I mostly compare translations with the originals and sometimes find fault, but as I have a degree in translation studies I may be able to shed some light on the subject from that point of view.

Translators have to make lots of choices when they start a translation, beginning with how the client - with literary works it's usually a publisher - wants the text translated. Before a translation is made, decisions have to be made about the target audience and what kind of style suits them best. You may want to get the flavour of the grammar and the style across, in which case it will probably feel very foreign and not very fluid, you might want to stress readability over absolute correctness or vice versa, or you might even want to localise it to the extent of making the story happen locally (like children's book translations sometimes do). If you get it wrong, or someone outside the target audience, who has different expectations, then reads the translation, they might not be happy with it, even if the target audience loves it.

With the Laclos translation you mention, the publisher might, for instance, have requested that the text be localised so that it would feel more British, or the translator might even have had orders to modernise the language, because I think at least 'dotty' is a fairly new usage. It is interesting that both examples you cite are colloquial usages, because slang and colloquialisms can be extremely hard to get across in translations so that they have the same effect as they did in the original.

The age of the translation matters as well. A contemporary translation of a classic will inevitably feel dated in a way that a modern translation will not, even if the modern translator has taken care to use language that reflects the era of the original. And of course it must be said that some translators are better than others at making their translations readable and convincing to the reader. Two translators can, stylistically speaking, produce translations that are adequate to the purpose or equivalent in effect to the original, that yet read like two different authors have rendered the same story. This is no coincidence, because good literary translations are works of art (this applies especially to verse translations, but also to prose). A translator can be technically very good, but unless they also have at least a spark of artistic writing ability, they will not produce translations that satisfy the reader like an original work of literature does.

There is an interesting discussion of this sort of thing in chapter 6 of Umberto Eco's Mouse or Rat? Translation as negotiation. He picks up a discussion by another linguist and takes it a bit further in discussing the relative merits of several different translations of Dante's Inferno. Of course, translators of poetry face even bigger challenges than translators of prose, and sometimes the most accurate translation of a poem is the one that abandons the original...

Oh no Netla! I enjoyed your post very much, it was very interesting! I seem to remember you translate from your native Icelandic?

It must be a struggle for translators to find a happy medium between doing it word for word and trying to copy the authors style, and meaning, in the other language. I liked what you said about a translator needing "a spark of artistic writing ability" to make their copy great.

One has to wonder how much of an authors meaning and style is (forgive the pun) 'lost in translation'. They wouldn't want to make it so staunchly accurate so as to give a feel of stiffness to the work and loose the subtle meanings of the author. Nor would one want the translator to put too much of thier own creative ideas into so as to loose the authors.

I suppose there are some things that just cannot be translated. I read somewhere that not all words can be translated from one language to because there are no similar words/meaning in the other. I bet there are many subtle nuances that cannot be translated from even one culture to the next. Wouldn't it be amazing to read all those great authors in thier native language? I think we would have so much more understanding of their writing and meanings if we could.

I was really surprised when I ran into 'jolly' and 'dotty' in the book. It felt very English to me, instead of French. I like it when certain words are integrated into the text from the original language, like saying Maman instead of Mummy. I think it adds bit of authenticity, and reminds the reader what culture/era they are reading from.

I very much enjoyed your post netla. ;-)
CMK

Most interesting netla. I presume you studied for your translation degree in English English, as your English is better than mine?! I wonder if it is possible to learn the 'art' of translation into American English and if it would be a course only offered at a US university? Sorry if the question sounds puerile to you but it is a subject I have never given much thought to.
BTW the words 'dotty' and 'jolly' probably have a slightly 'Wodehouse-ian' ring to them but could be used to describe aged balmy but happy aunts.

Veer, strange as it may sound, it doesn't really matter what languages or dialects you know when studying translation as a discipline, although having an in-depth knowledge of at least 2 languages helps. What you learn is how to approach the task of translating using different methods and criteria, how to evaluate a text and decide how to translate it, in addition to learning history and background and some of the many different theories linguists and philosophers have developed over the years to explain the process. You could, theoretically, study translation theory at an American university and then use your training to translate only from Swedish into Russian.

Netla, your posting is interesting. I am just curious: have you ever read the 2 different English translations of Undset's "Kristin Lavransdatter"? If so, just wonder which you preferred and why.

