Translation blues

The most common Malaysian joke about translation is probably tahi suci, a literal rendering of ‘holy shit’ in Bahasa. Whether that was really the part of a cinema subtitle, or is merely another urban legend, is unclear. Another example often cited by cinema aficionados is tembak, tembak for ‘fire, fire’. Apparently, there were no guns involved in the story. (This problem is, by no means, confined to Malay. There are dozens of emails going around about Chinese translations. We were watching a presentation of the Beijing Opera at KLPac once. The organisers had helpfully decided to provide surtitles for the Cantonese illiterate, me included. Somewhere in the middle of the show, when an opera couple was frolicking in a make belief garden, a translation flashed, “... like butterflies fondling in the garden.” It was certainly a good rendering of the Chinese opera (for neophytes like me), but that translation simply took my breath away. I was speechless. “What ... what ... whaaat?”

Among the things we do to pay our rent, is the editing of works already translated from Malay to English. One of the earliest ones we did involved head-hunters in East Malaysia about 150 years ago. In one scene, the characters talk about a tiang belian, the ironwood main pillar of a longhouse, and this was translated as ‘purchased pillar’! Hah, you didn’t know that, did you? One hundred and fifty years ago, headhunters already had kedai runcit in the middle of the jungle selling pillars for longhouses! Then in another scene in the same novel, the hero is confronted by the leader of the hunters who beats and puffs his chest to show off  kejantananya. This was translated as ‘beat his chest and shows off his manhood ...’ Flasher ... flasher!

Do translators even read over their work before submission, or do they not know any better?

Since then, we have insist on having the Malay original with us when we edit. Can you imagine this going into the international market in that form? We pick out dozens of such boo-boos in almost every book. How about this one we came across recently: “... kami cuma ada sepasang anak lembu, satu jantan dan satu betina ...” translated as “... we only have a pair of cow children, one male and one female ...”

I swear, time stood still at that point. Oh my God, it was so bad, it’s good. An Olympic gold medalist? You bet.

Then there is the prose. How is this for starters: ... mengikut tradisi tradisional yang amat berdradisi (repeated about a 150 times throughout the book). That is ‘ ... following traditional traditions that are extremely traditional’. (One might be tempted to think that this is a sure winner at the Olympics of prose until one sees the rest.) I am not a Malay scholar. I admit my knowledge of the language is purely functional, but can anyone out there tell me that this is good Malay prose? How does one edit stuff like that?

Then there are writers who love the ‘bunga-bunga’ stuff. How about this one: “The little clusters of sadness had become an island of sorrow that squeezed her in the narrows of her old age.”

Hahhh?

I can hear some people go, “Isn’t it so-oo beautiful? Like poetry?” Really? Like poetry? I am no poet, but if that isn’t an insult to the form, I don’t know what is. As far as I know, poetry lives on the economy of words, and the preciseness of their usage. This, on the other hand, is built on verbosity, diarrhoea; a writer carried away with his or her cleverness. This is the kind of stuff fifteen-year-old schoolgirls and schoolboys write to impress their friends and teachers. Anyway, does the writer even know what he or she is trying to say? As a reader, I certainly don’t. I could pretend, of course, so as not to look stupid. Read a few hundred of those and see what it does to your sanity.

This is not confined to Malay prose, either. Not too long ago there was a book that compared an earring falling into a cereal bowl to a meteor. One customer said that, when she came across this passage on page 90, she decided she had had enough. Another tossed his book across the room. This author went on to win the Man-Booker Prize for that year. There certainly is no accounting for taste.

So what is good prose? Is it merely a matter of personal taste, then? As a publisher, I have been asked that often. What do I look for in a manuscript? Okay, let me try:

Good prose is one that does not obstruct the flow of the story, nor take the attention away from it, nor bury it under a pile of verbose crap. It is like a good computer operating system: user-friendly, easy to use and elegant. It remains unobtrusively in the background, getting the job of telling a good story without screaming out for attention like an obnoxious five-year-old, “Mummy, mummy, look what I have done. See how clever I am.” Good prose is not about the cleverness of the writer. If the writer is clever, it will show. Every word, every phrase and every sentence will have to satisfy the conditions of necessity and sufficiency to earn its right to remain on the page.

Some might say I set the bar too high. After all, we are only Malaysians.

Banish that thought if you are planning to send me a manuscript.

