careful of simply and uncritically accepting such
old ideas. Not only do old concepts sometimes cease to be relevant as
time passes, but they do not always offer theoretically useful perspec-
tives.15 We should also be especially careful about claiming as universal a
theoretical assertion that is based on the particularities and histories of a
few Western European languages. It is not at all certain that such a claim
would hold for other languages where the words for translation have dif-
ferent meanings and historical associations16.
A more compelling attraction of the notion of translation as a space
between – a reason that might be seen as a functional or final cause – is
the importance of the concept of between per se in poststructuralist

14
That is, we don’t simply take the current dominant semantic meaning of translation
as an opaque arbitrary sign.
15
E.g. Descartes’s view that animals (but not humans) are machines is one that few
would be inclined to accept in a post-Darwinian period, in light of the vast evidence
built up by the life sciences in the last century, illustrating the essential continuities
between human beings and other animals.
16
For example, Arabic tarjama, originally meaning ‘biography’.
Maria Tymoczko 193

thought. In challenging the binary conceptualizations of structuralism

which dominated critical thought in the mid twentieth century in Europe,
poststructuralists emphasized alternatives to the oppositional structures
and polar opposites of the structuralists. The concept of between epito-
mizes those alternatives – it suggests that not only the poles but also all
the positions in between the poles are open for occupation. Moreover,
poststructuralists were not alone in mounting such critiques and in search-
ing for alternatives to binaries; they were part of widespread and
generalized developments in intellectual history that explored similar is-
sues in many domains. Perhaps the most notable intellectual development
in this regard is an alternative to classical logic that goes by the name of
‘fuzzy logic’; proponents of fuzzy logic advocate alternate ways of view-
ing basic logical principles, rejecting a fundamental principle of classical
logic which says that a proposition cannot be both a and not-a, a principle
called the law of the excluded middle. Fuzzy logic, by contrast, allows
that a proposition can be both a and not-a. The standard example usually
offered of the difference between fuzzy logic and classical logic is the
glass half full of water. Is such a glass full or not full? For fuzzy logic
such an entity poses no problem, whereas it does for classical logic. Along
with poststructuralism and fuzzy logic, developments that reject absolute
contrasts can be seen as part of the intellectual shift associated with the
breakdown of positivism in the West.
Although the views of poststructuralists have been enormously useful
in undermining structuralist binaries, there are limitations in the concept
of between as a solution to the problems of structuralism, for not all alter-
natives to a polarity or a binary figuration lie on a line between the two
contrasted elements. For example, not all the alternatives to Claude Lévi-
Strauss’s famous contrast between le cru et le cuit (‘the raw and the
cooked’), can be placed on a single linear scale.17 Thus, not all polarities

17
The structuralists’ dichotomy of the raw and the cooked no longer convinces in
part because experience in our own kitchens shows other options. The raw, the
cooked, and the rotten. The raw, the cooked, and the burnt. The raw, the marinated,
and the cooked. The raw, the fermented, the salted, the pickled, the dried, and the
cooked. Or, when things are à point, the perfectly raw-and-cooked. While I take
sides with the poststructuralists here, at the same time, it’s also clear that these
alternatives do not fall on a single scale between the raw and the cooked. Is the
dried more or less cooked than the salted, for example? And how does each of
those relate to the rotten? Impossible to say, because there is no single criterion
that would govern such assignments. See my treatment of these issues as they relate
to translation in Tymoczko 1999: ch. 4.
194 Ideology and the Position of the Translator

have a single continuum that we could call in between. Moreover, it

should be remembered that there are some things that do indeed operate
on binary principles – for example, digital computers – and some proper-
ties that do follow classical logic.18
Whatever its logical limitations, as a metaphor between has other val-
ues for poststructuralists. Poststructuralist thought has been notable in
opposing the idea of an absolute origin, the idea that values, cultural con-
cepts, or systems of knowledge are grounded on a bedrock of certainty,
that they rest on essentialist cultural foundations upon which all else can
be built with security. Instead critics in this tradition view ideas, knowl-
edge, thought, language, and culture as all being in process, between the
uncertainties of the constructions of the past and the uncertainties of the
constructions of the future. Rather than being founded upon fundamental
or essential realities, such human constructions as language and culture
rest upon a chain of signifiers and in turn generate a succeeding chain of
signifiers. This conceptual framework has made the term between use-
ful, signifying the uncertainty that is inevitably associated with cultural
constructions.
There is a third value of between as well, related to a more personal
and political domain of motivation, that has made this metaphor appeal-
ing to poststructuralists. The emergence of poststructuralism is associated
with the generation of 1968, and the politics of that generation have co-
alesced with its critical stances. Motivated by a desire to escape collusion
with unsatisfactory political systems and rejecting the compromised, po-
larized politics of the Cold War, some poststructuralists sought an
alternative positioning for their ideological stance, repudiating affiliation
with either side in the Cold War. In the period before the dissolution of
the Eastern bloc, this desire to escape from and to avoid being trapped by
the polarized dominant political alternatives came to be symbolized in
certain circumstances by the concept of a space between. This is part of
the reason for the attraction of the discourse in translation studies as well.
There have been many compelling reasons, thus, for criticism to fas-
ten on the expression between and for the term to suggest positive
ideological connotations. The concept has been absorbed into translation
studies not only because of its use by poststructuralist theorists of transla-

