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Friendship Across Cultures: How Different Societies Define and Value Friendships
Friendship is a universal concept that transcends borders and cultural differences. However, the way in
which friendships are defined and valued can vary greatly from one society to another. In this article, we
will explore how different cultures perceive and cherish the bonds of friendship.
In Western cultures, such as those in the United States and Europe, friendships are often characterized by
individualism and companionship. Friends in these societies are seen as individuals who provide
emotional support, companionship, and a sense of belonging. They are often valued for their ability to
share experiences and help each other navigate the challenges of life.
Friendships in Western cultures are typically based on shared interests, values, and experiences. People in
these societies often have a wide circle of friends with whom they socialize and spend time. However,
friendships in Western cultures can also be transient, with people having many acquaintances but only a
few close friends with whom they share deep emotional bonds.
In contrast, friendships in Eastern cultures, such as those in China, Japan, and Korea, are often
characterized by loyalty and duty. Friends in these societies are seen as individuals who provide support,
protection, and guidance in times of need. Friendship is often viewed as a lifelong commitment that
involves mutual respect, trust, and loyalty.
In Eastern cultures, friendships are typically based on shared history, family connections, and social
hierarchy. People in these societies often have a smaller circle of friends, but these friendships are deeper
and more enduring. Friends in Eastern cultures are expected to support each other through thick and thin,
and to prioritize the well-being of the group over individual interests.
In many indigenous cultures, such as those in Africa, Latin America, and Oceania, friendships are often
based on community and reciprocity. Friends in these societies are seen as members of a close-knit
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community who share resources, responsibilities, and a sense of common identity. Friendship is often
viewed as a reciprocal relationship that involves giving and receiving support, respect, and trust.
In indigenous cultures, friendships are typically based on shared values, beliefs, and traditions. People in
these societies often have a small circle of friends who are like family. Friends in indigenous cultures are
expected to support each other in times of need, and to contribute to the well-being of the community.
Friendship is a complex and multifaceted concept that is understood and valued in different ways across
cultures. While Western cultures emphasize individualism and companionship, Eastern cultures prioritize
loyalty and duty, and indigenous cultures focus on community and reciprocity. Regardless of the cultural
context, friendships play a crucial role in shaping our identities, providing emotional support, and fostering
a sense of belonging.
Hand gestures are universal yet highly diverse—what feels like a friendly wave in one culture can spark
confusion, laughter, or even offense in another. From simple thumbs-ups to intricate finger signs, our
hands communicate volumes, often speaking louder than words. But have you ever wondered what those
everyday hand gestures mean across different cultures? Let’s uncover the fascinating secrets behind these
seemingly ordinary movements.
“Your Hands Are Talking—But Are They Saying What You Think?”
Imagine this: you are in a foreign country, you flash a peace sign, and suddenly, someone glares at you.
Misunderstandings like this are all too common because hand gestures do not always mean what we think
they do. In fact, they are deeply rooted in culture, history, and sometimes even superstition.
Let us explore some of the most popular hand gestures and their surprising, and occasionally hilarious,
interpretations around the world.
The thumbs-up is a universal gesture for approval, right? Not quite. While in the United States and many
Western countries, it is a sign of affirmation or “good job, “the same gesture takes on wildly different
meanings elsewhere.
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In the Middle East: This gesture can be considered offensive, equivalent to a rude hand signal in Western
culture.
In Greece and Sardinia: Giving a thumbs-up might provoke shock or anger, as it’s viewed as a crude
insult.
Fun fact: The gesture likely originated with Roman gladiators, where a thumb-up or thumbs-down decided
whether a defeated warrior lived or died. Imagine that pressure at your next job evaluation!
Understanding symbols enriches your cultural literacy, helping you appreciate art, history, and
communication on a deeper level.
No, symbols can carry both positive and negative connotations, depending on context and cultural beliefs.
No, symbols extend beyond spirituality. They appear in politics, branding, and everyday life as powerful
tools for communication.
Absolutely. Symbols offer a visual language that transcends linguistic differences, enabling global
communication and understanding.
Contemporary art often challenges traditional symbolisms, encouraging viewers to find personal meaning
and interpretation.
