Category: Chinese Literature

WITMonth Week Two

Considering our recent discussion about the lack of Chinese women writers in English translation, I turned my attention to the only Chinese work on the 2019 Man Booker International Prize long list: Annelise Finegan Wasmoen’s translation of Can Xue’s Love in the New Millennium.  Can Xue is the pen name of Deng Xiaohua, an enigmatic novelist who worked as a tailor before embarking on her writing career; Wasmoen has translated many of Can Xue’s works.

Love in the New Millennium poses a unique reading challenge in two ways. First, it focuses on a vast network of characters, among them Cuilan, her lover Wei Bo, former factory workers A Si and Long Sixiang, antiques dealer Mr. You, and Chinese medicine practitioner Dr. Liu.  Keeping track of these figures, their pasts, and ever-shifting relationships with one another requires some patience.  Second, this novel revels in tonal discord, playfully mismatching events and their consequences; topics like hard prison labor and sex work receive light, sometimes humorous, treatment here.

Reviews note how Love in the New Millennium’s characters embrace changing identities.  It’s true that their interactions with one another and even with the natural world are fluid; at one point, a woman seems to transform into a cicada.  The novel begins with Cuilan, a widow, in the midst of a heated affair with soap factory worker Wei Bo.  But those anticipating a simple love story should proceed with caution.  We have yet to meet A Si and Long Sixiang, other figures from his love life, not to mention his wife, Xiao Yuan, and her fixation with Dr. Liu.  As Xiao Yuan reminds Wei Bo, “People can change themselves into forms they could never imagine in dreams.”

What is the effect of this strange fantasia?  Oddly enough, reading Love in the Millennium reminded me of the “Wandering Rocks” section of Joyce’s Ulysses.  After several dense episodes focused on protagonists Leopold Bloom and Stephen Dedalus, “Wandering Rocks” forces us to turn to marginal figures obscured by the narrative’s lens until then.  Can Xue’s approach is even more democratic; no single character is a privileged focal point.  Without a sole protagonist to orient ourselves, everyone in the text possesses equal significance.

Love in the New Millennium also experiments with rapid swings in tone and genre.  The city in which much of the novel takes place provides two career options for women: a mill or prostitution at the local hot springs.  But grim social realism isn’t in the cards; Long Sixiang frets that she is “too old” to join the sex workers at the hot springs, while A Si happily buys a new apartment with assistance from Wei Bo and her other lovers.  When Wei Bo finds himself serving a “three-month [prison] sentence” for no particular reason, his attitude is one of indifference rather than terror: “Hauling sand not only tempered his body; he was also sleeping much better.”  A fellow inmate describes hard labor as “addicting.”  Although these tonal shifts sound flippant, their impact is stronger, encouraging readers to question their assumptions about everything from gender roles to surveillance and detention.

It’s a bitter irony to discuss Love in the Millennium’s egalitarian style when Can Xue is one of the few Chinese women writers available in English. If anything, its widespread acclaim reveals how much we need more translations—and soon.

Can Xue, Love in the New Millennium, trans. Annelise Finegan Wasmoen (Yale Margellos World Republic of Letters, 2018)

Photo Credit: 玉 潘, Meixi Lake, Changsha, Hunan, China, from Pixabay.

Throughout Women in Translation Month, I’m reviewing recent, acclaimed translations.  Read last week’s edition here.

 

Interview with Berlin Fang

I recently spoke with Berlin Fang, whose acclaimed literary translations in Chinese span the works of William Faulkner, Betty Smith, Annie Proulx, Peter Ackroyd, Joseph O’Neill, and Colum McCann.  National Book Award winner McCann describes him as “one of the finest translators I have ever worked with” and “a transnational figure, deeply involved in the cultures of China, the United States, and Ireland.”  See our conversation below about the process and challenges of translation, the “cousin factor,” and Chinese women writers whose voices need to be heard.

 I’d like to hear about how you began doing literary translation and your process.  For instance, how do you choose texts to translate?

I started translation as a graduate student in English Language and Literature in Nanjing University, where my thesis advisor, Professor Haiping Liu, asked if I would participate in translating the cultural biography of Pearl S. Buck that University of Pennsylvania Professor Peter Conn had just written.

After graduation, Yilin Press, which specializes in translating literary works into Chinese, contacted me to do more translation. For them, I translated V. S. Naipaul’s A Bend in the River, as well as A Tree Grows in Brooklyn and The Sound and the Fury.

I’m contacted to translate more texts than I have time to work on.  I make choices based on their potential impact. I saw A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, for instance, as having large impact in motivating the Chinese youth.  It turned out to be just like that.  I also make choices based on my time and availability when I was contacted and on the author’s original impact in English.

What are some challenges you’ve encountered while translating?

The greatest difficulty lies in understanding what the author is talking about in the source language.  Something may be crystal clear to him/her in the process of writing, but it may not be so for me as a translator due to lack of exposure to the context or background.  In this sense, translators experience difficulties that are similar to that of an average reader, except that readers can skip, while translators have to deal with the difficulties.