Why we publish

We have heard it said many times before, that publishing in this country, especially in English, is crazy. Very often, it appears that way. It does sometimes feel like such a monumental waste of time. We have heard this many times before: no one reads in this country. But, having been publishers for ten years now, the converse argument often appears equally valid: no one writes.

Certainly, I am putting myself on the line for some verbal bashing with that . So, let me clarify. One only has to walk into any of the dozen mega bookstores (or any of the frequent warehouse sales) in the country to witness the feeding frenzy. So, Malaysians do buy books, whether they them read or not. But, the fact remains that the vast majority of the books bought are American, British or Australian, that is foreign. Many Malaysians would go as far as to say that they only read imported books because local books are not good,though it is unclear what exactly they mean by it: the design, the paper quality, the cover, the writing, the plot, the way the characters are drawn ... what?

We have said this many many times: if one wants a customer to buy one’s book, one has to give him or her a very good reason to pick it up instead of any of the thousands of other titles in the store -- including all the foreign ones, dating back to Homer and before. As far as book selling goes, Malaysians are totally and completely globalised.

So, on a bookshop shelf, egalitarianism rules; Malaysian books stand at par with imported ones, and a customer has every right to demand to know why he/she should spend hard-earned money on your book and not another. Is it good enough? What do you have to say that is unique? How is the argument presented? Is the writing any good? Will I be embarrassed if I were to take your book out in public? Etc, etc, etc. Life is so-oo difficult.

(We have also had customers ask why local books are so expensive. This book is RM30.00, and it has only 180 pages. That is more than 16 sen a page. How can? How much does it weight? What, 275 gms? That is almost 11sen a gramme, RM110.00 a kilo! That's too much. What is it about? Is there anything about May 13 in it? No? Why not? So what if it is a book on flower arrangement? It is Malaysian, isn’t it? Surely all Malaysian books must have something about the May 13th incident ... it can’t be much good then, can it? We do have all sorts of customers.)

For Malaysian publishing to survive, there has to be a credible book industry. Expect no help from the Government and, certainly, no handouts. Even a level playing field seems too much to ask. A media, less interested in glamour and more in news could be helpful, but don’t hold your breath.

Still, we persist. Why? Firstly, we don’t think Malaysians don’t read. Secondly, we believe Malaysian writers (living in Malaysia) can compete with international writers -- Shih-Li Kow did beat Booker winner Kazuo Ishiguro and Whitbread winner Ali Smith to the shortlist of the Frank O'Connor Award -- and Malaysians living abroad, and that too without ‘pandering’ to the Western reader (or the kukumars* amongst us) with the stereotype and the dubiously exotic. (When the Slumdog Millionaire circus came to town, we heard these comments. The first was from a Malaysian who said, "(Sitting in the cinema) I could imagine those mat-sallehs around me going, 'Oh it's so wo-onderful. Isn't is so-oo Indian,' every time AR Rahman's music score came on with another 'wretched-Indian' scene." The next one was from a white expatriate lady from South Africa who found the whole spectacle quite insulting. "This is exactly what they do to Africa all the time," she said.)

Thirdly, we know of many Malaysian readers (unlike those mentioned above) who are quite willing to pay for Malaysian writing, for its unique content, voice and experience. And finally, when we discover (or develop) a writer who is as good as any internationally, who sets a standard for writing and story-telling in the country, we get a major buzz. (That does not mean we don't know how much work the author has put into it.)

But  independent publishing can be a minefield, (unlike large publishing houses which are protected by several layers of anonymity).

Here is an example. One author (self published) who met a Silverfish staff on the street, wanted to know why we published so-and-so. She added that she didn't think Silverfish published 'that sort of thing'. What sort of thing? The answer should have been pretty straight forward: he is a good storyteller, he is entertaining, he is authentic and he is honest. Of course, we could not tell her that because her real question was, "Why are you publishing him, and not me?" Yes, life is so-oo difficult.

Note:
kukumars* -- a derogatory  term used in some parts of India to describe those who used to work as cooks in British households, who learned to wear dresses,  eat with tools, and (generally) refuse to speak any language other than English.

Why people write

I heard an interesting story recently about a boy who received a book from a girl he knew in school a few years ago (though they were not particularly close, according to him), but with whom he never really kept in touch, busy with his own life. How she obtained his address, he doesn’t know, but he thinks it was through friends of friends of friends. Anyway, the book was one of her own (self-published, or what, I do not know) with a personal message inside: I am a published author now, what about you?