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Never allow the broom to touch the feet of anyone you know: In Afghanistan, according to Tor Khan from
Bethesda, MD, if you sweep the floor and your broom touches the feet of a loved one, one of your parents
will die.
Never stick your chopsticks straight up: In China and Japan, poking your chopsticks straight down into
your food is a huge taboo. Not only is it rude, but it makes the utensils look like incense sticks that are
used at funerals. Sticking your chopsticks down into your bowl invites death, so make sure to be mindful
of how they are placed.
Whistling indoors invites evil: In Lithuania, it is forbidden to whistle indoors, because the noise is believed
to summon demons.
Keep your shoes off the table: Not only is it gross, but in Britain it is considered bad luck because it
symbolizes the death of a loved one.
An itchy hand might be telling of your financial future: In Turkey, an itchy right-hand means you will
come into some money, while an itchy left hand means you will lose out big time.
Do not place bread upside down: In Italy, it is considered bad luck to put bread upside down, either on a
table or a basket. The most popular explanation is that the bread represents the body of Christ, and so it
needs to be treated with respect.
The influence of a native language on second language acquisition is profound, shaping various aspects
of the learning process. Native language acts as both a facilitator and a barrier, depending on the
similarities and differences between the two languages. Positive transfer occurs when structures and
vocabulary from the native language are like the second language, easing the learning curve. Conversely,
negative transfer, or interference, happens when significant differences cause learners to apply incorrect
rules from their native language, leading to errors in pronunciation, grammar, and syntax. Additionally,
the cognitive and phonological structures of the native language influence how learners perceive and
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produce sounds in the second language. Understanding these influences is crucial for developing effective
teaching strategies that address specific challenges posed by the learners' linguistic backgrounds.
Ultimately, while the native language shapes second language acquisition in complex ways, targeted
instruction and awareness can help mitigate negative impacts and harness positive ones to facilitate
learning. How does native language affect second language acquisition?
A native language can influence second language acquisition in both positive and negative ways,
depending on the specific features of the languages involved. Here’s a breakdown of the influence;
Transfer of knowledge:
When the two languages share similarities in grammar, vocabulary, or sound systems, learners can
leverage their existing knowledge from their native language. For example, a speaker of a Slavic language
learning another Slavic language might already understand similar sentence structures.
Metalinguistic awareness:
A strong foundation in a learner’s native language can enhance their metalinguistic awareness, which is
the ability to analyze language itself. This awareness can help understand the mechanics of the second
language.
Transfer of errors:
When there are significant differences between the languages, learners might unintentionally apply their
native language patterns to the second language. This “negative transfer” can lead to errors in grammar,
pronunciation, or word choice. For example, a Japanese speaker learning English might struggle with verb
conjugations because Japanese verbs do not conjugate for tense in the same way.
Sound perception: The sounds present in a learner’s native language can influence how they perceive
sounds in the second language. If a sound does not exist in their native language, they might have difficulty
distinguishing similar sounds in the new language.
Age of acquisition: Children are generally better at adapting their pronunciation to a new language
compared to adults. This is because their brains are more flexible for language learning.
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Learning environment: Immersion in the target language environment can significantly reduce the
influence of the native language and accelerate second language acquisition.
What are the key factors in how a native language influences learning a second language?
Here are some key factors in how a native language influences learning a second language;
Similarities between the languages: Languages from the same family (like Spanish and French) tend to
share grammar structures, vocabulary, and pronunciation features. This can make it easier to learn a second
language, as learners can transfer knowledge from their native language. For example, a Spanish speaker
learning French might already recognize some cognates (words with similar meaning and origin) like
“information” (información) and “information” (information).
Differences between the languages: On the other hand, significant differences can pose challenges. For
instance, a speaker of a language with no grammatical gender (like Korean) might struggle with mastering
the concept of masculine and feminine nouns in French.
Sound systems: The sounds used in a native language can influence how easily learners perceive and
produce sounds in the second language. If a sound doesn’t exist in the learner’s native language, they
might have difficulty hearing the difference between similar sounds in the new language (e.g., the “th”
sound in English for Spanish speakers). These are just some of the key factors. A learner’s native language
canal so influence their;
Learning strategies: Learners might subconsciously rely on learning strategies that worked for their
native language, which may or may not be effective for the second language.
