Stupid is as Stolid Does

It's the early 40's in Japan. The war is on. Supplies are short. Our translator works on into the night, translating an American novel so his countrymen can better know their enemy, or so he will say.

I think about him sometimes. Maybe his eyes are growing dim. Maybe the old print of his English edition is just poor. Maybe sake is more readily available than electricity. Translation is grueling work. 

The end of Chapter 15 is as good a translation as we've seen. Flows smoothly. Few mistakes. And then my rewrite of the beginning of Chapter 16 is littered with footnotes. Among other things, he has confused 'well' with 'yell' and 'stolid' with 'stupid'. Sometimes he misses the point of an entire phrase, but all too often he suffers from what seems to be just plain sloppy reading. 

Granted, not every sentence Lewis wrote will make straightforward sense. And sometimes the idioms coupled with jokes can be too much even for a native reader, let alone a foreign one. 

As a reader small differences in interpretation are often corrected by later context. As a translator though, these small discrepancies become cemented in the mortar of the finished work. When the passage seems strange, or even if it doesn't, double check the source. Then check it again.

Obviously I cannot know what our translator faced. But he comes across as talented, though a little brute force sometimes. And rather sloppy now and then. I hope modern readers will find our joint effort an improvement. He probably did his best. I'm just trying to do the same.

The Whole Shooting-Match

At the end of Chapter 14, Mr. Wise is offering to lease his building to Martin, "furniture and the whole shooting-match."

In the Japanese translation, this came out as "including furniture and hunting supplies."

It's an honest mistake of the sort I'm sure I make in Japanese. But that doesn't mean it's not funny.

Intrigues with the Beautifiers

In Chapter 13, Part III Gottlieb has just "produced antitoxin in the test-tube." He's at dinner with Hunziker and others, and is being praised for his work. 

"Of them all, Hunziker was most generous in his praise. Gottlieb wondered if someone had not tricked this good bald man into intrigues with the beautifiers."

Admittedly, I didn't immediately know that was meant by intrigues with the beautifiers, and the translator got it flat wrong too. 

This work gets me deep into every passage, but also takes place alongside many other activities and investigations, so I often have a gap of a day or more between paragraphs. 

Such was the case here. Just as I was wondering whether Gottlieb was finding Hunziker more handsome than usual, in the light of the reflected glory, I realized that just a few paragraphs earlier Gottlieb had discovered some of the shady business of the firm, including a facial cream "guaranteed to turn a Canadian Indian guide as lily-fair as the angles." 

Aha, just the intrigues we were looking for. As he was being praised for his scientific work, Gottlieb couldn't help but think this wasn't a bad man after all.

Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Missing If

In Chapter 13 Part III we read this:
"Gottlieb would have made an excellent Sherlock Holmes -- if anybody who would have made an excellent Sherlock Holmes would have been willing to be a detective."

The Japanese translation is mostly fine, except that the word if is missing.

So, is it a good translation? I guess that depends upon what the definition of the word if is.

Voluptuous Maiden

Late in Chapter 12, Gottlieb has just been dismissed from the university when his wife falls ill. He calls Dean Silva who graciously makes a house call. Looking around the room the Dean sees, among other things, "the color-print of a virtuously voluptuous maiden."

This phrase conjured, for me, an image which I have seen numerous times before: a curvaceous but well-covered young lady. But the translator has turned this into "modest but lust inducing." Not at all the kind of picture I expect to be hanging there near the crucifix. 

The word voluptuous, in English, does have this latter meaning too; in purely linguistic terms, the translation is not wrong. But it's a cultural cue that I think the Western reader would use to disambiguate. We've seen that picture before, where, perhaps our translator was used to the Japanese version of a beautiful maiden, slender, with any hints of curves carefully concealed in a kimono. No wonder he got it wrong. 

For me this project began as an effort to preserve a good but dated translation of a beautiful work. All along I have shown deference to the original translator, allowing him his own interpretations to the extent that I felt fidelity to the original work would allow. 

In the case of brass bands, discussed previously, I was able to use other research to verify that Lewis meant what I thought he did. Here I cannot, and yet I feel fairly confident that I know what he meant. So I did change the translation, and in doing so, I realized that I've begun to allow myself a bit more latitude. 