18
Logicians often offer as an example the property ‘pregnant’: a person is either
pregnant or not pregnant – you can’t be half-pregnant, or a little pregnant, or on the
continuum between pregnant and not-pregnant.
Maria Tymoczko 195

tion but also because of its congruence with other aspects that make spa-
tial metaphors congenial and that make gaps in time and space relevant to
the activity and process of translation: the physical dimension of interpre-
tation, the history of translation in the West, and the history of words for
translation in certain Western languages. Although there are no doubt
many other causes for the popularity of the discourse of translation as a
space between, this brief survey suffices to establish its attraction to schol-
ars. Let us turn then to an evaluation and critique of the discourse to assess
its implications for the ideology of translation.
An imperative question is whether this concept of translation as a space
between is applicable to all facets of translation, particularly the linguis-
tic dimension of translation. In this regard, we must ask whether
poststructuralism is the only intellectual lineage to consider in applying
the concept of a space between to translation and in using the notion in
the discipline of translation studies. Here I think we must acknowledge
that if language is seen in part as a formal system, a code (as it generally
has been in modern linguistics), then a spatial concept of translation – the
concept of the translator as bridging a gap, a between, which the transla-
tor can be located within – has a very limited utility in translation theory.
That is, when translation is conceptualized in terms of transfer between
languages as systems, this spatial metaphor of translation breaks down.
In very schematic terms, here is why. In theories of systems, one is
seen as acting or operating within a system. In the event that one tran-
scends the limits of a given system, one does not escape systems
altogether or fall between systems, but instead one enters another sys-
tem, generally a larger system that encompasses or includes the system
transcended. This is not simply a view of contemporary systems theo-
rists (cf. Luhmann 1995). It can be traced back to the work of Kurt Gödel,
whose insights and formulations on mathematics have influenced all of
twentieth-century intellectual history. In the incompleteness theorem
Gödel demonstrates that questions can always be posed within any for-
mal system (say, arithmetic) which cannot be answered in terms of the
formal system itself, and that answers to such questions are formulated
not outside of systems altogether but within the framework of another
more encompassing formal system.
Such views are not restricted to the domains of mathematics and logic
as Gödel has articulated them, or to the domain of systems theory per
se. This is also the direction that anthropology and ethnography have
taken: these disciplines have come to acknowledge that an ethnographer
196 Ideology and the Position of the Translator

or anthropologist can never stand in a neutral or free space between

cultures, but of necessity operates within some cultural framework,
notably the constraints of his or her own primary cultural system. Increas-
ingly in the social sciences such cultural frameworks within which research
is conducted are expected to be acknowledged and specified in the work
in some fashion.19 Indeed, it is only by recognizing the position that the
investigator holds within a system, that one can understand the ideologi-
cal contingencies and presuppositions of the investigation itself.
Clearly these arguments have relevance for both translators and writ-
ers about translation. In extending such arguments and applying such
models to translation, we must recognize, for example, that insofar as
translators mediate between cultures, the concerns of anthropology and
ethnography are relevant to translation; insofar as languages are formal
systems, the findings of logic and systems theory should apply to linguis-
tic activities like translation. Thus, one can argue that in the act of
translation, when a translator interrogates a source text on the basis of a
target language, the translator transcends the source language as a formal
system, without simply switching to the target language as a formal sys-
tem. Conversely, when the target language is interrogated using the source
text as the basis of the examination, the translator transcends the target
language as formal system without simply reverting to the system of the
source language. The transcendence of both linguistic codes in fact puts
the translator into a formal system that encompasses both languages,
rather than being restricted to either. How large such an encompassing
system will be has to do with the closeness of the two languages and two
cultures in question, the breadth of the linguistic purview of the materials
translated, and so forth. Whatever the extent of these parameters, how-
ever, the translator doesn’t altogether leave the system of language per
se, nor does the translator strictly speaking leave the domain of either or
both languages. That is, one must conceptualize the translator not as op-
erating between languages, but as operating either in one language or
another, or more properly in a system inclusive of both SL and TL, a
system that encompasses both.20 With respect to a theory of formal sys-

