World Literature: The Politics of Translation
Introduction
By the end of the 20th century, academics and cultural critics began challenging the validity and Eurocentrism of “world literature,” a popular term dictating trends as to which literary courses are taught in universities, which works are translated, and which headlines are used for potential best-selling books. The international publishing market has employed the term in its endeavor to appropriate non-Western cultures or market titles, both original and translated, that resonate with the world’s most pressing political issues. At the same time, writers started to compete for the coveted status of being a “world literature” figure. It is important to examine the position of the non-Western or Arab author within the dilemma of achieving the promises of this impossible term, a term susceptible to existing political dynamics, as well as to the foreign policies of global powers and their media outlets. Examining the place of the non-Western in “world literature” reveals that the hegemony, and supposed superiority, of American and European cultures is reflective of a sustained imperialist legacy, enabled by the implicit politics of translation.
To highlight the narrow focus of world literature, international recognition of authors from non-Western contexts requires greater examination. Analyzing social, economic, and political dynamics around textual translation, this essay seeks to encourage its readers to pursue literary experiences beyond the standard, albeit incomplete, conceptions of world literature. In order to decolonize the global literary canon, it remains crucial to recognize and question how the cultural hegemony of Eurocentrism is reflected in literary studies today.
Global Anthologies
Translation can be described as the practice of finding common ground between a foreign text and an already existing familiar framework in the minds of the translator’s audience. Seeking a literary counterpart across languages and cultures allows ideas and values from one to resonate with another. However, this also suggests that in cases where a familiar framework does not exist in the targeted language and culture, the text in question risks literary confinement to the language in which it was originally produced. Consequently, in both historical and contemporary literary studies, Arab and non-Western authors who lacked a Western analog for their work were overshadowed in discussions of “world literature”—originally Weltliteratur, a term coined by German polymath and poet Johann Wolfgang von Goethe in the 19th century.1 Prominent Moroccan scholar Abdelfattah Kilito writes in his book Thou Shalt Not Speak My Language, “Woe to the writers for whom we find no European counterparts: we simply turn away from them, leaving them in a dark, abandoned isthmus, a passage without mirrors to reflect their shadow or save them from loss and death-like abandon.”2
Kilito’s statement illustrates the experience of many non-Western scholars in studying the global literary canon. It would be near inconceivable for William Shakespeare’s works, one of the most influential and widely recognized literary figures, to be reduced to a footnote in an anthology. However, works by a multitude of Arab and other non-Western historical literary figures are still treated as such, despite their merits and literary contributions. The influence of Arab cultures and the Islamic world in medieval Europe is undeniable, though it is still not reflected in the most commonly read and cited global anthologies.3 Rather, the leading figures of the Arab and non-Western world, who have written in non-European languages, are often omitted, and thus their works are absent from contemporary discussions around what constitutes world literature.
This lack of recognition has a dialectical relationship with translation. On the one hand, as non-Western works are not prioritized in a global context, they have not been widely translated. On the other hand, the lack of translation opportunities has meant that these works continue to remain unknown to a wide international audience, in turn decreasing the demand for their translations. Historical power dynamics manifest themselves in the conceptions of world literature, and an examination of this relationship is key to shifting them.
The Hegemony Of Colonial Literature
The 20th and early 21st centuries witnessed widespread decolonization movements, which sought to dismantle intellectual and cultural paradigms that had been imposed on non-Western societies by colonial powers.4 These movements extended to language and literature, with authors and other literary figures in post-colonial locales advocating to reclaim their identity and culture in the face of the dominant Eurocentric discourse. As colonial powers withdrew from newly independent nations, non-Western diasporas proliferated in American and European metropolitans. Cities such as New York, London, Paris, and Berlin saw the creation of vibrant immigrant communities, leading to a demographic diversification that spearheaded examinations of colonial influences on ideology, philosophy, ethics, and literature.
This period coincided with the rise of multinational corporations that monopolized the global publishing industry, often based in North America or Europe, in the very cities where diaspora communities were forming. Towards the end of the 20th century, works outside of the European literary tradition that was published by large publishing houses thus reflected a particular tension between non-Western authors and Western audiences. Translated into or written in European languages by bilingual authors in Western contexts, these works would emerge from their experiences navigating neocolonial interests, cultural hegemonies, and sociopolitical power dynamics that heavily favored assimilation. In order to ensure profitability, the books selected, translated, and published would often be crafted and designed for an Anglophone or Francophone audience. Ultimately, what determined global success and recognition was not necessarily the literary genius or the linguistic prowess of the non-European author, but the way in which the work would evoke the Eurocentric collective imagination.
