Unraveling the Mysteries of Murakami: A Journey into Translation and Cultural Specificity
Intriguing Insights into the World of Murakami Translations
Since I first delved into the mesmerizing pages of Murakami Haruki's masterpiece, The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, in English several years ago, I have been captivated by the enigmatic allure of his storytelling. As an avid enthusiast of Japanese literature, stumbling upon a living Japanese author prominently displayed on the shelves of my local old bookstore was an exhilarating experience. Murakami has undoubtedly ascended to become an iconic figure in the realm of Japanese literature translated into English, amassing a devoted readership with each subsequent release. However, as conversations about Murakami's work often arise among fellow enthusiasts, one question consistently surfaces: How faithful are the English translations?
Unveiling the Invisible Architecture of Murakami's International Success
In his newly published book, Who We're Reading When We're Reading Murakami, David Karashima, an accomplished writer and translator himself, unveils the hidden infrastructure that underpins the international career of literary giants like Murakami. Karashima delves into the intricate processes involving multiple translators, editors, and publicists who mold Murakami's work into a consumable product for Western readers. While some readers might anticipate gaining deeper insights into Murakami's persona, they may initially find themselves disappointed as Karashima extensively explores the behind-the-scenes intricacies of translating and editing Murakami's books. Yet, this is where the brilliance of Karashima's work truly shines through: he compels Western readers to confront long-held myths surrounding the practice of translation. The title of the book itself aptly conveys the essence of Karashima's message: when we read about Murakami, we are essentially reading Murakami, as channeled through the talents of translators like Alfred Birnbaum, Elmer Luke, Jay Rubin, and other key figures Karashima illuminates. Moreover, while Karashima primarily focuses on Murakami's body of work, his book also prompts us to contemplate how Western readers approach translated literary works in general.
Challenging Assumptions: Translators as More than Mere Conduits
During countless conversations with ardent Murakami fans, a pervasive belief emerged, suggesting that translators were mere mechanical entities, facilitating a straightforward one-to-one conversion from one language to another. However, this assumption fails to acknowledge the true nature of translation and betrays an underlying anxiety harbored by readers: the fear of missing out on a deeper connection with their cherished author when engaging with translated works. Karashima deftly highlights the multifaceted factors that influence the degree of fidelity between the Japanese original and the English translation, including the omission of culturally specific elements. Such adaptations are occasionally driven by practical considerations, such as removing references to historical events that may confuse contemporary readers or feel outdated due to the time lapse between the original publication and the translated version. Additionally, while repetition may be an effective literary device in Japanese, it often loses its impact in English. Consequently, translators and editors, with the author's consent, may opt to trim repetitive content to enhance the overall flow of the text, resulting in a shorter English rendition. Karashima's work, however, emphasizes another crucial determinant in the translation process: the publishing houses. He recounts the famous translation and editing journey of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, which was originally written in three volumes but condensed in the English version. Karashima reveals, "At approximately 290,000 words, [Jay Rubin's translation] was far longer than the 125,000 words initially proposed in a draft contract with the publisher." Eventually, three chapters were excised to align with the stipulated word count, and the book emerged to widespread critical acclaim in 1997.
Inviting Readers into Cultural Landscapes: The Translator's Perspective
To gain further insight into the complexities of translating texts that interweave multiple cultural elements, we could learn from one expert, Morgan Giles, the translator of Miri Yu's Tokyo Ueno Station—a work longlisted for the 2020 National Book Awards for Translated Literature. Giles's approach to translation diverges from the cultural homogenization Karashima identified in some early translations of Murakami's work. She endeavors to create a space where readers are encouraged to embark on their own explorations and delve into cultural nuances that may not be immediately apparent. Giles expounds, "While translating, I subtly explain that Pocari Sweat is a soft drink, but nowadays, everyone has access to Google." By providing readers with the tools to familiarize themselves with unfamiliar settings, Giles paves the way for a richer reading experience. She elaborates on her current project, The End of August, another novel by Miri Yu, which seamlessly blends Japanese and Korean languages and cultures within the text. This linguistic and cultural fusion lies at the heart of the book's structure and intent, posing a formidable challenge to most readers. Giles remarks, "If I lose that essence in translation, I will have lost the essence of the book itself." While Giles believes that the extensive editing witnessed in The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle would be less prevalent today, she also notes that a form of gatekeeping still lingers concerning the length of translated works. Unlike Murakami's weighty tomes, which required truncation in the 1990s, Giles points out that publishers nowadays tend to exhibit greater interest in lengthier books, which differ from the more concise formats prevalent in Japan's publishing industry.
