As You Read - What are you thinking about The Translator?

[Cait]

Our traditional ongoing discussion of the book. Post your thoughts here!

[Cait]

I had a slow start with this, but I'm about half-way in now.

One of the things that is striking me is Hari's overall... positive?... attitude in the face of genocide and all of the horrible things he's seen and been subjected to. I know he says something like you have to laugh a little every day or you lose your ability to do so, and that does resonate. But it's also making me think about who 'gets' to tell the stories.

Now, don't get me wrong, I am not *at all* criticizing Hari, who obviously can & should react in any way he needs to, and is just as obviously am amazing person - brave, intelligent, moral, funny, and kind.

Edit: I also don't mean that I think he's sugarcoating anything. I just mean that he's clearly a heroic person and except when speaking of actual terrible events, he's maintains an positive perspective? Positive isn't quite the right word but I don't know what is.

But I am thinking about the kind of stories that 'sell' and how even when books are written about actual genocide, it seems like we expect them to be uplifting in some fashion. It makes sense, because as we know from our reading, you can only read so many books that rip your heart out in a row. But it also seems like it's silencing a lot of stories of people who are justifiably angry, depressed, and traumatized, and can't/won't make these stories 'palatable'. Just continuing thoughts about who is allowed to tell their stories.

[Becki]

That's a really interesting perspective Cait! I definitely noticed the tone as well. I didn't think of it as a negative, more as it reads a little like he's out of body - his brain is functioning on a higher plane than he is physically experiencing each moment. It really is unique and gives the book a more cinematic feel I think.

Two things that have struck me deeply: this tragically beautiful reference he made to the first attack on his village when the songbirds on his shoulder died of heart attacks. It was such a small detail mentioned in passing, but it really stuck with me for some reason as a strong image of how terrifying it was. Obviously the descriptions of gunshots, fleeing, etc. should have done so as well but it makes me wonder if I'm a little "tragedy-porned" out and not really absorbing the stories in the same way. There is so much suffering out there right now, I think we steel ourselves against it at some point (much like the young boys in the rebel bands of Darfur).

The other that struck me was his very polite but very direct critique of foreign aid, which he really blames (rightly) for the conflict in the first place and for the lack of help. I believe the phrase he used was "token objects" such as canvas tents (which are too hot), the lack of asking the people in the camps what they needed and instead just sending things regardless of if they're helpful, the number of people making stupid and risky decisions that endanger the lives of the people they're trying to "help" when they are able to leave anytime and everyone else is left to survive the mess they left. I thought his narrative on the arbitrary nature of international borders was also really well said and necessary. This is a short and somewhat easy read but it definitely has me thinking!

[Cait]

I don't think think it's bad that his tone was what it was either - frankly I was a little grateful that it wasn't a repeat of A Woman in the Crossfires which was so very hard to read. But it was my gratitude that made me think about what gets published anyway.

I'm glad you brought up the bird part, that stuck out to me as well. A strong image of how terrifying it was, and also another way to describe how even if you survive an initial attack, it's no guarantee. I thought about those birds after reading that heartbreaking part about the mother who hung herself just before help arrived after her children starved to death.

I also appreciated his, as you said, 'very polite but very direct critique.' That's what made me go back and edit to say I definitely wasn't saying he was sugarcoating anything. His critiques of foreign aid, journalist, politics, and rebels were all very honest, but he was also somehow gracious and even humorous in a way that was amazing.

There was also a quote that stood out to me, after the journalist Paul found out about Hari's real name and that he was Sudanese. "Paul said I should have told them these things. I replied that I could not tell many people. Everything is complicated like that in Africa. Nothing is simple. No one is simple. Poverty generously provides every man a colorful past." The quote, aside from its general truth about poverty, made me think about how Hari's experiences before the attack on his village, his travels and long imprisonment, near death and experience with foreign aid, along with his childhood in Sudan, made him exactly the right person to bring journalists in, even if he was 'wrong' on paper.

[Elizabeth]

I’m about 30% through. Even before reading both your responses, I was planning to mainly remark on the same thing: how Hari’s attitude seems bizarrely “optimistic” (?) and how the book reads like he’s having a somewhat out-of-body experience throughout.

