Literature, be it modern or antiquated, encompasses such a broad expanse of ideas that multiple lifetimes would yet prove insufficient were one to attempt to immerse ones self in the various diversities inherent among the written works presently in existence.
The English language is a fickle thing; non-native speakers find it understandably difficult to fully comprehend certain intricacies, such as the meaning of a word changing based on the words preceding or succeeding it, and then being entirely different depending on context. This allows a certain liberty in the forming of sentences, but leads to difficulties in accurately transcribing texts of other dialects. Just as English has its own special set of rules, other languages subscribe to wholly dissimilar breeds of structure. In fact, there exists a multitude of words unable to be properly translated at all; succinct in nature, many bypass this by providing a description the word, yet still lacking the true essence of the original.
Through reading, we are given the unique ability to bear witness to the thoughts, actions, history, and cultures of characters and locations fictional and genuine alike; Hephzibah, in one of the provided class articles, mentions the thrill often experienced in a taste of the unfamiliar. However, Feng Tang's situation touches upon some of the pitfalls an attempted translation must frequently surpass; die-hard fans of the original text are oftentimes in denial of the authenticity of the transliterated, due to inconsistencies in structure, absent cultural references, contextual in-congruence, word choice, or the integrating of the interpreter's personal style. In their original form, an extract could be as profound as an Asimov, or its author comical and witty enough to be dubbed an Oriental Pratchett; the conversion process, however, could result in the oft-occurring loss of the narrative's true spirit. Thus, rather than a piece transcending the mundane, being reduced to a homogeneous substance, unrecognizable as a work of art among the relatively standard sharers of shelf space.
Nonetheless, these limits, though far from inconsequential, are not reasonable enough excuses to completely abandon pursuit of a study in translated works. There is a Japanese term, 'Kintsugi', which refers to repairing broken pottery with gold and silver; as a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the object's history, adding on to it rather than deducting from its value. Through this lens, translated projects are important works in their own right; yes, perhaps a loss of original content occurs in the process. However, it allows for a reading otherwise impossible unless mastery of other tongues were achieved.
The English language is a fickle thing; non-native speakers find it understandably difficult to fully comprehend certain intricacies, such as the meaning of a word changing based on the words preceding or succeeding it, and then being entirely different depending on context. This allows a certain liberty in the forming of sentences, but leads to difficulties in accurately transcribing texts of other dialects. Just as English has its own special set of rules, other languages subscribe to wholly dissimilar breeds of structure. In fact, there exists a multitude of words unable to be properly translated at all; succinct in nature, many bypass this by providing a description the word, yet still lacking the true essence of the original.
Through reading, we are given the unique ability to bear witness to the thoughts, actions, history, and cultures of characters and locations fictional and genuine alike; Hephzibah, in one of the provided class articles, mentions the thrill often experienced in a taste of the unfamiliar. However, Feng Tang's situation touches upon some of the pitfalls an attempted translation must frequently surpass; die-hard fans of the original text are oftentimes in denial of the authenticity of the transliterated, due to inconsistencies in structure, absent cultural references, contextual in-congruence, word choice, or the integrating of the interpreter's personal style. In their original form, an extract could be as profound as an Asimov, or its author comical and witty enough to be dubbed an Oriental Pratchett; the conversion process, however, could result in the oft-occurring loss of the narrative's true spirit. Thus, rather than a piece transcending the mundane, being reduced to a homogeneous substance, unrecognizable as a work of art among the relatively standard sharers of shelf space.
Nonetheless, these limits, though far from inconsequential, are not reasonable enough excuses to completely abandon pursuit of a study in translated works. There is a Japanese term, 'Kintsugi', which refers to repairing broken pottery with gold and silver; as a philosophy, it treats breakage and repair as part of the object's history, adding on to it rather than deducting from its value. Through this lens, translated projects are important works in their own right; yes, perhaps a loss of original content occurs in the process. However, it allows for a reading otherwise impossible unless mastery of other tongues were achieved.
I enjoyed reading your post. I agree that many non-native English speakers find it difficult to comprehend. Good job
ReplyDeleteQuality post, really enjoyed the references you made, made it easier to understand your post and its a good way to clear up your ideas for the audience.
ReplyDeleteI agree that although non-native English speaker find it hard to comprehend the language since there are many words that cannot be perfectly translated from one language to another, it does not limit their ability to learn. And I also agree that these limits cannot be used as excuses if people actually want to learn.
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