The Elusive Quest for Translation Accuracy and the Influence of Market Forces
This raises a pivotal question: What defines translation accuracy when publishers hold the power to excise or rearrange material from Japanese-to-English translations or even disregard content deemed incompatible with the target market? The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle provides an extreme case, allowing readers to unequivocally reject any form of "tampering" with the original text. Yet, such a stance overlooks the artistic craftsmanship inherent in translation, particularly when language intertwines so intricately with culture and lived experiences. As readers, we often forget that words on a page convey more than mere literal meaning—they encapsulate emotions. Ginny Tapley Takemori, the translator of several texts, including Murata Sayaka's acclaimed Convenience Store Woman, shared a few examples from her own translation process. She draws attention to the concept of a 炬燵 (kotatsu), a low wooden table adorned with a quilt or futon and featuring a heat source underneath. Kotatsu not only remains absent from English-speaking countries but also carries a wide array of affective connotations. Takemori explains that it often represents "an image of cozy family harmony, like sitting in the kotatsu with your granny while eating mikan oranges." Translating a scene involving a kotatsu encompasses more than a literal portrayal of the object itself.
Another significant linguistic nuance in Japanese lies in the use of 僕 (boku) as a gender-specific pronoun for "I," distinct from 私 (watashi), which is used by both men and women but carries a more feminine connotation. Each version of "I" carries a distinct emotional undertone. To exemplify this, Takemori describes her translation of a short story titled "Culture Shock," written by Murata for a performance at the Manchester Arts Festival in 2019. In this piece, the story commences with the word boku, signifying a male voice, likely that of a boy. Takemori emphasizes the significant impact of this voice, particularly as Murata predominantly writes from a female perspective. In Japanese, the gender of the narrative voice is evident from the outset. However, conveying this organic gender distinction to English readers poses a challenge. Takemori ingeniously resolves this by utilizing another word that appears later in the story when an elderly woman uses the term 可哀想 (kawaisō), which can be translated as "poor thing" or "pitiable." Initially, Takemori considered translating it as "You poor thing," but she ultimately decided on "You poor boy," clarifying the gender of the speaker without awkwardly interrupting the narrative flow. As Takemori aptly states, "Although it isn't the first word, at least it's included."
Recognizing the Collaborative Nature of Translation and Expanding Our Reading Horizons
"Who We're Reading When We're Reading Murakami" illuminates the forces that have propelled Murakami to his current status as a literary titan in Japan. Simultaneously, it underscores the influential roles played by translators, editors, and publishers in shaping the final product, dismantling the myth of direct access to the "authentic" voice of the author. While the original author undoubtedly serves as the foundation for a story's success, the translator also deserves recognition, as their initial interest in a work often paves the way for an author's international acclaim. Although there has been a surge in Japanese-to-English translations, particularly focusing on women writers, Karashima's book also enables readers to comprehend the market dynamics driving this expansion. Which books are selected for publication, and what are the underlying reasons? By shedding light on these aspects of the translation industry to a broader readership, my hope is that Karashima's readers will actively seek out the works that translators like Giles and Takemori are diligently bringing to life—texts that resist shedding their cultural specificity or texts that demand readers to delve deeper. We can continue to relish Murakami's works, but we can also discover other remarkable authors to explore.
In conclusion, delving into the realm of translated literature invites us to appreciate the intricate artistry of translation, recognize the collaborative efforts involved, and expand our literary horizons beyond the familiar. Translations are not mere replicas; they are vessels that transport the essence of a story, allowing readers to experience the profound impact of language and culture across borders.
