Translation and The “Gigantic Insect” Problem

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My classmates discussed various implications of translating non-English narratives into English, from the act of interpretation by the translator to the confounds of different cultural and linguistic contexts (e.g. idioms cannot be rendered literally from one language to another and still maintain the same meaning). In this post, I would like to elaborate on these ideas, using the novella Die Verwandlung/The Metamorphosis (also translated as The Transformation) by Franz Kafka, published in 1915.

Susan Bernofsky writes in this New Yorker’s article that even the title of Kafka’s novella has an implicit importance that stems from a difference in meaning between the German and English cultures. The German word Verwandlung “is a word from fairy tales used to describe the transformation, say, of a girl’s seven brothers into swans” whereas the English “metamorphosis” entails the change from caterpillar to butterfly. While a German reader might attribute the protagonist’s transformation to supernatural forces and view him as a magical creature that is still partially human, an English reader might view the protagonist to have been changed into a literal insect, orienting him as a nonhuman abomination within the narrative.

A helpful Tumblr post lists several complicating translations of Kafka’s opening sentence:

“As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a gigantic insect.” (translated by Willa and Edwin Muir in 1968)

“When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed into a monstrous vermin.” (translated by Stanley Corngold in 1972)

“When Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from troubled dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous insect.” (translated by Malcolm Pasley in 1992)

“One morning, upon awakening from agitated dreams, Gregor Samsa found himself, in bed, transformed into a monstrous vermin.” (translated by Joachim Neugroschel in 1993)

“One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found himself transformed into a horrible vermin.” (translated by David Wyllie in 2007)

“When Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from troubled dreams, he found himself changed into a monstrous cockroach in his bed.” (translated by Michael Hoffman in 2007)

The original text is as follows: “Als Gregor Samsa eines Morgens aus unruhigen Traumen erwachte, fand er sich in seimen Bett zu einem ungeheuren Ungeziefer verwandelt.”

As demonstrated by these versions, the main challenge is translating the German words ungeheueres Ungeziefer. Bernofsky’s article explains the origin of Ungeziefer from the Middle High German ungezebere, “an unclean animal unfit for sacrifice”. Ungeziefer also “describes the class of nasty creepy-crawly things…though it otherwise resembles the English word ‘vermin’ (which primarily refers to rodents)” in its usage. There is no exact equivalent word in English for Ungeziefer.

Different cultures require different words to efficiently convey ideas, characteristics, actions, objects, etc., and the English language has evolved for purposes that diverge from other cultures. Aside from untranslatable words, there is also a matter of connotation. Several translations of Kafka’s The Metamorphosis describe the protagonist as “monstrous” or “horrible” as opposed to “gigantic”. The first and second descriptors carry heavy negative weight to them whereas the latter is considered to be neutral, leading to issues with reader interpretation.

Unfortunately, translations are mediated by individuals who are forced to choose from a myriad of terms and phrases, which yield their own connotations, and thus translated text will never stay true to the original text.

All Forms of Art Are Considered Propaganda, and Propaganda is a Form of Art

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HITLER

Actual 1932 election poster (source). Actual 1932 voter: “Well, he looks pretty dependable, self-assured, sane. Sure, I’d vote for him. His name is Hitler, right? Okay, yeah, sounds chill.”

Art Spiegelman’s MAUS depicts Jews, Poles, and Germans in distinct forms: as mice, pigs, and cats, respectively — visibly different animal species that reveal a myriad of connotations — and alludes to the propaganda employed through Hitler’s reign during 1930’s Nazi Germany.

Adolf Hitler’s control on the German public grew increasingly stronger as “art, music, theatre, films, books, educational materials, and the press“, authorized by the Reich Ministry of Public Enlightenment, lead the people towards the Führer’s single vision of nationalism and severe antisemitism. Hitler was a celebrity artist with a dedicated following, on a massive scale.

Leni Riefenstahl‘s beautiful and technical films, infused with masterful imagery that glorified both Germany and its leader, could never disentangle themselves from their association and creation of Nazi propaganda, even after the conclusion of World War II.

Art is forever linked with an artist’s vision and the context in which art exists, and just as Ms. Riefenstahl’s filmography cannot escape Hitler’s Nazi Germany, the dual narratives of MAUS cannot escape the Spiegelmans’ individual subjectivity through their experiences, beliefs, motivations, and values.

And unfortunately, Hitler was a seasoned craftsman with a perverted vision, adept at utilizing propaganda, “the art of persuasion — persuading others that your ‘side of the story’ is correct” (History Learning Site).

Even now as I type, I can think of the many ways in which we are affected by modern propaganda, from this Cenovus commercial (tying together patriotism, capitalism, and scenic cinematography to shed a positive light on the oil sands), this Dove commercial (exposing the insidious nature of the beauty industry while selling the brand to consumers), to Douglas Coupland’s vision of Generation X (a self-absorbed, self-doubting, technology-addicted generation in a fast-paced world).

