Strategies of a Non-Native Translator

Non-native speakers of the target language are strongly discouraged from translating literature. I believe this is a very sensible recommendation, for regardless of individual abilities, it is often the case that the texts translated by such translators do not flow well. To be more exact, when I read translated works by non-native speakers, including my own, I often detect a matter-of-fact, straightforward tone, rather too serious, if not downright annoying to read, instead of the subtleties and elegance of the flow exhibited by many native translators. Of course, there are not only disadvantages in being a non-native translator. The non-native translator may grasp the original text better than the native translator, and be more aware of cultural and social implications hidden in the text. However, the main issue is the output. How do you transform the original text into its equivalent in the target language? I have been working as a freelance translator, of both literary and non-literary works, for the past 10 years, but this question hangs over me every time I begin to translate.

I ventured into this unattainable arena, fully aware of the problems I faced. At first, there was something about challenging the impossible, but I also believed there was still a need for translators like myself in the field of translating Korean literature into English, for no other reason than that not much has been translated and there were not enough translators around to introduce Korean literature and culture to the world. I believe, though, that non-native speakers are at best transitional figures, who will fade into the shadows when more and more native speakers of English with good Korean language skills emerge.  My goal is very modest by literary standards, but very ambitious for a non-native speaker. My goal is to render my translations as readable as possible. The best response I have ever received for my literary translation was that it was “very readable.” I was very pleased with that praise. I know that as a non-native translator I can never attain a higher plateau.

Once I attended a translation seminar in Korea, where most participants were Korean professors of foreign languages. They insisted that the importance of the act of the translation lies in introducing the unfamiliar to an audience, rather than making foreign literature readable. When I raised the question of stilted texts in translation, which happens mainly because of a literal translation of every pronoun and possessive in the Western language, some of them said that such devices have enriched the Korean language over the years, forcing readers to accept unfamiliar things more readily, and making the Korean language itself more pliant. They also asserted that foreign literature in translation offers an array of cultural information hard to understand and digest for Korean readers, but that readers become gradually accustomed to foreign cultures by reading translated works.  Therefore one of the translator’s roles is to familiarize the unfamiliar through the act of translation. I agree with this argument to a certain extent.

I remember how I tried to read Russian novels when I was in junior high, looking up the list of characters every so often. Yet, my fundamental position differs, because as a reader, I tend to give up when the text is too confusing or the language flows too awkwardly. I believe that we cannot expect most foreign readers to trudge through a confusion of the unfamiliar. I also believe that the act of reading must be pleasurable. Here the question of the readership comes up.  As a translator, this is the first question I ask myself. Who are my readers? Do they have some knowledge of Korean culture? How well educated are they? These questions are important, because if I imagine that my readers are familiar with Korean culture and they read the translation to get information quickly, I know that they would prefer a literal translation, awkward but strong with the flavor of the original.

When I translate literary works, I imagine that my readers are people like myself. They are interested in foreign literature and culture, but they are not experts in the field—in this case Korean studies. I further imagine that my readers are native speakers of English, who have been acquainted with Korean culture or who are interested in it. I imagine that my readers read mostly for the pleasure of reading and to obtain general information about Korean people and culture through literature.
The most important strategy I use as a non-native translator is the use of such readers, by incorporating their comments and suggestions into my translations. Grant- givers in Korea require two collaborators, a native speaker of Korean and a native speaker of English. Mostly I have worked with this method, but there are some problems with this system.  When one translator is the leader, the other tends to do less than 50 percent of the work. Also conflicts arise from personality differences. One person may be a procrastinator, while the other a control freak. Even when I have a partner required by Korean grant-givers, I resort to my readers after the second draft. When I work on a translation, I go over the text numerous times, but I cannot ask my collaborators to do the same. They usually get fed up after two or three readings and there is little progress afterward. That is when the readers come in.

I try to get at least seven or eight readers to read my draft at various stages of translation. Ideally, they are men and women of different age groups, and they are from different regions of English-speaking countries. This is the rule of thumb I have stumbled upon after several projects. Different age groups offer different suggestions, and I would like to produce a text that is not too slanted to a particular age group. I sometimes get comments like, “This expression is so 1960s.” As a non-native speaker I’d have no other way of knowing such implications. Such differences can be found in my mother tongue as well. Some expressions are bound to a certain epoch and a certain class, but most native speakers are not interested in such aspects of language or they are not aware of it. Sometimes I think I would be a great editor of Korean texts, although I’ve never tried that.