19
See, for example, the arguments in Clifford and Marcus 1986.
20
This is what lies behind Pym’s concept of an interculture (1998:ch. 11). His dia-
gram of the translator’s position (1998:177) indicates that the translator inhabits the
junction or union of two linguistic and cultural systems, represented as the space
shared by two overlapping circles, but one could perhaps more accurately diagram
Maria Tymoczko 197

tems, there can be no in between, no free space that exists outside systems
altogether, separate from a more encompassing system: any inquiry or
statement or position will fall within the framework of such a larger sys-
tem. Thus, we can think of systems as a series of Chinese boxes, so to
speak, with given systems always nested inside more inclusive ones.
To insist upon a between existing with respect to languages is to aban-
don what the modern age has agreed upon with respect to systems. Such a
view of a between as occurring in translating from one language to an-
other or from one culture to another as systems, is, therefore, incompatible
with a view of languages as formal systems that actually construct mean-
ing rather than as structures that merely reflect external, language-free
meaning. This is the heart of the argument I am making here, and the
point must be emphasized and underscored. Spatial metaphors of transla-
tion may be useful and even perhaps natural in some contexts having to
do with translation, as the ontogenetic and proximate causes considered
above indicate; moreover, the concept of between may be useful in cer-
tain considerations of language as a (single) system, as poststructuralist
arguments about the binaries of structuralism indicate. From the perspec-
tive of translation as movement from one system of language and culture
to another, however, the philosophical implications and limitations of
the concept of between which have been discussed here must be clearly
understood. They return us to retrograde Platonic notions of meaning that
were ascendant in the nineteenth century, in which meanings and ideas
were thought to exist apart from and above any linguistic formulations. 21
In her 1987 work entitled Borderlands, focusing on identity questions
of the Spanish-speaking community that lives in the Southwest of the
United States, near the Mexican/U.S. border, Gloria Anzaldúa writes:

the situation as two small circles enclosed within a larger one, a schema more com-
patible with some conceptions of bilingualism explored in translation studies (see,
for example, Oksaar 1978). Actually both representations are very schematized and
ultimately inadequate representations of the complexity of human cultures and lan-
guages which are open systems rather than closed ones, as the circles in such diagrams
would suggest.
21
The implications for an assessment of Spivak, for example, are, thus, clear: al-
though she is at the cutting edge of bringing French poststructuralist theory into an
English-language context, her views of translation as a movement between formal
systems are paradoxically fairly regressive philosophically and at the same time some-
what naive, ironically implying a Platonic view of language.
198 Ideology and the Position of the Translator

Alienated from her mother culture, alien in the dominant cul-

ture, the woman of color does not feel safe within the inner life
of her Self. Petrified, she can’t respond, her face caught be-
tween los intersticios, the spaces between the different worlds
she inhabits. (1987:20)

As in the quotes we began with from Simon, Spivak, and Mehrez, Anzal-
dúa here conceives of a space between cultures, from which one can (or
cannot) speak – or, mutatis mutandis, translate. Although Anzaldúa is not
writing primarily about translation, her writing demonstrates the tendency
to use a spatial figuration of between for cultural interface, and her work
has in fact been used by writers in translation studies as a means of eluci-
dating the positioning of the translator. Anzaldúa returns us to the central
topic of this essay. In view of what has been said about both the causes
for its popularity and the critiques that can be leveled against it as a con-
cept, what are the implications for the ideology of translation in the use of
the discourse of translation as a space between?
Certainly a first implication is that this discourse grows out of West-
ern views of translation – notably the history of the words in the Romance
languages and in English for the concept of translation. Thus, prima facie
this is not a discourse that is easily transferable to other cultural systems –
including cultures with other European languages. The view of transla-
tion as a space between is a model, moreover, that grows out of a particular
Western capitalist paradigm of the translator as an isolated individual
worker who independently acts as mediator of languages. It does not fit
other paradigms of translation, including the practices used in the Peo-
ple’s Republic of China, for example, or practices in China throughout
time for that matter, where teams of translators have traditionally worked
together, with each member of the team operating primarily within a sin-
gle linguistic and cultural framework. In the latter paradigm of translation
practice, the first stage of translation is performed by a person with pri-
mary knowledge of and even loyalties to the source language and culture,
followed by a polishing stage undertaken by someone with clear loyalties
to the receptor language and culture (for example, a native in the receiv-
ing language often with minimal or no knowledge of the source language),
with the whole process under the eye of an ideological supervisor.22 Such

22
In the early days of translation in China, there were often even more stages, with
oral recitation or reading of the source text by a speaker of the source language con-
Maria Tymoczko 199

teams and their members are ipso facto together and severally rooted
in a specific cultural context and even an institutional framework. One
could even argue that the primary translation situation throughout history
everywhere and still today in most developing countries – namely oral
interpretation – can hardly be modeled as occurring in a space between,
where space is understood in terms of culture rather than the physical
location of the interpreter. Thus, it is problematic to ground an ideologi-
cal theory of translation in the historical linguistics and practices of a
specific group of Western languages and cultures: between is a question-
able premise for those seeking ethical geopolitical change for it is a model
based on a framework primarily grounded in a rather limited range of
Western experiences.
Equally problematic are the traces of romantic sensibility lurking be-
hind this discourse. Rather than promoting a view of a translator as
embedded in and committed to specified cultural and social frameworks
and agenda, however broad, the discourse of translation as a space be-
tween embodies a rather romantic and even elitist notion of the translator
as poet. If the place of enunciation of the translator is a space outside both
the source and the receptor culture, the translator becomes a figure like
romantic poets, alienated from allegiances to any culture, isolated by
genius. This view of the translator is obviously congenial and perhaps
even welcome to models of translation that efface the difference be-
tween translating and (original) writing, between translator and writer. It
also coalesces with the model of the translator as a declassé and alienated
intellectual cut loose from specific, limiting cultural moorings and national
affiliations, suggesting in turn comparison with the political meanings of
between to poststructuralists who rejected the political polarizations of
the Cold War.23 Again, however, we may question whether such ideas
about the translator are in fact typical of translators and translation prac-
tices worldwide, and whether they are likely to result in the use of
translation for progressive ideological purposes.
Moreover, the concept of the translator as occupying a space between
is hardly one that fits with historical research in translation studies, nor