As a modern society, we must be responsible for discerning the artist’s message, critiquing it from our personal perspective, seeking out other perspectives, and, finally, forming our own opinions of the world we live in.

Vancouver’s Downtown Eastside is Our Community Too

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If there’s anything that I’ve learned from hearing my boyfriend’s dad talk about the government’s meddling with independent businesses on the Eastside, it’s that the DTES is a vibrant neighbourhood, despite its representation of poverty, homelessness, drug addiction, and prostitution, that needs a community art space. My boyfriend’s family owns Chapel Arts (and Wiens Studios) on Dunlevy Avenue and East Hastings Street, an art gallery/venue with a perfect doorway for people to shield themselves from rain, sit and chat with others, shoot up heroin, deal drugs, and even urinate on (the latter three are discouraged). I’m down at Chapel very often, and held my 20th birthday there last year, but I still remember a time before I met my boyfriend, two years ago, when busing to the Eastside, even past the Eastside, was always such a drag — a scary thing to do as a young girl, this fear conditioned by life lessons taught by my conservative mother. An adventure into the unknown.

I had a collaborative photoshoot at the Chapel a year ago with Christine of Vancity Tribe (left). Photo by Avry Wiens, edited by Sunny Chen.

 

But now that I’ve gotten to know the Eastside better — I grab pho sometimes at Hanoi, I buy cigarettes at the multitude of convenience stores lining Hastings, I frequent Fortune Sound Club (in the considerably reputable side of Chinatown on Pender Street) and the Chapel of course, buy groceries from Sunrise Market (really cheap groceries and awesome Asian snacks, guys), I hit up Music Waste every year and amble from Smiling Buddha Cabaret to Gam Gallery to other Eastside venues just to hear the local bands play (B-lines is one of my favourites), and I walk (sometimes really drunk) to the bus stop on East Hastings, converse with the homeless residents and the shivering high-heeled girls, maybe laugh at some jokes while I wait for the 16 — I have shed that prejudiced fear.

Unfortunately, Chapel Arts is always being legally restricted by the city council for being an independently-owned property, functioning outside of the non-profit sector, especially in an area of such low socioeconomic status. But I think that the Downtown Eastside benefits from this safe space of art and music, by renting the Chapel for any purpose (including, but not limited to, weddings, fundraisers, art exhibits). There are artists living here! Children growing up here, small business owners berated here (sorry, Canadian government, but it’s true), groceries sold and bought, music played, walk signs overlooked, in addition to the crime and socioeconomic disparity. Being a part of a culture can really widen one’s view on the Eastside neighbourhood — here is a sense of community, and it is ours to tend to someday.

Wanna come to this with me? Featuring a collective of urban street youth!

Throughout High School, My Grandmother Packed Warm Chinese Food In a Thermos For My Lunch

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I still remember when my parents and I immigrated to Canada; I was six years old. On my first day at the new school, I fell asleep during class because I was accustomed to the designated nap-time back in Nanjing. The teacher had to wake me up, then asked if I was okay, and laughed along with my classmates. Needless to say, it was embarrassing and difficult to merely adjust my nap schedule.

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There were the multitudinous instances of deviation from the old world I had known and the new world I was thrust into, language barriers aside. My lunches were too strange, too smelly, and too inedible to the other kids, and I was ashamed of the sustenance that my mother or grandmother provided me. Food had never been so difficult to consume until I experienced my own deviance, through other people’s eyes, and this worried me from Grade One until Grade Six. Not only did food mark me as “different”, I was also “wrong”. I thought maybe it was inconsiderate of me to eat rice and fish with the little bones to be picked out by every bite, or it was bad to unveil damp dumplings that smelled of pork and sour vegetables even when eaten cold. I thought that perhaps my sense of taste and smell were skewed or completely opposite from my peers’ in this world.

Fred Wah writes in Diamond Grill how his mother “knows the girls don’t like garlic breath on her boys” (47), echoing my own anxieties, but when confronted by his then-girlfriend’s complaints of his breath, Fred tells her “she’s nuts, I can’t smell a thing and all she has to do is eat some garlic each night for supper and everything’ll be cool” (47). But even Fred can’t handle the “pungent chunks of ginger” (44) in Chinese dishes, and picks them out before eating, much to his father’s chagrin and disappointment that Fred Jr. is not “Chinese” enough.

I also remember when my school-friend’s stepfather scolded me with disgust on his tongue, upon picking her up from my house and meeting me for the first time, for not being “very Chinese” (he is Caucasian, I must note here, but his wife and stepdaughter are both fully Chinese; I could, and still can, see just how narrow his definition of what being “Chinese” or, more specifically, being “a Chinese girl” is — to be submissive, quiet, docile, eager to please), encouraging such stereotypes that are ingrained in North American schema and are altogether troubling, regressive, and, simply, racist.