Kilito was aware of the Eurocentric conception of “world literature,” and argued that Arab readers often revisit European literature in an effort to make sense of their history through the Western context, despite evidence indicating that the Arabic classics preceded and possibly influenced the Western classics.5 He wrote, “The reader of an Arabic text soon connects it, directly or indirectly, to a European text. He is necessarily a comparatist, or we could say a translator.”6 Having only witnessed the dominant portrayal of European philosophy and language, reflected in works such as those of Dante Alighieri, Descartes, Friedrich Nietzsche, and Ferdinand de Saussure, Arab readers operating in Western contexts, either within or beyond the geographical Western world, inadvertently read canonical works of Arab literature in conversation with familiar European literary frameworks.7 On this note, Kilito elaborates, “We [Arab readers] read Al-Mutanabbi and think of Nietzsche and The Will to Power; we read Risalat Al-Ghufran [The Epistle of Forgiveness] and willy-nilly The Divine Comedy appears before us…we read Abd Al-Qahir Al Ju-rjani’s Dal’il Al-Ijaz [Signs of Inimitability] and suddenly we meet Saussure; we read Abu Hamid Al-Ghazali’s Al-Mungidh min Al-Dalal [The Savior from Error] and Descartes comes to save us from confusion.”8 These connections reflect the impact of colonial legacies. As Kilito describes, the Arab reader often mentally shifts and draws comparisons between his own tradition and that of European texts, even when the former preceded the latter.9
The Privilege Of Language
Some non-European authors have also benefited from the privilege of mastering European languages such as English, French, and German. As theorist Aijaz Ahmad points out, these authors have been glorified by modern Western critics for their ability to move between cultures, and become the sole “representatives” of their non-European race, continent, or civilization.10 For instance, Lebanese author Amin Maalouf opted to write in French rather than Arabic, while Elif Shafak publishes her novels predominantly in English, instead of her native Turkish. The marketing strategies employed by international publishing houses have framed such works as the literary epitome of an entire country, continent, or even of the “Third World,” with the ultimate goal of increasing profitability for the publishers themselves. In turn, these strategies have distorted literary works from contemporary African, Arab, and Asian authors, privileging those who are able to write in English.
Recognizing that in the non-Western world, “the acquisition of the language of the colonizer was based on the death of the languages of the colonized,” Kenyan writer Ngugi wa Thiong’o contends that “language is a war zone.”11 When contemporary bilingual authors write in English or with the intention that their works will be translated, hoping to reach and impress Eurocentric academic circles and the global publishing market, they indirectly reinforce imperialistic dynamics. In a time of unprecedented international connectivity and globalization, it is possible to point to an ideological battle that simultaneously operates on two planes: between language and translation, on one side, and between national and “world literature” on the other.
Based on this tension, some authors advocate for linguistic decolonization: the elimination of the hegemonic language of former colonizers or the dominant culture, such as English or French, in favor of reading, writing, teaching, and pursuing literature in one’s native language. After composing his early works in English, for instance, Thiong’o spent a period of his life writing only in Kikuyu, a Bantu ethnic language spoken predominantly in Kenya, in order to challenge “the colonization of the mind.”12 This pursuit often means that works written in English take priority in the international literary scene, gathering reviews and award nominations, and taking their place in best-seller lists. Works not written in English remain available to a limited audience, and thus, have a limited effect. Efforts to decolonize literature by writing in one’s native language carry the oppositional consequence of constricting the impact of these efforts. The choice of language, then, can both expand and limit literary decolonization around the world.