I took this as a sign of trauma. I once knew a woman who worked with people suffering from all kinds of trauma, including victims of genocide. She told me that the genocide cases were quite distinct. The kinds of things these patients witness is so severe that it is way beyond what their bodies can process, and there are all kinds of weirds effects that result from this: people who have complete gaps in their memory, or (as I imagine might apply in this case) becoming emotionally numb. The treatment is also different in these cases: while ordinarily you would try to get people to relive small amounts of trauma in a controlled way, in these cases you just don’t go there. You accept they have lost a piece of themselves, and focus instead on trying to help them make the best of the rest of their lives. (Caveat: I am not an expert on trauma myself, so take my summary with a grain of salt.) This conversation really stuck with me.

Though many of the accounts we read were absolutely horrible, I think what Hari witnesses is probably objectively the worst. Thus it makes sense that he could have been pushed way beyond the limit of what a person can manage. At the same time, I thought it was strange we see (so far) no descriptions of other symptoms of PTSD (like the shaking/panic attacks described by Yazbek), either in Hari himself or in others he encounters. This may connect with what Cait is saying. Were parts of the account suppressed to be not too traumatic for the sake of the audience?

As in The Return, “who gets to tell the story” is pretty clearly biased towards an extremely well-educated and well-traveled man with strong English skills rather an ordinary villager who has never left their village. As Cait suggests and Hari emphasizes in the beginning, having a variety of different voices is important, since everyone has such different experiences and reactions to/of the same event; people have too much of a tendency to think “I’ve read one account about that country/that conflict so it’s covered.” As far as the “optimism” and lack of mention of PTSD goes, though, I would guess (in this case) there could be more bias in what parts of the experience can be included for the book to be marketable, rather than exactly who writes it. Of course it’s hard to tell.

Along those lines, this book reminded me a lot of the Return. Clearly the geographical proximity, his time in Libya, his time in a prison (in Egypt), etc. contributed to this. But also the vivid, engaging descriptions: The bird scene definitely, like Becki mentions. Also so much just about camels stuck with me: how they remember their humans after decades, the crunch of bones as they walk through the desert, the way they grind their teeth before a battle! I’m really loving it so far.

I haven’t gotten to the parts about foreign aid yet, but I definitely noticed when he implicated the West in contributing to the crisis by using Sudan as a chess game for oil.

One last comment (sorry this is getting long!). So far I’m pretty suspicious about the title “The Translator.” It seems to unnecessarily de-center the account away from Hari to his Western companions, whereas this is really *his* story: his family, his village, his culture, his beautiful writing, etc. (Of course I haven’t really gotten to the part where he’s translating yet, apart from one scene with a Western journalist, so there may be some explanation for this later.) Could this connect to the suspicion about having things skewed for a certain audience? Am I overthinking this?

[Elizabeth]

To elaborate on my last point (also after having gotten to the translating parts of the book), I would have much preferred a title like "The Guide." "Translator" somehow seems too subsidiary to me; this was also my initial impression when I picked up the book. He did so much more than translate, he was really the brains and brawn of the whole operation, in addition to being the one who lived through the conflict himself. [Also when I say this I don't in any way mean to disparage translators, who do really important work.]

[Side note: Was also very interested to see the appearance of Nicholas Kristof, especially as described from the perspective of a Sudanese. I read his book Half the Sky a while ago, and I follow his columns. I've always wondered how such people are perceived by the locals.]

[Cait]

Both of your points about the 'out-of-body' tone on this have given me a different perspective. I didn't fully see that when I read it, but looking back after you point it out I definitely can. I read another book this year, A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier, by Ishmael Beah, where the author was obviously and understandably traumatized by what had happened - there were chunks of the story missing, probably suppressed, and an overall tone of disconnect, which grew more noticeable as his story progressed. I'm not sure why I didn't note the same thing in the Translator - possibly just because of the optimistic (?) tone, which is probably related to coping mechanisms and Hari's unique personality, which he attributes to being like his brother and being able to make friends wherever he goes (even, in this case, through his storytelling in this book).