Motivation: If the second language shares similarities with the native language and the learner finds the
culture associated with the language interesting, it can boost their motivation to learn.
Grammar: Similar sentence structures, verb conjugations, or word order reduce the amount of completely
new grammar concepts to
Post-colonial Literature
Post-colonial literature comes from Britain's former colonies in the Caribbean, Africa and India. Many
post-colonial writers write in English and focus on common themes such as the struggle for independence,
emigration, national identity, allegiance, and childhood.
Postcolonial theory is a literary theory or critical approach that deals with literature produced in countries
that were once, or are now, colonies of other countries. It may also deal with literature written in or by
citizens of colonizing countries that takes colonies or their peoples as its subject matter. The theory is
based around concepts of otherness and resistance.
Postcolonial theory became part of the critical toolbox in the 1970s, and many practitioners credit Edward
Said’s book Orientalism as being the founding work.
Typically, the proponents of the theory examine the ways in which writers from colonized countries
attempt to articulate and even celebrate their cultural identities and reclaim them from the colonizers. They
also examine ways in which the literature of the colonial powers is used to justify colonialism through the
perpetuation of images of the colonized as inferior. However, attempts at coming up with a single
definition of postcolonial theory have proved controversial, and some writers have strongly critiqued the
whole concept.
Postcolonial theory is built in large part around the concept of otherness. There are however problems
with or complexities to the concept of otherness, for instance:
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otherness includes doubleness, both identity and difference, so that every other, every different than and
excluded by is dialectically created and includes the values and meaning of the colonizing culture even as
it rejects its power to define;
the western concept of the oriental is based, as Abdul Jan Mohamed argues, on the Manichean allegory
(seeing the world as divided into mutually excluding opposites): if the west is ordered, rational, masculine,
good, then the orient is chaotic, irrational, feminine, evil. Simply to reverse this polarizing is to be
complicit in its totalizing and identity-destroying power (all is reduced to a set of dichotomies, black or
white, etc.);
colonized peoples are highly diverse in their nature and in their traditions, and as beings in cultures they
are both constructed and changing, so that while they may be 'other' from the colonizers, they are also
different one from another and from their own pasts, and should not be totalized or essentialized -- through
such concepts as a black consciousness, Indian soul, aboriginal culture and so forth. This totalization and
essentialization is often a form of nostalgia which has its inspiration more in the thought of the colonizers
than of the colonized, and it serves give the colonizer a sense of the unity of his culture while mystifying
that of others; as John Frow remarks, it is a making of a mythical One out of many... the colonized peoples
will also be other than their pasts, which can be reclaimed but never reconstituted, and so must be revisited
and realized in partial, fragmented ways. You can't go home again.
Postcolonial theory is also built around the concept of resistance, of resistance as subversion, or
opposition, or mimicry -- but with the haunting problem that resistance always inscribes the resisted into
the texture of the resisting: it is a two-edged sword. As well, the concept of resistance carries with it or
can carry with it ideas about human freedom, liberty, identity, individuality, etc., which ideas may not have
been held, or held in the same way, in the colonized culture's view of humankind.
On a simple political/cultural level, there are problems with the fact that to produce a literature which
helps to reconstitute the identity of the colonized one may have to function in at the very least the means
of production of the colonizers -- the writing, publishing, advertising, and production of books, for
instance. These may well require a centralized economic and cultural system which is ultimately either a
western import or a hybrid form, uniting local conceptions with western conceptions.
The concept of producing a national or cultural literature is in most cases a concept foreign to the traditions
of the colonized peoples, who (a) had no literature as it is conceived in the western traditions or in fact no
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literature or writing at all, and/or b) did not see art as having the same function as constructing and defining
cultural identity, and/or c) were, like the peoples of the West Indies, transported into a wholly different
geographical/political/economic/cultural world. (India, a partial exception, had a long-established
tradition of letters; on the other hand, it was a highly balkanized sub-continent with little if any common
identity and with many divergent sub-cultures). It is always a
changed, a reclaimed but hybrid identity, which is created or called forth by the colonizers' attempts to
constitute and represent identity. (hybridity = mixing of cultures; ex. double consciousness – one goes to
an American University and gets educated then returns to native land only to find that he/she cannot
identify with the culture anymore)
The very concepts of nationality and identity may be difficult to conceive or convey in the cultural
traditions of colonized peoples.