Was it a challenge, a brag, revenge, or simply an inquiry -- nothing to say but, “What a day, how is your boyfriend?”

This brings us to 'why people write'. Although getting rich is still the prime motivator, fame, even if only as a dilettante, is a close second. Certainly, there are many who "simply must write”, though in most case the infatuation soon passes. Even so, this adds one more reason to the list. It is often said that everyone has a story within, to which others have, cynically, replied, “Perhaps, it should remain there.” Still, many want to write.

Obviously there are many forms of writing: for newspapers, magazines and websites, or, blogs, facebook, twitter, etc. But, the most curious of all is the need to get published -- to get a book out before one is sixteen, or twenty-one, or whenever, or just get one out. Is it the pull of immortality, knowing that a book is not transient, not ephemeral, that it has more than the one day lifespan of a newspaper story, or even a blog? Is it the burning desire to make the world a better place? To tell others how to lead their lives? Or is it about putting yourself out there, stark naked, for every one to gaze at, criticise and laugh. It is scary.

Why this strange affectation?

I read this on the internet: “Young people when asked what they want to do in life rarely give a sensible answer, firefighter, racing driver or rock star, spring to mind. However, an alarming number reply ‘a writer’ simply because they are under the illusion they could be creative in that profession or medium ... People believe writing requires no special talent, but is something humanity and human beings in general are able to do.”

Writing requires no special talent. Ah, how often have we met people who profess that. Then, there are those who consider themselves to be very special indeed (albeit, grievously misunderstood), even if they really aren’t, or are only marginally so. There are some who are certainly exceptionally talented but prefer (or remain trapped in) other things for various reasons. But, there are those who enjoy telling stories, spinning a good yarn, besides reading them. They make up stories for their children, their grandchildren, and for their friends and family.

This an extract from another article on the internet: “People start writing books as a way of putting their thoughts or ideas into words. They might also feel the urge to let others know what they are thinking. Some might be avid readers, who might want to venture out into the field of writing. There might also be people who want their ideology to be shared or sometimes even forced down on people's minds ...”

Whatever.

We know that many want to be writers, for whatever reason, but few succeed. Obviously, knowing what you want to do -- that is, write -- is insufficient. There is, obviously, the next step. How? How does one go about doing it? Writing classes and workshops? These will certainly top the list on many minds, and it is undeniable that one can learn a few ‘tricks of the trade’ there. But, there is also the danger of becoming serial course attendees. We know of many.

Actually the first ‘how’ is pretty basic. Don’t talk about writing, don’t think about writing, just write. Everyday. Every single day. If one wants to become a concert pianist, can one achieve one’s goal by not practising the scales for several hours everyday? For years? Answer this truthfully: when was the last time you wrote something creatively? When you were fifteen years old in school, trying to impress your friends? When you were ten, trying to impress your parents? Betty Edwards says that the average adult has the drawing skills of a twelve-year-old, because that was the last time they were allowed to draw creatively. Go figure.

The second is also very basic. Read. Yes, read, read, read and read. Not one book, not two books. Hundreds, thousands. In all subjects. By as many authors as you can. Far too many want to become authors after reading only one book. Can one become a concert pianist if one has listened only to one piece of music, or not at all?

The third ‘how’ is time. Yes, give it time. Say, you are 35 years old, and the last time you did a creative piece of work was when you were 15. And, the only thing you have done creatively since is fill up your income tax form. Now, you have twenty years of catching up to do. While it is not going to take you that long to write, you are not going to achieve anything much in the next two weeks, two months, or even two years.

Now that you have decided that you want to become a writer, and you know how you are going to go about becoming one, there still remains one major hurdle. Absolutely, the most important one. Why? Yes, why do you want to write? If your answer is fame and fortune, please join the queue -- there are only fifty million people ahead of you. And while you are at it, go buy yourself a lottery -- you will have a far better chance of winning the jackpot.

You write because you have to write. Why does Farish A Noor write? To become rich and famous? He writes because of the fire that burns within. Shih-Li Kow, too, writes to douse those same flames, though she prefers fiction. And Salleh ben Joned. And Karim Raslan ... they write because they think they have something to say, something important. They write about the world they want to live in. They write about their wishes, their dreams. They write about hope, even when they laugh about it, or cry in despair. Time and air and light and space have, really, nothing to do with it.