Certainly I will always keep it faithful to Lewis, and I will continue to admire the tremendous accomplishment of the original translator. But, in the end, I think they'll both forgive me if I do leave behinds a few breadcrumbs.

My Best Friend is a Dead Guy

In a recent conversation, it was pointed out that I seem to like Lewis because he's "deep and complex." 

I responded, "Yes, my best friend is a dead guy!"

That sounded clever so I wrote it down, but then felt obligated to analyze it. I have sometimes lamented that I don't think Lewis and I would have been friends had we met in life. I definitely still would have respected his talent, and probably would have enjoyed at least some of the time spent in his presence, had such an opportunity been available. But he also had his share of less admirable traits that certainly would have detracted.

Don't misunderstand, though, I'm not assuming he'd be in a hurry to spend a lot of time with me, either, unless he was researching for one of his sillier characters. Babbitt comes to mind.

But as I plow through Arrowsmith, scrutinizing every word in both Japanese and English, my love and admiration for the man, which was already tremendous, continues to grow in fits, starts and semi-occasional bursts.

That's the extraordinary thing about literature. Authors have left us distilled pieces of their greatness to analyze, scrutinize, accept or reject as we will. It's like having friends with infinite patience for our impertinence.

Plausibility

At the beginning of Chapter 12, Part IV, Gottlieb has a plan for a scientific medical school. "He tried to be practical about it; oh, he was extremely practical and plausible!" 

Here our friendly translator has rendered the meaning of 'plausible' as though it were 'laudable.' But, as I began to to re-translate it, it occurred to me that 'plausible' does look like a word that could mean that, think of the word 'applause,' for example.

Looking it up I found evidence that indeed 'plausible' originally had such a meaning. Nevertheless, from context, it clearly seems as though the modern meaning is intended. Still, I couldn't help wondering what the word meant in 1924. With further research I found that there is evidence of the modern usage from the 1500s. OK, add that to context and it seems pretty clear.

But then, as one thinks about the word 'plausible,' there are clearly a couple of modern meanings: 1) a plausible story, for instance, and 2) a plausible person. The latter, of course, is someone who tells the former. 

Since the adjective is being applied to Gottlieb himself, and not to his plan, the latter meaning is intended. But this one is more difficult to translate into Japanese. 

As is my way, I worried less about shoe-horning into the sentence some equivalent of a direct translation of the word 'plausible,' and focused instead on rendering the appropriate meaning, ending up with a translation of the word 'persuasive.'

And now I'll admit I'm a word-nerd to the core. (Only now?) The Japanese word I used is a form of 'settoku,' and it thrills me that one could contrive to read it tokutoku. (The first character can take either reading.)

Now do you see why this project is more fun than golf?

Classic Lewis

Toward the end of the first section of Chapter 12, Lewis is describing Gottlieb who, despite his efforts to eradicate disease, is a little uncertain as to whether humanity deserves this favor: "[H]e doubted ... the superiority of divine mankind to the cheerful dogs, the infallibly graceful cats, the unmoral and unagitated and irreligious horses, the superbly adventuring seagulls."

The Bank President in the Dive

In Chapter 11, Martin is getting bored with his internship at Zenith General, except for the "ambulance work," which has it's moments of excitement, such as this one: 
       "He took a bank president out of a dive; he helped the family conceal the disgrace..."

This illuminates the thing I love about language translation. As a reader it doesn't really matter what is precisely meant. Most of us probably get a similar general notion, while the details we imagine are probably somewhat different. That's good enough for purposes of the story. 

But to translate something like this, it really helps if the exact meaning is known because it might be difficult to represent a similar range of ambiguity in reasonably concise language. The problems here are a) what is the specific meaning of dive, b) and did the president die, or just need Martin's help to leave -- by ambulance, for instance?

Because Martin helps the family, not the president, conceal the disgrace, the implication is that the president is dead, though this could be otherwise. Our translator was able to maintain this ambiguity, but he took the word dive to mean that the president has committed, or at least attempted, suicide by drowning. This is probably a reasonable interpretation by someone unfamiliar with the slang meanings of the word. 

I'm pretty sure Lewis didn't mean dive in this sense. That's not usually how such a notion would be written in English, and why does the president need to go to The Arbor to do this? In fact, it's not clear there's a body of water there at all.

But then, am I sure of my own interpretation? How was the word dive used in Lewis' time?