There are complexities and perplexities around the difficulty of conceiving how a colonized country can
reclaim or reconstitute its identity in a language that is now but was not its own language, and genres
which are now but were not the genres of the colonized. One result is that the literature may be written in
the style of speech of the inhabitants of a particular colonized people or area, which language use does not
read like Standard English and in which literature the standard literary allusions and common metaphors
and symbols may be inappropriate and/or may be replaced by allusions and tropes which are alien to
British culture and usage. It can become very difficult then for others to recognize or respect the work as
literature (which concept may not itself have relevance -- see next point).
There other are times when the violation of the aesthetic norms of western literature is inevitable, as
colonized writers search to encounter their culture's ancient yet transformed heritage, and as they attempt
to deal with problems of social order and meaning so pressing that the normal aesthetic transformations
of western high literature are not relevant, make no sense. The idea that good or high literature may be
irrelevant and misplaced at a point in a culture's history, and therefore for a particular cultural usage not
be good literature at all, is difficult for us who are raised in the culture which strong aesthetic ideals to
accept.
The development (development itself may be an entirely western concept) of hybrid and reclaimed
cultures in colonized countries is uneven, disparate, and might defy those notions of order and common
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sense which may be central not only to western thinking but to literary forms and traditions produced
through western thought.
The term 'hybrid' used above refers to the concept of hybridity, an important concept in post-colonial
theory, referring to the integration (or, mingling) of cultural signs and practices from the colonizing and
the colonized cultures ("integration" may be too orderly a word to represent the variety of stratagems,
desperate or cunning or good-willed, by which people adapt themselves to the necessities and the
opportunities of more or less oppressive or invasive cultural impositions, live into alien cultural patterns
through their own structures of understanding, thus producing something familiar but new). The
assimilation and adaptation of cultural practices, the cross-fertilization of cultures, can be seen as positive,
enriching, and dynamic, as well as oppressive. "Hybridity" is also a useful concept for helping to break
down the false sense that colonized cultures -- or colonizing cultures for that matter -- are monolithic, or
have essential, unchanging features.
The representation of these uneven and often hybrid, polyglot, multivalent cultural sites (reclaimed or
discovered colonized cultures searching for identity and meaning in a complex and partially alien past)
may not look very much like the representations of bourgeois culture in western art, ideologically shaped
as western art is to represent its own truths (that is, guiding fictions) about itself.
To quote Homi Bhabha on the complex issue of representation and meaning from his article in Greenblatt
and Gun's Redrawing the Boundaries, Culture as a strategy of survival is both transnational and
translational. It is transnational because contemporary postcolonial discourses are rooted in specific
histories of cultural displacement, whether they are the middle passage of slaver and indenture, the voyage
out of the civilizing mission, the fraught accommodation of Third World migration to the West after the
Second World War, or the traffic of economic and political refugees within and outside the Third World.
Culture is translational because such spatial histories of displacement -- now accompanied by the
territorial ambitions of global media technologies -- make the question of how culture signifies, or what
is signified by culture , a rather complex issue. It becomes crucial to distinguish between the semblance
and similitude of the symbols across diverse cultural experiences -- literature, art, music, ritual, life, death
-- and the social specificity of each of these productions of meaning as they circulate as signs within
specific contextual locations and social systems of value. The transnational dimension of cultural
transformation -- migration, diaspora (cultures who have been spread forth = Egyptians move to Jersey-
they are not Americans but they cannot go back to Egypt. they are no Egyptian-Americans. This links to
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hybridity which is usually a positive answer to differences) displacement, relocation -- makes the process
of cultural translation a complex form of signification. the natural(ized), unifying discourse of nation ,
peoples , or authentic folk tradition, those embedded myths of cultures particularity, cannot be readily
referenced. The great, though unsettling, advantage of this position is that it makes you increasingly aware
of the construction of culture and the invention of tradition.