Netla, I found your response to this question very interesting. I have a friend who is a professional translator, and he's discussed similar issues.

For many years my favourite book was Flaubert's Madame Bovary, in a translation which probably was not very good. In fact the translator was not even listed in the edition! Many years later I read the famous Francis Steegmuller translation (first published in 1957). In my opinion, Steegmuller's version is (if possible) very bitter and cynical, which of course suits the novel. Reading the book I felt not unlike Emma Bovary herself, dissatisfied and trapped!

I wonder if there is a level of "translation snobbery" at work which only further discourages the common reader from picking up books not originally written in their own language. Though a book will take on a different tone, etc., from each translator, a truly great book will somehow always end up being great.

I confess, my only experience of comparing translations is of The Iliad and The Bible. I didn't read The Iliad, beyond the excerpts one gets in college anthologies, until maybe 5 years ago during one of my regular enthusiastic but ultimately limited campaigns to read more classics. I found the language of Fitzgerald's translation a pure enjoyment, but for purposes of study and discussion, I embraced the Lattimore version. I would sometimes, however, find a passage I wanted to discuss in the Lattimore, but quote the Fitzgerald because it was usually so very much lovelier. Same reason I prefer the KJV of The Bible.

Wow, Netla. As a consumer of translated books, I find myself woefully ignorant of what goes into them.

With regard to Madame Bovary, I might have been better served by the Steelmuller translation. I missed a great deal of Flaubert's points. His use of appearance clues went right over my head because I lacked any basis at all for reading cues of another culture and another time. But most importantly, I tried to fit it into the mold of the books with which I was familiar, and Madame Bovary is anything but a love story.

Woodnymph, I have only read part of the Icelandic translation of "Kristin Lavransdatter", which is 60 years old and shows its age. I may try again, but then I'll probably read it in Norwegian rather than in translation.

P.S. I have just remembered a pair of translations I actually lectured on while I was studying for my degree: two different Icelandic translations of The Hobbit by Tolkien.

The first one was a childhood favourite of mine and was translated by a father and son team who are not professional translators but both are experienced writers. The second translation was made by a professional translator and publisher who had previously translated The Lord of the Rings.

The first translation was fluid, very readable and perfectly captured the whimsical spirit and tone of Tolkien's original. Names of people were transcribed into Icelandic, and names of places were translated, sometimes accurately and sometimes with words that sounded similar and fitted the place. The poetry translations perfectly captured the earthy spirit of the Hobbits. Errors in the translation were minor, and usually were a matter of interpretation rather than misunderstanding.

The second translation was more correct in the small details, names were again transcribed or sometimes translated, place names were either translated or transcribed, but the translator had imposed the stiff heroic style (which was actually better suited to The Silmarillion than LOTR) he had used in translating LOTR on The Hobbit, turning it from the children's book that it is into what could just as well have been yet another book in the LOTR trilogy. It is not a version I see children loving the way I loved the previous translation, which is a shame. The poetry was brilliantly translated, but in a style that is a bit too lofty to have come from the minds and mouths of Hobbits.

Both translations had their merits. The first was good because it captured the spirit or essence of the original, the second because it told the story very correctly and made a good companion or introduction to LOTR, but of the two, I much preferred the older translation, because it is what Tolkien meant the original to be: an entertaining and whimsical adventure for children.

Netla, that's fascinating about the two translations of The Hobbit; thanks for the story.

Did you ever see a book by Douglas Hofstadter called Le Ton Beau de Marot? He's a computer scientist who's interested in such subjects as computer translation; the book is a very long reflection on translating a short poem from French to English. The issues would be familiar to you, but his approach gives him a different view of how to deal with them.

I have great fun with different translations, especially from Japanese and Chinese. The literary forms of these languages is so indirect and subtle that even teasing out the subjects and objects can be more a matter of guesswork, and stating things directly in English is already more adaptation than translation. Check out the introduction to the newest edition of The Tale of Genji (ed. Royall Tyler) or Pearl Buck's translation of The Water Margin (which she calls All Men are Brothers. It's interesting to read two or three translations and use them to try to infer the actual meaning of the original (if, like me, you can't read the original language.)