joined with ad hoc oral transation of the text passage by passage by a bilingual. The
material was then transcribed into written language by a third team member, and
polished and finalized by yet a fourth, the latter two of whom might not know the
source language at all.
23
Not to mention the drop-out mentality of the generation of ‘68 in the United States.
200 Ideology and the Position of the Translator

does it fit with materialist analyses of translation. Over and over again
descriptive studies of translation have demonstrated the connection of all
facets of translation – from text choice to translation strategy to publica-
tion – with ideology, and they have established how translations are
grounded in the politics of particular places and times. Rather than being
outside cultural systems, descriptive and historical research on transla-
tion indicates that translation is parti pris and that translators are engaged,
actively involved, and affiliated with cultural movements.24 Historical re-
search rarely supports the view that translators are characterized by
romantic alienation and freedom from culture, whatever their place of
enunciation.
In part the (intentional) alienation implicit in the model of translation
as a space between reflects dissatisfaction with dominant discourses in
dominant cultures, a feeling one can sympathize with. However, to sug-
gest that the only alternative to dissatisfaction with dominant discourses
is departure from a culture is, ironically, to affirm implicitly or explicitly
the view that culture is a homogeneous construct. Here Sherry Simon’s
definition of ‘the translational’ as “that hybrid space which stands be-
tween the certainties of national cultures but does not participate in them”
(1996:153, my emphasis) stands as an example of the dubious implica-
tions of translation as a space between: we must note that Simon’s trope
depends on national cultures being monolithic, homogeneous, and char-
acterized by ‘certainties’. These implications of a cultural between contrast
markedly with contemporary ideas about culture that stress the heter-
ogeneity of culture and that assert that any culture is composed of varied
and diverse – even contradictory and inconsistent – competing viewpoints,
discourses, and textures,25 which, paradoxically, Simon herself elsewhere
espouses and enjoins in translation studies (Simon 1996:137). Recent
scholarship in many fields has delineated the coexistence and maintenance
of minority and divergent views within cultures. Clearly, from a logical
point of view, the introduction of or adherence to ideas and values from
another culture does not per se eliminate a translator – or anyone else, for
that matter – from being part of her own culture. The suggestion that such
influence – or even commitment to ‘foreign’ ideas – moves a person to a
position outside her culture (without even granting the subject a position
in the other culture, as the use of between suggests) is a very peculiar

24
See, for example, the overview in Lefevere 1992: ch. 5; cf. Tymoczko 2000.
25
See, for example, the arguments in Hall 1997.
Maria Tymoczko 201

notion that contravenes work about heterogeneity and hybridity that has
emerged in recent explorations of the conditions of the diasporic modern
world and that can be projected backward in time as well. One can, of
course, choose to reject such views and assert that the only discourses of
a culture that count are dominant discourses, but to do so would put one
very much out of the mainline of current explorations of culture as a var-
ied and heterogeneous construct. Such a position would clearly not be a
step forward for translation theory. It is important therefore to look at the
logical implications of vocabulary before it is adopted, interrogating in
this regard the ideological discourse of translation as a space between.
Finally, from the point of view of the ideology of translation, the
discourse of translation as a space between is problematic because it is
misleading about the nature of engagement per se. Whether translation
is initiated for political purposes from a source culture, from a receptor
culture, or from some other third culture, translation as a successful
means of engagement and social change – like most political actions –
requires affiliation and collective action. The discourse of a space be-
tween obscures the necessity of such collective work – even if it is the
minimalist collective action of attending to the practical needs of get-
ting a translation published and distributed. Effective calls for translators
to act as ethical agents of social change must intersect with models of
engagement and collective action. This the discourse of translation as a
space between abandons.
As Anthony Pym has chronicled (1992: ch. 7), the loyalty of transla-
tors is a leitmotif in translation history. Questions about the loyalty of a
translator arise not because the translator inhabits a space between, with
affiliations to that space between, but because the translator is in fact all
too committed to a cultural framework, whether that framework is the
source culture, the receptor culture, a third culture, or an international
cultural framework that includes both source and receptor societies. Loyal
to dissident ideologies internal to a culture, or to affiliations and agendas
external to a culture, the translator can easily become the traitor from
within or the agent from without. The problem with translators for dom-
inant centers of power is not that translators are between cultures and
cultural loyalties, but that they become all too involved in divergent ide-
ologies, programs of change, or agendas of subversion that elude dominant
control. The ideology of translation is indeed a result of the translator’s
position, but that position is not a space between.
This page intentionally left blank
Contributors: A Short Profile
Rosemary Arrojo is Professor of Translation Studies at the Universidade
Estadual de Campinas, in São Paulo, Brazil. Her current research inter-
ests revolve around the ways in which translators have been treated in
theoretical approaches, in pedagogical proposals, as well as in fiction.
She has widely published in Portuguese and in the last few years some of
her work has also appeared in English and in German.