Being a translator involves in large part being a hawk-eyed editor. I try to find readers from different regions, because I believe I can come up with a translation that is not too American. My concern about sounding too American stems from the fact that I’ve studied and lived in the States, and all I know about British English is through books. Over the years I have found that non-American readers are of great help in picking up expressions laden with Americanism. I believe translated Korean literature should sound neutral, not too American or not too British because I would like English readers from all countries to be able to enjoy my translation. I also believe that there is a happy middle in this matter.

In addition, I try to find readers whose levels of understanding of Korean culture vary; some are experts, some are somewhat familiar, and some know virtually nothing. I need experts to get their expertise.  While translating a historical novel, I spent many hours looking up references, but still I had many unsolved problems. When I asked a history professor to read it, I was amazed at how he could solve so many problems in terminology in a very short period. I need those who are familiar with Korean culture to get their informed feedback. I need those who are not familiar with Korean culture to get their response and improve the translation. Once I translated that a woman brought in a dinner table, and one reader put a question mark, wondering how it was possible. I realized that for those who are not familiar with the low, small Korean dinner table being brought into the living room for dinner, it sounds ridiculous. I changed the table into the dinner tray.

These strategies—readers of different age groups, different regions, different levels of understanding of Korean culture—are to ensure I obtain as varied opinions as possible. I usually ask this: “Please tell me anything that you think will improve the translation—the flow, the elegance, the naturalness.” I find that some readers are more tolerant than others, but my ideal reader is a person who has a nit-picking tendency.

Readers’ comments and suggestions can be largely divided into three areas: grammar, sentence and paragraph structure, and cultural aspects.  The grammar is the easiest to handle; most readers point out mistakes in prepositions and articles, for instance. The other two areas are more complicated. Often the original text is in the head of the translator, so stilted sentences sound all right until someone points them out.  One of the most difficult areas for a non-native translator is dialogue. Rendering the original narrative in a natural flow is difficult as it is, but translating dialogue to the equivalent counterpart requires help from native speakers.

Aside from dialogue, I would like to discuss some problems I encounter frequently as I work with two languages. First, there are certain redundancies inherent in each language. The Korean language does not always specify the subject, for the context and other devices make it clear what the subject is. In Korean prose, if the subject and possessives are used as in English, it sounds awkward and redundant.  Another example is this: Korean writers don’t have to state who the speaker is even if there are several people talking together. The speaker is apparent through the level of respect shown in the form of speech, feminine or masculine speech, or regional dialects. When translating these sentences, the translator often needs to supply the information about who the speaker is.

On the other hand, Korean prose tends to repeat the same words, phrases, and sentences, perhaps because it still contains a strong tradition of oral literature. When English prose is translated into Korean, it often sounds terse, matter of fact, and far from elegant. By contrast, when Korean prose is translated into English, many readers find it redundant to the point of irritation. They complain that Korean authors treat their readers as simpletons, who need constant repetition to understand a point.
As a translator, this is one of the most difficult decisions I am forced to make. How far can I go in editing?  If the same words are used over and over again—for example, if Teacher Kim is mentioned, he is described as Teacher Kim throughout in the Korean text, rarely replaced with a pronoun or other devices—it is easy to conform to the standard English usage. But when a certain word or phrase is used repeatedly, the translator has to stop and ask herself whether the author did it consciously. Sometimes I ask the authors; some say they did it for artistic reasons, but others say I can do whatever sounds better in English. The problem is many native speakers find such repetitions irritating, rather than artistic.

Another marked difference between the two languages is the way to form a paragraph. While English writers tend to develop their arguments in a linear way, Korean writers tend to proceed in a more convoluted way.  It is only a feeling I have, but I think that Koreans are reluctant to declare something unequivocally. There are often many contradictions in a paragraph. Many of the sentences begin with “but,” which confuses English readers. When I was a student in the United States, a professor pointed this out in my writing and told me I should make up my mind. I believe this is about more than making up one’s mind, though. This also has cultural connotations. If an English speaker is happy, he or she comes right out and write so, while the Korean writer tries to hedge and sprinkle in some reservations, perhaps because culturally it is more acceptable to behave this way.