As to the title - I think it probably does unnecessarily de-centralize him. That's a problem with many books, though - the most marketable part, after all, and sometimes the marketing department doesn't have the same objectives authors and publishers and readers do. Your questions about the title remind me of an article I read about Suki Kim's 'Without You, There Is No Us: My Time with the Sons of North Korea's Elite'. The book is the result of her investigative journalism, but it was marketed as memoir (which, apparently is a big problem for lots of non-fiction women authors), which made her motives appear far different and got her a lot of criticism from people for risking people's lives for 'selfish' reasons and a tell-all book, versus the accolades that other (male) investigative journalists would get for the same work. Anyway, after that long tangent, I would say yes I think it does make him seem more ancillary versus the main mover and shaker, but that title problems are a different, and at times even more problematic part of the publishing industry.

[Elizabeth]

I'll also add another thing that was striking to me (although unfortunately not unexpected): the differences in the way that Douad and Philip (the Westerner) were treated in captivity. It would have been very easy for Philip to get out of the situation, although he makes the courageous choice and sticks with Douad and the driver despite personal risk.

Also even given the issue with the title and other possible marketability issues, it was really great to have this account from Douad's point of view. I looked back at a NYTimes article about the incident, and it is about Philip with Douad mentioned only in passing. As we saw, Philip had it easier (although he stuck with Douad and equalized the situation as best he could) and this is really Douad's story. Articles like that are much worse than a de-centering title of an account by Douad.

And I think you're right Cait about there being a somewhat different standard for titles (like for titles of web articles, which I've heard are often written by entirely different people). The other book I've read recently that seems to suffer from a similar issue is Lab Girl, which was really about the experience of being a scientist rather than the author's issues with sexism/being a woman in science (which she mostly wrote about elsewhere). Somehow being a woman scientist means your memoir has to be marketed as being about women, while men get marketed as scientists.

[Becki]

That's interesting Claire! All in all, I was so glad for this book. It's my second favorite of all the ones we've chosen and I found Daoud so inspiring and positive despite the horrors he's seen. Attitudes like that (and ability to have hope in spite of all obstacles) is truly what I believe will save the world and make it a better place. I hope there are millions more Daouds out there!

[Cait]

I think this one falls just behind Persepolis for me (we need to have a poll when we're done with all 7 books to find our favorites!).

One last thing that stuck out to me was how well connected Daoud was - not in the sense of being rich, etc., but in the very literal way where he had personal connections with *so* many people - people in the refugee camps, people in surrounding villages, people in Egypt and westerners and aid workers around the world. Obviously you shouldn't have to have so many friends just to survive, but quite apart from his bravery and intelligence, he must be amazing to have so many genuine friends!

[Sylvia]

Two things:
1. In relation to Cait's comment about Daoud being so well-connected, this seems to be a particular function of the culture of indigenous people in that area (it's not really unique to Daoud). The kinship networks in and among villages and the systems of tribal governance are extremely well-developed (he mentions the deep knowledge of families that exists in the villages, for example). The strength of these networks is especially clear considering that they continued to function even in the midst of the ongoing violence and genocide. You could hear Daoud's sadness at the continuing loss of this way of life.

2. Re: Daoud's "optimistic" outlook: I work with people at the best and worst times of their lives, and as far as I can tell, there is not a clear way to account for why some people are so resilient in the face of trauma and some people are not. In my experience, it's not about the "severity" of the trauma, and it's not only to do with the resources a person has to deal with whatever trauma they experienced. A lot seems to be down to personality and internal traits that are really difficult to pinpoint. Perhaps Daoud was encouraged to sanitize or make more hopeful aspects of his account, I don't know. But to me, he appears to be one of those unique people for whom hope remains in the very darkest of places; who is able to see the absurdity of human life and laugh at it. Because of that, he is able to tell this story, and to give at least some voice to those who could not tell their stories - those for whom the trauma was too much. I'm thinking of the man whose young daughter was killed in front of him and the woman who hanged herself. If Daoud wasn't able to talk about his own story, theirs would be lost, too.

A side note: on some level, people want to hear stories like Daoud's because most of us need to believe that meaning can be taken from the horror, that somehow at least a bit of it can be turned to the good. I don't think Daoud sugarcoats what happened, but he does suggest meaning in the midst of it, which not all people can do and not all people think should be done.

I think of Daoud as being more in a similar vein to Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning (about his experiences in the concentration camps), whereas (as least what I read of) In the Crosshairs seemed more similar to Night by Elie Wiesel. They're both important, but have very different approaches to explaining experiences of profound suffering and trauma.