Peter Fawcett is Senior Lecturer in Translation Studies at UMIST, Man-

chester (UK). He is currently teaching and researching film translation,
but also studies other aspects of translation theory (an article on the Eng-
lish translation of a Malraux novel is about to appear in Target). He is the
author of Translation and Language. Linguistic Theories Explained
(1997, St Jerome). In addition to writing, he has translated some half dozen
books on a wide range of subjects.

Keith Harvey is a lecturer in Translation and Intercultural Studies in the

Centre for Translation and Intercultural Studies at UMIST, Manchester
(UK). He has published articles in translation studies, literary stylistics,
lexicography and language learning and is the co-editor (with Celia Sha-
lom) of Language and Desire: Encoding Sex, Romance and Intimacy
(1997, Routledge). His current research brings together a stylistic analy-
sis of camp, the translation of American gay fiction into French and the
constitution and cross-cultural transformation of sexual identities.

David Katan is Associate Professor of English Language and Transla-

tion at the Department of the Sciences of Language, Translation and
interpreting, University of Trieste (Italy). His current research interests
revolve around intercultural communication, translation, business inter-
preting and the links with Neuro-Linguistic Programming. He has recently
published a book entitled Translating Cultures: An Introduction for Trans-
lators, Interpreters and Mediators (with St. Jerome).

Christiane Nord is Professor of Translation Studies and Specialized

Communication, at the University of Applied Sciences, Magdeburg (Ger-
many). Her main research interests are in translation theory, methodology
and teaching in the context of translator training. She has published a
number of books and about 80 articles on various aspects of translation,
204 Contributors

both in general and regarding the translation from Spanish into German
and vice versa. Together with her husband, Klaus Berger, a New Testa-
ment scholar at the University of Heidelberg (Germany) she recently
published a new German translation of the New Testament and Early
Christian Writings

Christina Schäffner is a senior lecturer in Translation Studies and Ger-

man in the School of Languages and European Studies at Aston
University, Birmingham (UK). Her main research interests are transla-
tion studies, political discourse, textlinguistics, and metaphors. Her
publications include Language and Peace (co-edited with Anita Wenden,
1995), Conceiving of Europe – Diversity in Unity – (co-edited with
Andreas Musolff and Michael Townson, 1996), Translation and Qual-
ity (ed. 1997), Translation and Norms (ed., 1999), Translation in the
Global Village (ed., 2000), Developing Translation Competence (co-
edited with Beverly Adab, 2000).

Francesco Straniero-Sergio is Associate Professor of Slavonic Studies

at the Department of the Sciences of Language, Translation and Interpret-
ing, University of Trieste (Italy). He teaches consecutive and simultaneous
interpretation from Russian into English. His current research interests
revolve around the use of language as an instrument of social interaction.
At present he is co-ordinating a corpus-based research on Media Inter-
preting in cooperation with RAI (the Italian Broadcasting Company).

Ôehnaz Tah¥r-GhrHa™lar teaches translation and interpreting at Bogazici

University, Istanbul (Turkey). Her research interests include translation
history, popular culture and ideology. She is also a freelance translator
and a conference interpreter.

Maria Tymoczko is Professor of Comparative Literature at the Univer-

sity of Massachusetts Amherst. She has published extensively on medieval
literature, as well as on Irish writing in English, including the works of
James Joyce. Her translations of early Irish literature into English appear
in Two Death Tales from the Ulster Cycle (Dolmen 1981). Professor
Tymoczko’s most recent full-length critical study is the prize-winning
Translation in a Postcolonial Context: Early Irish Literature in English
Translation (St. Jerome 1999). Translation and Power, a collection of
essays edited with Edwin Gentzler, is forthcoming from the University of
Apropos of Ideology 205

Massachusetts Press. Her current work in translation studies focuses on

the ideology of translation.

Maria del Carmen África Vidal is Professor of Translation at the Uni-

versity of Salamanca (Spain). She has widely published on literary
criticism, post-structuralism, philosophy and modern art. Her main publi-
cations include: Futuro anterior. Reflexiones filológicas sobre el fin de
siglo, Traducción manipulación, desconstrucción, El futuro de la
traducción, Traducción y desconstrucción, and Translation, Power, Sub-
version (co-edited with Román Álvarez). She also translates books on
philosophy and contemporary art.