When forming a sentence, the differences in logic give birth to a strange jumble of sentences in translation. Sometimes a translator is required to move around sentences to fit into an English narrative. To make the language flow better, it is basically necessary to combine or separate sentences, but when it comes to moving around sentences or deleting them altogether to make them fit to a standard English narrative, I have to stop and think whether this is really necessary.  Recently, I translated a historical novel, and there were certain details that my readers found annoying. The author tended to butt in and supply information. For example, when a place name appears, the author explains in parenthesis that today this is called such-and-such area in Seoul. Many readers recommended dropping these parentheses them because they would have no meaning for English- speaking readers. I’m still debating whether I should follow their advice or whether I should be more faithful to the original text.
Another difference in narration has to do with different expectations on the part of the readers. This historical novel in question is written in the form of a mystery, so English readers expect a narration that flows quickly without impediments. I will give you an example. At one point the protagonist is beaten, and he loses consciousness. The author explains that this happened because a certain acupuncture point was affected. In the Korean text such information sounds rather interesting, but some of my readers thought I should delete this unnecessary information, because it weakened the impact of the event.  The question as a translator is: Should I follow their advice and edit it to make it fit the modern English usage and narrative, or leave it so that the reader may be exposed to the unfamiliar? How much unfamiliarity can my readers take, without feeling frustrated and giving up reading? Sometimes I bring up questions of this kind with fellow translators and editors, and most of them say they believe in being faithful to the original. But when it comes to practice, they often take more drastic measures.

It appears to me that most of them think one thing, but when it comes to practice, they do something else.  Within a paragraph, another thorny issue is the use of tenses in Korean. The Korean storytelling tends to go back and forth between tenses without clearly informing the reader. The use of tenses itself is not strict, so the present tense may be employed to describe past events. The typical Korean narrative goes back and forth among the past, the present, and future, and Korean readers do not have any difficulty following the flow, for it is often obvious from the context. When it is translated into English, though, many readers profess confusion, perhaps because they are used to the more rigid usage of English tenses and aspects. Sometimes the translator needs to supply a transitional phrase, such as “back then,” to help confused readers.  Because of the frequent going back and forth in time, the translated English text tends to have many sentences in the past perfect tense.

Finally, let me briefly talk about paralinguistic aspects. In a recent translation of mine, the author used the expression, “He opened his mouth,” very often to indicate that a speaker started to talk. To some readers, it was unacceptable. In addition, this particular author used many Korean proverbs and expressions. In general, if there are equivalent proverbs in English, it might be all right to translate them as such, but sometimes it sounds too English or American, even if the underlying meaning is the same. To me, the English expression, “Once burned, twice shy” sounds very similar to the Korean expression, “Frightened by a turtle, frightened by the black lid of a cauldron.” In the historical novel I am working on there is an expression: “There is no grain that does not need night soil, and there is no noble cause that is not helped along by vice.” This is uttered by someone to justify his action before he orders his underling to kill off a witness. Some readers put a question mark next to this expression. I decided to add “fertilizer” after the night soil, so the translation read, “There is no grain that does not need night soil for fertilizer, and there is no noble cause that is not helped along by vice.” What I notice with native speakers of English is that most of them have a hard time accepting ambiguities and unfamiliar expressions. I think most Korean readers grew up reading translated foreign literature, so they tend to accept ambiguous expressions more readily. Besides, part of learning a foreign language is about accepting ambiguities. Many readers of English demand clarity. It poses a problem when the original text contains what the author intends to be poetic. When my readers complain, “I don’t understand this,” I am at a loss for what to do.  When I don’t understand the original sentence 100 percent, I think the author meant it to be ambiguous. In that case, should I try to interpret the original sentence and render it clearly, or should I delete it altogether as some readers recommend? How far should I go to make my translated text readable? There is no easy answer to this question.

In sum, I resort to my readers during the editing and refining process. If I were a native speaker, I would not depend on them to such an extent. One advantage of being a non-native translator is being more open to suggestions. When someone raises a question to my Korean writing, I find myself being more defensive.  I generally accept my readers’ suggestions for my translation, but the final decision maker is myself. Because of this heavy burden of responsibility, I keep changing my mind, back and forth, about the tiniest details. Should I translate palace gates and halls or should I just romanize them? Should I follow established terms in translation or should I be more creative? If I accept established terms, whose terms should I adopt?

Another strategy I use as a non-native speaker is taking the time to finish the translation. I go over the draft several times leaving a certain period of time between readings. It is the method I use when I write in my mother tongue, but when I translate into English, this becomes more essential. Meantime, I try to read as much as I can in English. I believe in serendipity, because a better expression or a phrase jumps at me as I read novels, stories, and magazine articles. I also believe that reading—input—is closely connected with translation—output—at a more general, abstract level, although I cannot explain this with any theory. As I accumulate more experience as a translator, I believe that intuition and a sense of language are more important than any translation theory.