And finally, there is kiasu, afraid to lose, takut kalah. If you do something, there is a chance you may lose. If you do nothing, you cannot lose. Really? It this the Malaysian malaise, or is the reverse true? Takut menang. Are we so terrified of winning, of being relevant, that we can only subsume ourselves in mediocrity? If we want a world record, we choose a sport that no one else plays: tossing roti canai. If we want the world’s tallest building, we buy it.

Is takut menang what the badminton team suffers from?

Ether Books: the iTunes of short stories?

iTunes was introduced by Apple Inc on January 9, 2001, at the Macworld Expo in San Francisco. In 2003, Apple opened the iTunes Music Store and started a revolution in the music industry, one song at a time. At the time, the music industry was in turmoil over illegal downloads, and they were suing everyone in sight. (Does anyone remember Napster?) Enter Apple. In order to make it (legal downloads) to work, though, they had to convince the music industry to unbundled their albums and sell songs one at a time. That was not easy, but with a sufficiently strong reality distortion field they managed to convince the naysayers. The iTunes store started with 200,000 songs on its list (with DRM protection and all that to satisfy the industry). To date, some 10 billion songs have been downloaded.

Sophia Bartleet is now trying to do the same with Ether Books by launching an iPhone application that will allow readers to download short stories from the likes of Hilary Mantel, Alexander McCall Smith and (maybe) Shih-Li Kow, starting at GBP0.50. Sophia Bartleet thinks this will be “the renaissance of the short story."

Ether Books was launched at the London Book Fair recently. Currently, Ether Books bypasses publishers to sign up authors directly, and the application will initially be available only on the iPhone and iPod Touch. (It could be available for other devices in the future.) At the time of the launch Ether Books had 200 pieces from authors ranging from Hanif Kureshi to Paul McCartney.

It is a pretty modest start and there is no mention about how profits will be shared. That a service such as this will be a boon to short story writing is not a doubt. But will it be commercially viable? While I am totally supportive of the underdog, I believe that in a that runs on the hyperbole world, if you want to be noticed, you have to be big. Ether Books needs a lot more than 200 stories. Obviously, I have no way of knowing if she is a Steve Jobs, but I think she needs at least 20,000 stories up there to start with.

Will readers pay 50p for a story? It is nice to think that they would. In fact, I hope they do. But comparisons with the music industry are a little off, to say the least. When iTunes music store was introduced for legal downloads, music piracy was rampant. Apple bet that at least some of those involved in the illegal activity were (or had parents who were) honest  or sufficiently risk averse not to want to (or want their children to) end up on the ‘other side of the law’ with all its, real or imagined, dire consequences. It was, potentially, a huge market.

Unfortunately the same cannot be said for the short story. There is no rampant piracy going on worldwide. One even wonders if there is a demand. In an era where bragging rights are the most sought after of currencies -- money is no good if you can’t buy something with it that you can show off -- downloaded short stories in a mobile device are not terribly sexy. Cool is, queuing up in the freezing cold overnight for a Harry Potter or Dan Brown book, no matter how daft that is.

Still, I am optimistic. There will be the big names, of course, with their fan boys. But, strangely, I think that this market actually belongs to the small guys who live on the fringe -- literally. Imagine a one stop (online) shop with thousands of short stories from small publishers from over a hundred countries all over the world -- from Asia, Africa, Europe, Americas, everywhere. Who will be the buyers? The more serious minded, I should think; those who'd like to sample writings from around the globe; academics who might consider teaching some of the stuff they find, and students who will be required to study and write about them, at a cost that is a lot less than the price of a hardback or even a paper back. I think it would be a small market, but an extremely important one.

It could open up all sorts of opportunities. It could actually revive the short story form and put it back where it belongs. We have  customers who bemoan the ‘death’ of the short story, and we have those who say they ‘preferred’ to read novels, like as if they have moved on to the more ‘difficult’ stuff. (I use to think that when I was fifteen years old.) Then there are those who confess that they really cannot understand many of the short stories they read. Yes, liked in the case of all writing, there are many that require a PhD to understand.

The short story is a demanding form where every word, every sentence has to earn its right to live on the page(s). There is no room for laziness or obesity like in a novel. Hilary Mantel confesses in an interview with the BBC that it took her 12 years, on and off, to write her short story which is now available for download from Ether Books, and she certainly does not want it to be forgotten.

Here’s wishing Sophia Bartleet, and the Ether Books team, all the best in the venture, and thank you for trying to make a difference. Cheers.

Listen to the BBC World Service radio show with Sophia Bartleet, Hilary Mantel and others.