EDITOR
María Calzada Pérez is a lecturer at Jaume I University, Castellón (Spain)
where she teaches translation and English. She holds a degree in Transla-
tion and Interpreting from the University of Granada; a Master of Arts in
The Theory and Practice of Literary Translation from the University of
Essex (UK); and a PhD from the University of Heriot-Watt, Edinburgh
(UK). Her main publications are on literary translation, transitivity, ideol-
ogy and cannibalism in translation. She has recently published a book on
translating Alan Bennett’s Talking Heads. (La aventura de la traducción:
Dos monólogos de Alan Bennett, 2001). Her forthcoming publication is
“A Three-level Methodology for Descriptive-explanatory TS” (Target).
She is also a freelance translator.
This page intentionally left blank
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Lilly (ed.) Lesbian and Gay Writing: An Anthology of Critical Essays,
Basingstoke: Macmillan.
Worton, M. (1994) “You know what I mean? The operability of codes in gay
men’s fiction”, Paragraph: A Journal of Modern Critical Theory 17(1)
(Special Issue Inequality/Theory 2: Gender and Sexuality, editor C.
Sharrock): 49-59.
“Yay nlayaca™ m z Dünya Yorka Klasiklerini Nas l Seçtik?” [How Did We
Select the World Classics For Publication?], Cumhuriyet Kitap [The Re-
public Book Supplement] (1998) No. 436: 6-7.
Yücel, H. A. (1961) “Klasiklere Birinci Önsöz” [The First Preface to the Clas-
sics] Tercüme [Translation] 15 (75-76): 12.
This page intentionally left blank
Subject Index
advertising 139 Die Neue Mitte 25, 28, 32, 40
agency 11, 15, 17, 18, 23, 43, 44, 48, discursive 2, 4, 24, 33, 41, 51, 54, 59,
49, 67, 68, 69, 146 118, 122, 143
agreement 69, 117, 184 doxa 78
alterity 45
anthropology 2, 9, 20, 195, 196 editing 21, 125, 135, 142, 175, 178
apocryphal texts 91, 93, 110, 111 enunciation 181, 183, 184, 185,
199, 200
bad language 18, 158, 160 equifunctional translation 27
biblical texts 89, 90 equivalence 90, 91, 93, 132, 171
binding 11,12, 44, 49, 50, 51, 61, 64, ethnography 20, 195, 196
68, 69 evenemential level 45
blurb 11, 12, 43, 50, 51, 53 extratextual 10, 16, 20, 23, 24, 27,
114, 115
Canadian feminist translators 82
canonical Scriptures 93, 110 faithfulness 89, 90, 94, 169, 179
causality 20, 48, 187, 188 feminist ideology 89, 110
code 5, 44, 45, 73, 101, 116, 165, fidelity 7, 83, 89, 94, 143, 158, 165
195, 196 film translation 17, 18, 158, 159,
coherence 29, 38, 101 162, 163
conceptual art 12, 16, 71, 72, 73, 74, frames 10, 14, 35, 101, 102, 107, 146,
75, 83, 86 147, 178, 188
conference interpreting 131, 137 functional approach 92
connotational meaning 155 functionalism 10,13, 46, 48, 73, 89, 91
conventions 18, 24, 45, 89, 145,
146, 152 gatekeeping 131, 135, 137, 140,
conversationalization 140 142, 144
cover 3, 8, 11, 12, 43, 44, 50, 53, 54,
gay 6, 7, 11, 12, 13, 43, 44, 49, 50, 51,
56, 57, 63, 64
52, 54, 56, 57, 59, 61, 62, 64, 68
critical discourse analysis 2, 4, 10, 23,
25, 41
habitus 24
critical linguistics 2, 44
cross-cultural communication 76 hedges 140
cultural knowledge 95, 96, 106, 192 hermeneutic motion 46
cultural repression 154 hermeneutics 46, 52
culture planning 15, 114, 116 heteroglossia 79
homographesis 50
deconstruction 20, 77, 85, 165 homosexuality 51, 54, 55, 59, 60, 62,
descriptive translation studies 9, 10, 65, 66, 67, 68
15, 20, 115, 145 horizon of expectation 43, 44, 47, 48
226 Indexes