And even though my appearance may suggest that I have lost touch with my cultural roots, and though I seem to have assimilated into popular North American culture, and though I may not be submissive nor quiet nor docile… my taste in food gives away my thick Canadian disguise, shucks off my acculturated mask, and lets me enjoy the one connection I have to my long-lost culture: my grandmother’s cooking.

My grandparents speak no more than six words in English, and I speak fragmented Mandarin, so sometimes I am sad thinking that I may never learn the recipes and my heritage will end with my younger sister (born in Vancouver one year after we immigrated here, and still cries about being Chinese on the outside and Canadian on the inside) and me. But sometimes I think I can still learn. Like Fred Wah, when I indulge in the foods that are foreign and/or unpalatable to most of you (dishes without names because I only remember their tastes, smells, and manifestations; dishes that have been around since I was born, since my mother was born, since my grandmother was born), I am indulging in my rich history, my family’s life narrative.

Facebook is Evil, and Other Relevant Musings

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We all have to admit that social networking is the easiest and fastest way for immediate connection, albeit a connection that pales in comparison to physical interaction with real people, as discussed in Clarice Chan’s post. Mind the emphasis on the word “real”, because that’s something I’ll process for you later.

Facebook is just one of many platforms in which a user can create content, share content, and digest content. In this Ted Talks video, Eli Pariser succinctly describes said online content, especially from a popular social networking site, as being more “junk food” (i.e. unhealthy for your body and mind; superficial) than nutritional (i.e. educational; eye-opening, mind-opening).

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The first of a myriad of problems that this corporate machine imposes on our culture is a topic that several of my classmates touched upon, which I shall refer to from this point onward as Facebook Photoshop. You may be familiar with Adobe Photoshop and its wonderful abilities to erase blemishes, alter appearances, and manipulate an image to an infinite extent. Well, with Facebook Photoshop, you too can 1) erase your personal flaws, as Callie Hitchcock points out, 2) alter other people’s perceptions of your identity, as mentioned in Kendall Blenkarn’s post, and 3) make up an entire vacation of 42 days to South East Asia that DID NOT HAPPEN (both Brooklyn Kemp and James Timperley touts this user-friendly ability of Facebook Photoshop v. 3.0, get yours today, it’s FREE).

Just as James questions in his post, “Are you the same person online?” I must also ask you this: “Are your friends even real?”

That may sound harsh but Sierra Weiner agrees that we all have an online identity that has been “preauthorized” by the unknown algorithmic forces which basically dictate what we like, what we will Like, and what should be hidden from us (a concept that Matias Taylor discusses further). Sierra goes as far as suggesting that “the perceived act of individualism is purely illusion”.

The second problem of Facebook (a multi–billion enterprise that has rooted snugly in our daily lives) is the collection of private information being used for profit via selective advertisement. Both Cheryl Fung and Jenny Bachynski dwell on this unsettling situation.

The third and most prominent issue was addressed by many of my classmates, such as Carly Bean, Denean Yang, Preet Chhina, and Tanzeela Piyasha Parveen. How are we supposed to expand our mind when filter bubbles are keeping us isolated from the unknown? If algorithms are continuously cycling the same information that we have been exposed to, how are we supposed to learn about the real world? What if we just keep getting fed Youtube parodies instead of National Geographic documentaries? WHAT IS GOING ON, INTERNET?

But even through this modern mess, we are all still enamoured with the World Wide Web. Guess what, the Internet in North America is still a relatively uncensored haven (excluding that whole Megavideo-FBI fiasco) compared to other places, like China (mentioned in Stephen Cook’s stimulating post). I mean, check out WikiLeaks and the Anonymous network. Where else can a group of random people come together to collaborate on intelligent, important, and accessible conversations that may teach others to act on their benevolent ideas?

Rosie Pierce offers another positive view to this fast-paced world of instant connection: the function of social networking as a way to motivate ourselves to “self-improve and live up to the identity we build”.

And Nina Xu reminds us that we can control our filter bubbles by becoming aware of our own limitations as tech consumers and chronic Google-rs, and “actively seeking out opposing viewpoints, clicking links that we disagree with, and engaging with those whose politics we do not support”. We can be more than users of this technology; we can build it, bend it, mend it. It really is all up to us.

As I finish writing, I am reminded of a link I posted on Facebook that garnered far more interest than I thought it would. It started a feminist discourse among a variety of my Facebook friends, from high school acquaintances that I have nothing in common with to new friends whom share my views, and even friends of friends whom I don’t know. And for that, I am thankful of Facebook’s mysterious ways.

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