In addition to the post-colonial literature of the colonized, there exists as well the postcolonial literature
of the colonizers.
As people of British heritage moved into new landscapes, established new founding national myths, and
struggled to define their own national literature against the force and tradition of the British tradition, they
themselves, although of British or European heritage, ultimately encountered the originating traditions as
Other, a tradition and a writing to define oneself against (or, which amounts to the same thing, to equal or
surpass). Every colony had an emerging literature which was an imitation of but differed from the central
British tradition, which articulated in local terms the myths and experience of a new culture, and which
expressed that new culture as, to an extent, divergent from and even opposed to the culture of the "home",
or colonizing, nation.
The colonizers largely inhabited countries which absorbed the peoples of several other heritages and
cultures (through immigration, migration, the forced mingling of
differing local cultures, etc.), and in doing so often adapted to use the myths, symbols, and definitions of
various traditions. In this way as well the literature of the hitherto colonizers become 'post-colonial'. (It is
curiously the case that British literature itself has been colonized by colonial/postcolonial writers writing
in Britain out of colonial experiences and a colonial past.)
In this regard a salient difference between colonialist literature (literature written by colonizers, in the
colonized country, on the model of the "home" country and often for the home country as an audience)
and post-colonial literature, is that colonialist literature is an attempt to replicate, continue, equal, the
original tradition, to write in accord with British standards; postcolonial literature is often (but not
inevitably) self-consciously a literature of otherness and resistance, and is written out of the specific local
experience.
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The U.S. Capitol Riot Was Years in the Making. Here’s Why America Is So Divided
here is no advanced industrial democracy in the world more politically divided, or politically
dysfunctional, than the United States today. How did the world’s most powerful country get to this point?
To paraphrase a great American writer—slowly, then suddenly. The Capitol riot was not just years in the
making, but decades. That is because of three distinct features of American society that have been ignored
by U.S. politicians for far too long: the enduring legacy of race, the changing nature of capitalism, and the
fracturing of our collective media landscape.
Begin with race; the U.S. is far from unique in having a troubled history with race relations. But it has
been particularly slow to address the structural legacy of that racism—it took nearly a century following
the end of the Civil War for the 1964 Civil Rights Act to get passed, to cite just one example. Steps have
been taken in recent decades to begin addressing this legacy in earnest, from anti-discrimination laws to
affirmative action efforts. It has worked to bring Black Americans toward a more even footing, even
paving the way for the U.S.to elect its first Black president. But as the Black Lives Matter protests this
past summer made all too clear there is still much work left unfinished.
And that’s only part of the story. The other part is the backlash, as a group of white Americans—many of
them white rural—are seeing their status in society threatened as a result of demographics and the recent
racial reckoning. That has manifested itself both in politics—see redistricting and voter suppression
schemes—as well as the violence we witnessed at the Capitol. While this anxiety has economic elements
(more about that in a bit), it is best understood in terms of broader identity (and if you have not read Isabel
Wilkerson’s Caste: The Origins of Our Discontents, you should). Years in the making, these feelings of
resentment hit a fever pitch in the Trump years, culminating in last week’s deadly riot. To be clear, the
U.S. is not the only country that has to deal with elements of racism in their populist movements—plenty
of European countries can attest to that. But given the structural way racism has been woven into the
country’s fabric combined with years of neglecting the problem, race relations have contributed mightily
to the current state of U.S. political affairs.
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Then there is the evolving nature of capitalism. Capitalism and the economic growth it drove is what
made the U.S. the world’s preeminent superpower in the latter half of the 20th century. The entrepreneurial
spirit of American-style capitalism generated the kinds of innovations and growth that were exported
around the world, helped along by globalization. America’s enduring faith in capitalism, and specifically
the power of the individual, is the reason generations of immigrants made their way to the U.S., to give
their dreams the best chance of succeeding. It is also why the country today is home to the companies—
especially technology companies—that power our modern world (at least in the West).