Translating into the Chinese language is easier compared to the comprehension, but there we encounter difficulties also: Not all words or phrases have ready equivalents in the Chinese language.  For instance, the word “cousin” has eight counterparts in Chinese, depending on whether the cousin is male or female, younger or older, on mom’s side or dad’s side. I use what I call “the cousin factor” to judge authors. It is the writer’s failure if he/she cannot project the image of a person as being male or female, younger or older in the reader’s imagination. These details should be rather basic.

I try to be invisible in my translated text, choosing instead to let the text speak for itself.

Sometimes there are cultural allusions that may be immediately understood by authors’ original audiences, but not so for the average Chinese readers.  We as translators walk a fine line: we want to make texts accessible to the readers by pausing to explain with footnotes or endnotes, but overdoing it would interrupt the flow of the text.  In the past, many translators were also teachers of literature, so adding notes is a way to show off their knowledge. Therefore, it is a tradition among Chinese translators to use a copious number of footnotes, but I choose to be a minimalist, as I do not want to interrupt the reading process often. I try to be invisible in my translated text, choosing instead to let the text speak for itself. Not adding many notes may make comprehension more difficult, but I am not hovering over a reader all the time explaining what is going on.  It’s a tradeoff.

Your translations include not only classic American novels like The Sound and the Fury and A Tree Grows in Brooklyn, but also contemporary fiction by Annie Proulx, Peter Ackroyd, and Colum McCann.  Are you in contact with these authors when translating?  Is there any collaboration involved?  

For both classic works and contemporary ones, I seek help from my friends who are original speakers of English when I have difficulty understanding something.  I have spent most of my career working in universities.  Having very educated colleagues really helps.  For contemporary authors such as Annie Proulx, Joseph O’Neill, and Colum McCann, I benefited a lot by asking them questions directly.  In most cases they are very willing to help.  Colum McCann was especially collaborative with translators, answering all of my questions with great patience.

In addition to your work for Chinese readers, you’ve also translated Chinese writers into English.  Do you see differences in how Chinese and English readers approach literature in translation?

There are far more literature translated from English into Chinese, than the other way around. There is a shocking “trade deficit” in the “import and export” of literature.

There is a shocking “trade deficit” in the “import and export” of literature.

I do not have the statistics for it, but it seems to me for every Chinese book translated into English, there must be ten translated from English into Chinese (a very wild guess based on impressions only.  I am sure there are reliable data somewhere). Over the years, this contributes to an imbalance of understanding that is also quite shocking.  Chinese may know more far about the culture of English-speaking countries than English-speaking people know about the Chinese.  If you survey an average Chinese college graduate student and ask him or her to mention American authors, and then you do the same for American college graduates about Chinese authors, the results could be very revealing.

Works translated from English are regular items for an educated Chinese, but far fewer Americans read any works from China.  It is customary for the Chinese to read works of translation, but I find few Americans, even college professors, read anything translated from China.

There are also differences between English-speaking countries.  Generally speaking, there is greater interest in Chinese literature in Europe, especially in France and Germany, while there is less interest in America.

The absence of women writers in English translation has been a popular topic lately.  Do you think this problem applies to Chinese writers?  If so, who are the authors we haven’t heard from, but should?    

Indeed, I feel far fewer women writers from China were translated into English or even have anybody paying attention.  I would recommend Chi Li (池莉), Fang Fang (方方), and Tie Nin (铁凝). Their works are worth translating if they have not been translated already.

Here are a few younger women writers originally from China who deserve more attention. I could get in touch with them if you want further information about any of them.

(Note: There is very little available in English on these authors, so please use Google Translate for the Chinese-language sources below.)

  • Chen Yonghe (陈永和) is a Chinese writer living in Japan, whose works Chronicles of 1979 and No. 3 Guanglu Street won quite a bit attention in recent years.
  • Zhang Huiwen (张惠雯) was educated in Singapore, but is probably living in the U.S. Here is a short bio in Chinese.
  • Li Fengqun (李凤群) is an award-winning novelist from Anhui Province (where Pearl Buck’s The Good Earth was set). Here is a bio in Chinese.
  • Er Xiang (二湘）is an emerging new writer whose Silent River will be adapted into a movie. She is based in California.  Her stories mostly focus on lives of Chinese expats, as well as those who have returned to China after having lived in the U.S.  Here is a list of her stories.
  • Liu Ying (柳营) is also worth watching as an emerging new author. She lives in New York right now. Here is more information about her.
  • Zeng Xiaowen (曾晓文) is a Chinese writer based in Canada whose recent novel Legend of the Chinese Chip is gaining a lot of attention.

Special thanks to Edwina Pendarvis of Marshall University (Huntington, West Virginia) for arranging this interview.

Photo Credit: I don’t usually know the photographers featured on this site, but I’m proud to include the work of my friend Isabella Zhou here. Her landscape photography has won many accolades, including a National Geographic 2019 Photography Contest Editor’s Favorite nomination. This photo is part of her Glimpse of China gallery, shot in Wuyuan County, Jiangxi province, China, 2018.