Internet research is an advantage the original translator did not have, but my use of it indicates that the seedy bar meaning of dive comes from the mid to late nineteenth century, only to be invigorated by the Prohibition, when speakeasies were often in cellars. So this was current slang when Lewis wrote Arrowsmith.

Now, to me, dive could also mean any seedy establishment. Rather than a bar, it could also be a brothel, for instance, especially one in a run-down building, such as would likely be found in The Arbor. This, of course, amplifies the level of disgrace that needed concealing. But my research indicates that the bar interpretation is more likely, for the period, and that the presence of prostitutes in such establishments is a time honored tradition, so certainly not precluded by the fact that it is a bar we're talking about.

Now, I did all of that trying to find the right word to use for dive in this sense. And after all of that I discovered the perfect word. It would have been perfect even without the research, but then I'd have missed out on all the fun. 

The word is moguri-sakaba. The second part is one of many ways to say bar. The first actually means both dive and underground. Although it's not widely used in Japanese, it has sufficient currency to be understood. It's perfect, in fact.

Oldest Man in the World

Early in Chapter 11, Martin has just ridden in the ambulance to a fire and saved a fireman when he is approached by a reporter: "In years he was only twenty-nine, but he was the oldest and perhaps the most cynical man in the world."

This had been translated as "most skilled" and "most critical," and the "perhaps" was missing entirely.

This is not an unreasonable translation, but it smacks of one of two possible problems with the translator: a) he's entirely missing the irony and, perhaps, thinks he's missing something in the language, or that it's written poorly, or b) he doesn't feel he can trust the reader with such language.

The former is excusable. We all just do the best we can and none of us ever gets anything entirely right. 

But I have little tolerance for the latter. Surely, there are levels of readers. Some will read quickly not thinking twice about the unusual language. 

It will bother others, as though something is broken. Of this type, some will feel it only vaguely, while it will really bother others. 

But is for the final type that this passage is actually written. This type sees that "oldest" shouldn't be considered in absolute terms, but that this person is, perhaps, wise, seasoned or grown up beyond his years. 

I will confess that I don't know exactly what Lewis meant. But I get a notion of what it might mean, and I think my reader deserves to see what Lewis actually wrote, and make his own judgement.

My version says "oldest and perhaps the most cynical." This is footnote 140 in 114 pages. (When I've completed this draft I'll write a version without the footnotes, including only my corrections, and not the original translations.)

Value of a Dollar - Revisited

A while ago I shared a quote about the value of a dollar. At the time I'd read ahead in the original, and hadn't yet reached that point in the translation, though I've been looking forward to that moment ever since.

That moment arrived today. Last few days I kept getting interrupted so I was on the verge, but didn't quite get there. Then, today I finally got to the point only to find that it was so poorly translated that it needed some major help.

If you read Japanese, you might be interested in seeing the actual words in question on my Japanese blog. Basically, rather than a discussion of the value of money, it was a discussion of one's ability to discern the whole from a small sample. Mr. Tozer, it said, could do it accurately 90% of the time, while it was rare for Bert to do better than 50%.

Needing a clear head, I had to take a nap before fixing it, but afterward I replaced that with some homemade Japanese that I think gets pretty close to the heart of the matter. We'll see if my Japanese readers agree.

Martin Arrowsmith Meets George F Babbitt Meets Donald J Trump

If the translator struggles a bit with Clif Clawson, he really did a nice job with George F Babbitt. You'll recall that Martin and Clif lunch with Babbitt in Chapter 9. Babbitt's polite, wordy, pseudo-intellectualism comes through nicely.

The translation, however, is not perfect from one aspect. This is, apparently, the translator's only introduction to Babbitt. So, when Clif calls him a "real-estate king," this is rendered as "rich man." And then, later, when Babbitt says his real talent is not as much "in real estate but in oratory," real estate in this instance is rendered as assets. 

Though it could be argued the translator moved from the specific to the general in these translations, they are at least reasonable from the context available only in Arrowsmith. Those of us who know Babbitt, however, realize that he's not as much a wealthy land owner as he is a somewhat successful real estate broker. Given this broader context to which I am privy, in my edit I have updated the translation slightly in these two places.

If you're paying attention to the current US political scene, reread the beginning of Arrowsmith Chapter 9 where Babbitt discusses his political aspirations, and see if it doesn't give you a smile as you compare them to a certain real estate mogul of modern times. In fairness, though, the good Mr. Trump has already had significantly more success in both realms than Babbitt ever did.