But there’s the flip side to U.S.-style capitalism—this capitalist, individualist economic system generates
tremendous amounts of wealth, but it has also resulted in an average American worker with less of a social
safety net(especially compared to European counterparts), not to mention a political system more prone
to capture by moneyed special interests. Again, this is not something new that suddenly appeared with
Trump’s arrival at the White House. Yet while U.S. capitalism has long allowed for inequality of outcomes,
in the last thirty years we’ve increasingly seen the rise of inequality of opportunity as well. And this latter
form is more devastating—when people feel that they never even got a shot to compete, let alone to
succeed, they get angry. And it’s accelerating. 30 years ago, when we spoke about those who lost out from
capitalism, we usually referred to a specific set of blue-collar workers left behind by free trade (in a
globalized world, U.S. workers that earn more than the global average are less attractive to hire). But now
we are getting to the point where automation and AI are slowly looking to displace a far wider set of
workers, and across socio-economic classes. As the rise of politicians like Bernie Sanders shows, this is
as much a concern for voters on the left side of the political spectrum as it is on the right. The end result
is a more divided electorate, fueled by fear about how they are going to survive in an American future that
gives the have’s more and the have-not’s less, with less prospect of moving from one group to the other.
Which brings us to the media. The same tech companies that power our modern world have also brought
a revolution in our media consumption. Plenty are quick to point their fingers at the tech companies for
fracturing our media landscape, but in hindsight the evolution of social media has followed a familiar
path—talk radio, cable news and blogs were all once mass media ways of communicating that over time
fragmented into more and more niche offerings until consumers could “enjoy” only those viewpoints that
reinforced their own. The speed of technology is such that we’ve seen the fracturing happen much quicker
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with social media, but the truly disruptive element tech companies have introduced is algorithms—
actively designed to capture more ad revenues and attention, often achieved by promoting extremist and
misleading content. And it has come at the cost of a healthy and informed citizenry.
Compared to countries in Europe where tech platforms face more severe government regulation and must
take more responsibility for content posted, the U.S. has a particular problem given its inclination to go
lighter on private sector regulation. But the U.S. government will not be able to sit on the sidelines much
longer given recent developments—while plenty cheered at Twitter and Facebook’s decision to de-
platform Trump in the wake of the Capitol riot, it
There are other contributing factors to today’s U.S. political divisions, but for me, these three are the most
structural, and the most crucial. Even more worrying, no matter what happens with recent impeachment
efforts, all three of these trends are set to grow stronger over the near-term. Absent more earnest efforts
across the political spectrum to deal with these issues—and make the political compromises necessary to
truly address them—these are problems that will grow worse.
Joe Biden faces numerous challenges when he takes office. And while tackling the pandemic may be his
most immediate challenge, it is not his more daunting. Vaccines can end pandemics after all, but we don’t
have a vaccine for our political divisions.
Although translators are often thought to be “invisible,” they are not passive conduits through which a
text is magically transformed from one language to another. The advent and ubiquitous use of programs
like Google Translate (and even its more sophisticated cousins) make it seem like translation is something
that can be programmable. But meaning is relational, and the academic translator must interpret the
context of a passage in order to translate even one word of it. This is of course at the root of why computers
today overwhelmingly fail at creating nuanced and elegant translations. The complexity of meaning as
contextual does not allow for a simple substitution of one set of signifiers in one language to another set
in another.
What does a human have that a machine does not? A human can understand the underlying context of a
foreign text, colored not only by the plurality and varying shades of meaning inherent in each word and
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phrase, but also the underlying cultural environment in which the text was produced. She can then
reproduce that context in another language, using a set of cultural norms inherent in the language of the
target audience. Every word or phrase, every idiom used by a translator, is the result of a choice.
Lawrence Venuti’s 1995 book The Translator’s Invisibility masterfully summarizes the history of
modern translation and uncovers the current self-destructive trend of idealizing a good translation as “a
pane of glass.” According to Venuti:
A translated text, whether prose or poetry, fiction or nonfiction, is judged acceptable by most publishers,
reviewers, and readers when it reads fluently, when the absence of any linguistic or stylistic peculiarities
makes it seem transparent, giving the appearance that it reflects the foreign writer’s personality or
intention or the essential meaning of the foreign text—the appearance, in other words, that the
translation is not in fact a translation, but the “original.”
