Babel

by R.F. Kuang

Translation involves a spatial dimension – a literal transportation of texts across conquered territory, words delivered like spices from an alien land.

A pine tree, longing for a palm tree, represents a man’s desire for a woman.

‘Then you’ll have read that Tytler recommends three basic principles. Which are – yes, Miss Desgraves?’ ‘First, that the translation conveys a complete and accurate idea of the original,’ said Victoire. ‘Second, that the translation mirrors the style and manner of writing of the original. And third, that the translation should read with all the ease of the original composition.’

In the Zhuangzi, which he’d just translated with Professor Chakravarti, the phrase tǎntú* literally meant ‘a flat road’, metaphorically, ‘a tranquil life’. This was what he wanted: a smooth, even path to a future with no surprises.

‘No translation can perfectly carry over the meaning of the original. But what is meaning? Does meaning refer to something that supersedes the words we use to describe our world? I think, intuitively, yes. Otherwise we would have no basis for critiquing a translation as accurate or inaccurate, not without some unspeakable sense of what it lacked. Humboldt,* for instance, argues that words are connected to the concepts they describe by something invisible, intangible – a mystical realm of meaning and ideas, emanating from a pure mental energy which only takes form when we ascribe it an imperfect signifier.’

As such, there are no languages in which translation means exactly the same thing.’