Value of a Dollar

Working now in Chapter 9. Leora and Martin have just gotten married, causing consternation in her family. Her father, Andrew Jackson Tozer, and her brother, Bert, are most concerned whether this new couple will be a financial burden. Now this:
"Mr. Tozer had somehow made up his mind. He could at times take the lead away from Bert, whom he considered useful, but slightly indiscreet, and unable to grasp 'the full value of a dollar.' (Mr. Tozer valued it at one dollar and ninety, while the progressive Bert at scarce more than one-fifty.)"

I wouldn't anyway, but if I did ever forget why I love Lewis, a passage like that would snap me out of it in a hurry. 

What Mistakes Should I Correct?

When I began my Arrowsmith project, I viewed this old translation as something almost sacred that needed to be preserved. Self-anointed though I was and am, I saw my mission as one of making minimal changes to bring the writing into the modern age. This, I thought, was really all I was qualified to do anyway, and then only barely so.

One of the first major mistakes I encountered was where Doc Vickerson is telling Martin his war stories, and mentions being the first doctor to do an appendectomy in "this neck of the woods." The translator had missed the idiom and rendered this as "mouth of the forest." 

I've written about this below, but I wondered, should I correct this? Though it's technically wrong, it's not particularly important to the story... In the end, I did correct.

Along the way, I found many more imperfections in the translation, some of them much larger, much more important, some of them humorous. 

I have continued to correct them all. My reasoning is that this is Mr. Lewis' book, and any translation  of it ought to say what he meant it to say. I know Mr. Ugai did his best in that direction, and now I have an opportunity to help him out. I'm over half finished with Chapter 8 at present, and have currently 104 footnotes denoting changes I've made to the translation (beyond just modernizing characters and words, which is happening everywhere). Of course, my confidence is also growing as I go. But then, I hope not more than it should.

Just this morning I was working in Section III of Chapter 8. A few paragraphs in we find this: "For once, Martin was impenitent." There were, in my view, two problems with this passage: 1) For once became just once, and impenitent became impatient. 

The latter is probably just sloppy reading by the translator, and isn't all that far wrong due to some meaning overlap between the words. But of course I changed it. 

The former, though, is even more subtle. To me, for once means the same as at last. It implies that the action is overdue, or at least that one might have expected it sooner. Just once, on the other hand, is a little random. In either case, we don't know for sure what will happen in the future, but for once implies, at least to me, that I shouldn't be surprised to see something similar the next time, where just once gives one the sense that it's not all that likely to happen again.

Perhaps this difference is too subtle to worry about. Indeed. there are many such that I haven't changed, feeling they were well within the translator's discretion. Perhaps I'd have left this one alone too, had it been the only issue in the sentence. But, since I was in there anyway, I fixed it as well.

By the way, sometimes I've found myself missing Japanese idioms, and have been on the verge of fixing something that turned out to be OK given the idiomatic meaning. Since I've caught myself doing this, I'm guessing I've corrected out a reasonable translation in a few cases. Like Mr. Ugai, I am also not perfect. But, at least if I did change an idiom that might have sufficed, to the best of my ability I've replaced it with straightforward language that is still a correct translation.

Hermetically Sealed Engine

At the beginning of Chapter 8, Martin's life as a medical student is being described, including his feelings regarding some of his professors. Here's what it says about Professor Roscoe Geake:
"As an otolaryngologist  he believed that tonsils had been placed in the human organism for the purpose of providing specialists with closed motors."

Classic Lewis, to be sure. But it made me think about the progression of cars. In Lewis day it was a status symbol to have one with a roof. Now the status is to be found in having one without. 

The translator had a little trouble with this passage; "closed motors," which came out as 'hermetically sealed engines.' But this is curious in its own right. Not that it's unusual that a foreign translator would have trouble with a passage like 'closed motors,' but the translator does have a responsibility to try to make some sense of his source material. Why in the world would an ENT doctor care about an airtight engine, and what possible correlation does it have with tonsils?

One wonders: did he beat his head on it for a while only to finally decide that all it could possibly mean is 'airtight engine,' or did he just change the words without giving it a second thought? As good as most of the translation is, I suspect it must be the former.