While creating a perfect copy of the original text is a worthy goal for a translator, it underestimates the
profound influence she has on the text with which she engages and the difficulties involved in producing
a “transparent” translation. This is an impossible goal. It is propagated by the current ideal of creating a
translated text that can stand in place of the original.
An example of the effect a translation can have on a text can be found in the translated works of Haruki
Murakami, a Japanese author of best-selling books both in Japan and abroad.
Murakami chose Jay Rubin as his official translator for his 1997 collection of stories, The Wind-Up Bird
Chronicle, and this propelled his novel into the mainstream of the English-speaking world. But, another
translation was completed by Alfred Birnbaum in a collection of Murakami’s stories that included the
same story Rubin translated. Birnbaum’s translation became a firm favorite and has since become the
voice of Murakami in English today.
When the phone rang I was in the kitchen, boiling a potful of spaghetti and whistling along with an FM
broadcast of the overture to Rossini’s The Thieving Magpie, which has to be the perfect music for
cooking pasta.
I am in the kitchen cooking spaghetti when the woman calls. Another moment until the spaghetti is
done; there I am, whistling the prelude to Rossini’s La Gazza Ladra along with the FM radio. Perfect
spaghetti-cooking music.
Although a thorough evaluation of the above translations should include an analysis of Murakami’s
original Japanese text, I believe there is still much to be learned about the process of translation by
comparing the two English versions:
The first example, written by Murakami’s first chosen translator, has a smooth and comfortable style.
Rubin combines the entire scene into one grammatically correct and complete sentence in which the
dependent clauses flow naturally from one to the next, and the relative clause leads clearly from its
antecedent. The tense choices are natural for the context: The simple past-tense “rang” and past continuous
“was boiling” and “[was] whistling” are used to indicate an interrupted action in the past. Furthermore,
the title of the opera piece is given in English. In Rubin’s translation, there are no foreign elements, let
alone words, with which the reader must grapple. Birnbaum’s translation, on the other hand, has an entirely
different tone and flow.
Birnbaum broke the scene into four sentences, including one sentence fragment, creating a more disjointed
sequence of events. The use of the narrative's present tense throughout, although not at all incorrect, lends
an urgency to the events and even adds a bit of foreignness to the text compared to the more flowing and
natural sounding tense changes used by Rubin. Birnbaum left Rossini’s opera in Italian, further adding a
foreign feeling to the text, and making the narrator seem more educated and pretentious. Birnbaum also
rendered the more forced and awkward “spaghetti-cooking music,” which required that he create a new
complex noun in English, rather than Rubin’s solution of expanding the idea into a phrase “the perfect
music for cooking pasta”. In addition, Birnbaum repeats the word “spaghetti” at both the beginning and
the end, rather than the perhaps stylistically more elegant solution of first specifying that he is cooking
spaghetti and later simply referring to pasta.
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Thus, it appears that Rubin was concerned with making the target audience feel at ease, whereas Birnbaum
created a text that could at times leave the audience uncomfortable. Although questions of style and
readability may be reduced to secondary importance in the case of academic manuscripts in technical
fields, questions of style often overlap with those of technicality. For example, it is only in the second
translation that we are told that the caller is a woman. Were this a precise philosophical text with equally
precise terminology, this would likely be a very important detail missing from Rubin’s translation. Every
choice has ripple effects.
Which translation is the "better" translation, then? Neither. Some may say the first is better because it
sounds more natural, and yet the second may very well be more precise. The point is that neither translator
was invisible. Each was a collaborator, commentator, and rewriter of the original text.
Giving up on the standard of invisible translators is not a bad thing. In fact, elevating the translator to the
role of collaborator and creative agent can result in an even richer, more precise, and, ironically, a more
faithful translated text. Rewriting made through translation can bring foreign and inexplicable concepts to
new audiences, or can make cultural, scientific, or historical concepts clear to non-expert readers. It can
create connections that were not previously tenable and can enhance the flow of knowledge across
languages and cultures. Translators (and the authors who hire them) should be mindful that a translator is
an active agent and interpreter who must navigate the plurality and varying shades of meaning as well as
the underlying cultural environment in which the text was produced. An open channel of communication
and a willingness to collaborate on the part of both parties can go a long way towards bringing the work
of translators back into the light.