iceberg model 131, 132, 134, 137, political discourse 24, 32, 33, 40
143, 144 political parties 25, 26
identity 6, 9, 11, 16, 23, 25, 26, 41, polysemy 36
49, 55, 66, 67, 99, 112, 116, 131, postmodernist philosophies 85
135, 143, 144, 197 poststructuralism 13, 193, 194, 195
ideological interference 153 pragmatics 89
illocutionary 182, 183 principle of analogy 134
interpreting 9, 16, 17, 24, 27, 131, principle of local interpretation 134
132, 134, 136, 137, 138, 141, 142,
144, 179 receptor culture 134
intertexts 72 register 17, 18, 45, 49, 78, 105, 140,
intertextual relations 94, 110 149, 157, 158
intratextual 23, 24
semantic scenes-and-frames model
lexical level 23 14, 101
lexicon 17, 140 signifieds 71
linguistic condensation 150 signifiers 194
literary translation 50, 91 skopos 14, 89, 92, 94, 96, 99, 111
locutionary 182, 183 skopos-oriented strategies 91
loyalty 13, 14, 89, 93, 94, 108, 112, 201 Skopostheorie 14, 92
slang language 157
manipulation 3, 4, 17, 50, 73, 83, 142, socio-political contexts 24
145, 162, 163 source culture 60, 93, 96, 99, 100,
media 1, 16, 17, 26, 28, 31, 131, 134, 101, 154, 184, 185, 191, 201
135, 137, 139, 140, 141, 142, 143, speech act 181, 182
144, 154 split competence 14, 91, 92
metaphors 10, 18, 19, 35, 152, 166, split ideology 92
167, 179, 185, 186, 195, 197 structuralists 193, 194, 199
subtitles 154, 161, 162
New Labour 27, 28, 30, 31, 32, 33, symbolical representations 76
38, 39, 41 systems 4, 11, 20, 31, 33, 38, 44,
New Testament 89, 90, 91, 94, 96, 97, 48, 60, 73, 85, 194, 195, 196,
99, 101, 107, 109, 110 197, 200
non-verbal interactions 143
norms 7,15, 24, 43, 48, 49, 66, 114, text-events 48
127, 129, 143, 144 textual 8, 10, 23, 24, 41, 45, 48, 50,
62, 68, 69, 75, 85, 115, 183,
otherness 43, 48, 52, 64, 67 184, 189
Ottoman 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 129 theological 14, 89, 90, 92, 93, 95, 96,
99, 108, 109
perlocutionary 11, 182, 183 Third Way 23, 24, 25, 28, 30, 31, 32,
political context 24, 113, 115, 121, 33, 40
122, 129 topos 75
Apropos of Ideology 227

transdiscursive 51, 54, 59 Bourdieu, P. 72, 75, 78, 79

Translation Bureau 113, 114, 115, Bowker, L. 8, 9
117, 118, 119, 121, 122, 123, 124, Brisset, A. 185, 186
125, 126, 127, 128, 129 Brown, P. 134
translation history 69, 128, 201 Bühler, H. 137
translation strategies 82, 89, 92, 111 Burian, O. 122, 123, 125
transliterations 84 Butler, C. 73
turn-taking 17, 141, 143
TV 17, 131, 132, 133, 135, 137, 138, Cabrera Infante, G. 83
139, 140, 141, 143, 144 Caillé, P. F. 146, 147, 152
TV interpreting 137 Calzada Pérez, M. 5
Camus, R. 54
utterances 181, 182
Catford, J. C. 190
Cattaruzza, L. 137
violence 55
Caws, M. A. 168
Certeau, M. de 48
women’s culture 82
Chamberlain, L. 185
Chesterman, A. 11, 24, 45, 134, 137
Author Index Chouliaraki, L. 41
Ç kar, M. 126
Agaoglu, A. 115 Clifford, J. 196
Akbayar, N. 115 Cohen, E. 134
Álvarez, R. 24 Coz, A. 54
Anamur, H. 126, 127 Cronin, M. 49
Anzaldúa, G. 197
Apfer, E. 2, 3 Daly, A. 137
Ar kan, Z. 115, 127 Daniel, M. 54
Arrojo, R. 11, 174, 175 Darbelnet, J. 18, 151
Ataç, N. 124, 125 Delabastita, D. 21
Atkins, B. T. 157 Deleuze, G. 86
Austin, J. L. 182 Demirel, E. 127
Derrida, J. 76
Baker, M. 8, 21, 73 Dingwaney, A. 8
Barthes, R. 75, 76, 85, 86, 118 Duch, L. 71, 72
BaÕaran, M. 127 Duru, K. N. 119
Bassnett, S. 10, 73
Baykurt, F. 127
Eagleton, T. 119
Berger, K. 91, 93, 94, 96, 109
Berman, A. 44, 45, 46, 47, 69 Eco, U. 72, 86, 87
Blanchot, M. 85 Edelman, L. 50
Böke, K. 35 Ediz, H. A. 123, 124
Bolletieri Bosinelli, R. M. 8 Even-Zohar, I. 48, 114
228 Indexes