[Cait]

Do you think it was *completely* because of the indigenous culture? I mean, I definitely agree with you about his kinship network, and how word was passed from families and friends and neighbors (with information passing even faster when it has there's no way for it to travel, I think he says at one point). And it has occurred to me, not just with this book but with many of the others that we've read, that we (or at least I) do not have the same information networks or people connections, which echoes what I've read about Americans individualized lives. But I think in addition to that, Daoud has to have an incredible ability to make connections himself - with his jailer in Egypt, with western reporters and aid workers who were so instrumental in his release - even in his ability to convince his driver to take him on that last trip (which he regretted). Do you think it is all part of the same thing - growing up in that type of connected culture makes you more able to engage and befriend those outside the culture, too - including his readers?

I really appreciate your perspective on his 'optimistic' (even though that's not actually the right word) on trauma - your note about the other differing accounts from Frankl and Wiesel is a good one... and connecting their experiences to our current readings is making me think about the fact that even though everyone's story and experiences are different, there's so much that's the same as well - which sounds super trite, but it's something I've been noting with each book we read on this list.

[Sylvia]

Great point, Cait. It's definitely not completely due to his culture, but I imagine that it greatly enhanced his natural abilities in that area and also gave him a venue in which to use them. So he could function within an existing network rather than having to create one from scratch, although he certainly contributed to it and expanded it. Interesting to think of how we here in the US do or don't have similar networks. In some ways I feel like I have some serious similar ones through church and especially pastor colleagues, but I can't imagine they would be at all functioning without technology in the way that Daoud's seem to. I also wonder if people from smaller towns have something a bit more similar. I'm noticing that folks from small town ND seem to be very connected, especially through family ties and even if they don't live in their small town anymore. So overall, 🤷‍♀️

[Cait]

You're right, it probably did greatly enhance his natural abilities. And thinking about it, a lot of the friends/networking he was able to do was at least in part because he was vouched for by other parts of his network (although obviously that was not the case every time.)

I find the kinship/neighborhood aspect of this very interesting - my cousins seem to have similar relationships within their small rural towns, where they know exactly what everyone is doing, and even what houses and buildings are doing - I often hear them say things like 'where are you moving?' and a response like 'the old Johnson house' even though the Johnsons haven't lived there for decades. I do not have the same connection to my home town. I think that established, generational neighborhoods in urban areas have the same thing, but I don't think my neighborhood, with people constantly moving in and out (and a real divide between home-owners and renters) does. Maybe we'd have better networks if everybody had stoops, I've definitely heard that before!

[Becki]

This is all really interesting! Sylvia, I love the connection to Wiesel and Frankl - I hadn't thought about it in those terms but once you connected the dots, I can certainly see it. I think they are very apropos references for this piece.

And for the relational thing - I think its very much the size of community that matters more than culture. I grew up in a small town and I still have ties like Cait mentions that I know I will always be able to rely on, even if I haven't lived there in 10ish years. For better or worse, everyone really does know everyone, and there is definitely a deep bond that is created, even with people you don't explicitly know or even like that much. Something about that shared experience living in what is essentially a fishbowl really does tie people together.

There is always a divide between homeowners and renters that cities struggle to overcome. I'm not sure that anyone has figured it out (it's one of the reasons crime statistics are always higher in rental neighborhoods), but I do think that having more shared outdoor spaces and pedestrian friendly areas would work wonders. One of the most fascinating outcomes of the book Happy Cities (about removing cars and motorized vehicles from urban centers and going back to a more slow-moving transportation system/reinventing and re-prioritizing urban planning) was that everywhere that removed or lessened the presence of cars not only made overall transportation more efficient and safer across the board, but really created community in ways no one could have foreseen. Crime rates dropped, people spent exponentially more time outside, general health and well-being (both physical and mental) increased, and it was all around an extremely impressive result for such a seemingly simple fix. I've been thinking a lot about intentionally slowing down our lives (walking/biking more, making things by hand, spending less time doing stuff and more time being home and quiet, staying in with friends rather than going out, etc.) and how much happier and better I am when I do that. I think that emphasis on going analog is also going to be very important for community building, especially as climate change continues to drastically revise our landscapes and our cities.