Also announced today is the NEA’s publication of The Art of Empathy: Celebrating Literature in Translation, a free book comprised of nineteen pieces on translation from a host of translators, publishers, advocates, professors, and readers.
Here’s a bit about the collection from NEA Director of Literature, Amy Stolls:
Translation is an art. It takes a great deal of creativity and patience to do it well, not to mention a deep knowledge of a writer’s language, place, and oeuvre. But it also takes fortitude, for translators are notoriously underpaid and underappreciated, their names often left off the covers of the books they create. In fact, we owe a good deal of thanks to a good number of hardworking people and organizations who are (and were) responsible for making translated work available, accessible, and visible to us among the fray, most notably the publishers who take the financial risk to publish and promote these books in an increasingly crowded market. Over the last 15 years, I’ve seen more and more of these advocates of translation enter the game, promoting literature in translation not just from across
the borders, but from within our own communities. [. . .]
Our goal for this book was simple: to illuminate for the general reader the art and importance of translation through a variety of points of view. Each essay tells a different story; each story adds to our understanding of this little-known art form. And in case you read through these passionate essays and find yourself inspired to make the next book you read a work in translation, we’ve asked each of our contributors to recommend three books. These are not necessarily the quintessential, canonical, must-read translations from an academic point of view, but rather three books that they simply loved and wished to share.
If you haven’t already downloaded it from the link above, I think you will after reading this table of contents:
“Hearing Voices” by Angela Rodel
A translator’s journey begins with a love of Bulgarian music.
“Choosing a Twin” by Gregory Pardlo
On kinship, mental yoga, and the rebirth of a poem.
“Work of Purpose, Work of Joy” by Charles Waugh
Giving voice to the invisible and forgotten in Vietnam.
“Living with Translation” by Howard Norman
A writer’s deep and enduring immersion in the joys of translation.
“The Collaborative Approach” by Sylvia Li-chun Lin and Howard Goldblatt
A married couple explains how two translators make one work of art.
“By the Light of Translation” by Natasha Wimmer
How the slowest kind of reading leads to an act of seeing.
“An Act of Imagination” by Philip Boehm
The commonalities between a translator and a theater director.
“Daring and Doubting” by Russell Scott Valentino
The translator’s claustrophobic, questioning mind.
“The Sharable Rightness of Meaning” by Esther Allen An ode to the magnificent Michael Henry Heim.
“The Myth of the ‘Three Percent Problem’” by Chad W. Post
What the statistics on translated books in America really tell us.
“A Universe of Layered Worlds” by Olivia E. Sears
The unexpected journey from the exotic to the universal.
“Recovering the Culture” by Nicolás Kanellos
Reaching the Latino community in two languages.
“The Value of Publishing Translation” by John O’Brien
How one publisher found support from other countries.
“Toward an Understanding of Translation” by Rainer Schulte
A reflection on how we communicate and translate in modern-day life.
“Engaging the World” by Susan Harris
The value of writers’ firsthand perspectives.
“Brokers of Babel” by Edward Gauvin
An argument against fidelity.
“A More Complex Occasion” by Pierre Joris
Enriching poetry through the imperfect nature of languages.
“Carrying Words Through Time” by Kazim Ali
The transformation of a poet who translates.
“The Art of Empathy” by Johanna Warren
Learning how to listen.
Go get it now. And for those of you out there who teach, this is a perfect—and free!—book to use in a class on international literature and/or publishing and/or translation.
While looking back at an episode in his life, twenty-year-old Taguchi Hiro remembers what his friend Kumamoto Akira said about poetry.
Its perfection arises precisely from its imperfection . . . . I have an image in my head. I see. . .
The central concern of Sorj Chalandon’s novel Return to Killybegs appears to be explaining how a person of staunch political activism can be lead to betray his cause, his country, his people. Truth be told, the real theme of the. . .
Spoiler alert: acclaimed writer Stefan Zweig and his wife Lotte kill themselves at the end of Lauren Seksik’s 2010 novel, The Last Days.
It’s hard to avoid spoiling this mystery. Zweig’s suicide actually happened, in Brazil in 1942, and since then. . .
To call Kjell Askildsen’s style sparse or terse would be to understate just how far he pushes his prose. Almost nothing is explained, elaborated on. In simple sentences, events occur, words are exchanged, narrators have brief thoughts. As often as. . .
After a mysterious woman confesses to an author simply known as “R” that she has loved him since she was a teenager, she offers the following explanation: “There is nothing on earth like the love of a child that passes. . .
Floating around the internet amid the hoopla of a new Haruki Murakami release, you may have come across a certain Murakami Bingo courtesy of Grant Snider. It is exactly what it sounds like, and it’s funny because it’s true,. . .
The publisher’s blurb for Oleg Pavlov’s The Matiushin Case promises the prospective reader “a Crime and Punishment for today,” the sort of comparison that is almost always guaranteed to do a disservice to both the legendary dead and the ambitious. . .
One hundred years have passed since the start of World War I and it is difficult to believe that there are still novels, considered classics in their own countries, that have never been published in English. Perhaps it was the. . .
In the London of Hédi Kaddour’s Little Grey Lies, translated by Teresa Lavender Fagan, peace has settled, but the tensions, fears, and anger of the Great War remain, even if tucked away behind stories and lies. Directly ahead, as those. . .
One of the greatest services—or disservices, depending on your viewpoint—Bertrand Russell ever performed for popular philosophy was humanizing its biggest thinkers in his History. No longer were they Platonic ideals, the clean-shaven exemplars of the kind of homely truisms that. . .