Fairclough, N. 2, 4, 11, 24, 31, 32, Jameson, F. 75, 79, 86

38, 44, 45, 48 Jauss, H. R. 46
Fawcett, P. 2, 6, 16, 17, 18, 151, 158 Jenks, C. 132, 133
Ferguson, B. 80 Johnson, M. 28, 37, 185
Fillmore, C. J. 14, 35, 101 Joselit, D. 77
Folkart, B. 182
Freud, S. 19, 173, 174, 175, 176 Karantay, S. 127
Katan, D. 16, 17, 131, 132
Gardner, J. 84 Kato™lu, M. 116
Genette, G. 50 Kavanagh, J. H. 167
Gentzler, E. 48 Kayao™lu, T. 116, 121, 127
Gile, D. 137 Kaynarda™, A. 127
Goldenberg, B. 1 Kelly, M. 74, 75, 80, 82
Guardini, P. 138 Kellner, D. 4
Guattari, F. 86 Kennedy, J. G. 168, 169, 170, 178, 179
Günyol, V. 126 Khol, L. R. 6
Gutt, Ernst-A. 182 Kopczynski, A. 137
Güvenç, B. 126 Koppell, J. G. S. 186
Koskinen, K. 41
Hall, E. T. 132, 133, 134
Kosuth, J. 73, 74
Halman, T. S. 116
Kramer, L. 43, 56, 60, 61
Hannerz, U. 191
Kress, G. 23
Hartley, J. 133
Kristeva, J. 76, 86, 87
Harvey, K. 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 17, 61,
66, 68 Kruger, B. 12, 74, 78, 80
Hatim, B. 25, 26 Kurtz, I. 135, 137, 138
Hawkes, D. 3 Kurultay, T. 127
Herbst, T. 161 Kussmaul, P. 101
Hermans, T. 19, 24, 73, 137, 166,
179, 181, 182, 184, 185 Lakoff, G. 28, 37, 185
Hesse-Quack, O. 162 Lambert, J. 50
Hodge, R. 23 Larrain, J. 3
Hofstede, G. 134 Lefevere, A. 10, 73, 82, 184, 200
Holleran, A. 43, 61, 66, 68 Leicht, R. 90
Holmes, J. S. 6, 182 Levý, J. 155
Holzer, J. 12, 74, 75, 76, 77, 78, 79, Lewis, B. 116
80, 81, 82, 83, 85 Liedtke, F. 35
House, J. 147
Ligon, G. 12, 74
Lu, X. 31
Ivarsson, J. 147
Luhmann, N. 195
Lull, J. 133
Jacobus, M. 74
Jakobson, R. 182 Luyken, G.M. 148
Apropos of Ideology 229

Maalouf, A. 1 Robinson, D. 7, 21
Mach, G. 137 Robyns, C. 51, 54
Maier, C. 8 Rorty, R. 85, 86
Marcus, G.E. 196
Marleau, L. 147 Said, E. 72
Marrone, S. 137 Saleci, R. 78
Mason, I. 21, 26, 29, 73, 85 Salevsky, H. 94
Matthieussent, B. 56, 58, 61, 68 Salmon, W. C. 187
Mcdonnell, D. 137 Sambataro, G.
Meak, L. 137 Sarotte, Georges-M. 51, 52, 53, 56, 68
Mehrez, S. 137 Schäffner, C. 9, 10, 11, 13, 14, 25,
Merrick, J. 67 39, 73, 76
Mikriammos, P. 61, 62, 63, 64, 68 Scott, C. 50
Mira, A. 50 Searle, J. R. 182
Moores, S. 133 Ôengör, C. 126
Mossop, B. 182 Sevük, I. H. 120, 121
Mounin, G. 169 Shveitser, A. D. 151
Simeoni, D. 24
Nay r, Y. N. 117, 119, 120, 121 Simms, K. 8, 9
Neshat, S. 12, 74 Simms, N. 184
Newmark, P. 18, 157 Simon, S. 24, 186, 198, 200
Nord, C. 10, 13, 14, 15, 27 ÔimÕir, B. 116
Sinfield, A. 49
Oksaar, E. 197 S rr , N. 117
Ortega y Gasset, J. 91 Snell-Hornby, M. 7, 24, 101
Özdeno™lu, S. 123 Sophocles 183
Özgü, M. 126 Sperber, D. 133, 182
Özön, M. N. 115 Spero, N. 12, 74, 78, 85
Spivak, G. C. 186, 197, 198
Paker, S. 127 Steiner, G. 45
Palazzini Finetti, M. 127 Sternberg, R. J. 134
Parmentier, R. J. 182 Straniero Sergio, F. 116, 17, 132,
Poe, E. A. 8, 18, 19, 165, 166, 167, 141, 143, 144
168, 169, 170, 171, 172, 173, 174,
175, 176, 177, 178, 179
Tanp nar, A. H. 121
Pym, A. 21, 24, 45, 69, 84, 187,
196, 201 Thompson, J. B. 3
Toury, G. 24, 27, 48, 69, 115, 143, 184
Ragan, B.T. 67 Tunaya, T. Z. 118, 119
Rambaud, M. 51 Tuncel, B. 122
Rechy, J. 51, 52, 55 TürkeÕ, A. 127
Reiss, K. 95 Tymoczko, M. 8, 11, 18, 20, 22, 44,
Robert, D. 54 50, 181, 187, 190, 193, 200
230 Indexes

Ülken, H. Z. 116, 118

Ulrych, M. 8, 81

Van Dijk, T. A. 2, 3, 4, 5, 31
Van Gorp, H, 50
Venuti, L. 18, 19, 24, 72, 73, 117,
134, 169
Vermeer, H.J. 95
Verschueren, J. 5
Vidal Claramonte, M. C. A. 10, 12,
13, 21, 24
Vidal, G. 24
Vinay, Jean-P. 18, 151
Vološinov, V.N. 182
Vuorikoski, A. R. 137
Vuorinen, E. 17

Weiner, L. 12, 83, 84

Wengeler, M. 35
White, E. 61, 67
Williams, R. 29, 31
Williams, S. 12, 74
Wilson, D. 133, 182
Wodak, R. 2, 24
Woods, T. 66
Worton, M. 57

Yilmaz, H. 127
Yücel, H. A. 123, 125, 126, 127, 128
Yule, G. 134