Power & Translation
Just as the choice of language is shaped by economic concerns around profitability, and cultural concerns around maintaining or disrupting hegemonies, works in translation are deeply impacted by contemporary political realities. The widespread recognition of texts in English, while texts in native languages remain overlooked, reflects the political power Anglophone cultures still hold. To translate is not simply to interpret or transfer a text from one language to another, rather, it is to reconstruct nuances between cultures. It involves an extreme and radical transformation that renders an “afterlife” to an original text, “which could not be called that if it were not a renewal of something living.”13
In his introduction to Kilito’s Thou Shalt Not Speak My Language, the translator of the work from Arabic into English, Wail S. Hassan, questions what happens in the translation of texts to more dominant languages. He writes,
“In some cases, translation functions as the extension of military, political, and economic power, much the same way that Orientalism has facilitated and justified imperialism. In that sense, some languages prey on others, colonize them, plunder, and cannibalize their texts. When it does not fulfill culturally imperialist purposes, translation serves commercial, strategic, or military interests.”14
This is because the need to translate a text to a more dominant language corresponds to the power one population holds over another. It forces the sociopolitical nuances in the original text to be deleted or shifted where needed, perpetuating the idea that cultures must be amended in order to be understood by a certain population and mindset. Hassan connects translation-related terminology in various European languages to that in Arabic, investigating how textual transformation reveals assertions of power between cultures and languages. As a translated text represents the “afterlife” of the original, he writes that “translation hovers on the boundary between life and death,” between recognition and oblivion.15 For instance, the English word “translation,” derived from the Latin translatus, means “to move from one place to another” or “to carry across,” invoking the idea of one crossing over into the afterlife, or to a foreign context. The French word traduire, from the Latin traducere, and the German übersetzen likewise convey this idea of moving from one place to another.16 In Arabic, the etymological connotations of translation are strikingly different from those in English, French, or German. The most commonly used term to describe translation in Arabic, tarjamah, means “explanation in another language” and “interpretation,” and it can also be interpreted as “biography” or “life.”17 The word points to finding an understanding between cultures, and giving new life to a text. However, tarjamah also shares the same root verb, rajama, with a multitude of words in Arabic that point to other ways in which translation is perceived in Arab cultures. Rajama forms the foundation of the words rajm (killing, reviling), rajeem (driven away, insulted), and rujmah (grave), as well as expressions like kalam marjum, which indicates unreliable speech.18 Therefore, the Arabic word for translation “carries connotations of alienated speech that has the flavor of falsehood, damnation, and death, but also possibilities of survival, narration, and understanding.”19 Reflecting the historical power dynamics between European cultures and non-Western cultures, the etymology of translation points to the fact that while it is a mere “transformation” from one language to another for Latin languages, for Arabic, it dually represents the tarnishing of the text and the loss or “death” of meaning.
These etymological explorations demonstrate that beyond what a text loses or gains, once translated from the original language, the act of translation possesses an intensity of transformation analogous to life and death. Death and language have been historically coupled in ways suggestive not only of the power of language, but of the threat that certain languages, particularly the imperial languages of armies that subjugated people in foreign lands, may pose to others. Histories of colonization reveal how some empires, once they occupied a new territory, chose to translate certain books from their native language and then proceed to burning the original copies.20 Through this process, the dominant political and cultural entities, the colonizers, could claim the colonized populations’ intellectual treasures as their own, allowing access only to those fluent in the language of the victors. In a lecture given at the Sharjah Art Foundation Symposium, Kilito provides an illustrative example. According to historical accounts of Alexander the Great’s conquest of the Kingdom of Darius, Alexander seized all books and ordered them to be translated into Greek, the language of Macedonia. He then burned all the original texts in Persian, and killed those who attempted to save them from the fire.21
The Spanish Inquisition is another example of cultural distortion through translation. In 1492, amidst the expulsion of non-Christians from Iberia after the fall of the Emirate of Granada, ruled by the last Muslim dynasty in the peninsula, many researchers believe that inquisitors burned and destroyed Arabic and Hebrew texts.22 Yet, the 13th-century translations of these texts into Latin and Castilian, often commissioned in medieval Spain by King Alfonso X of Castile, remained untouched.23 Translation has ensured the access, or the lack thereof, of certain texts to the literary canon throughout history. As illustrated by these examples, however, this access was regulated by the regimes and populations that held power, and the cultural and intellectual domains that were influenced by the dynamics of political force. Populations who held political power were able to shift the literary, and thus the intellectual, estates of the populations they held power over. Through controlling texts, they were able to influence, shape, and subjugate conquered cultures in accordance with their colonial interests.
Recognizing the power of literary works, a number of figures throughout history have resisted the translation of texts into the languages of rival populations or empires. An example is Kalīlah wa Dimnah, or the Panchatantra, which was originally written in Sanskrit. The book’s history starts when the Indian philosopher Baydaba, also known as Vishnu Sharma, presented his book to the King of Great India, requesting that Persians not read the book so they would not benefit from its wisdom. However, the Persians found the book, as did the Arabs after them.24 Eventually, an Arabic translation of the text found its way to the court of Don Juan Manuel, a Spanish writer and aristocrat. The text was translated into Castilian as Calila e Dimna, inspiring Don Juan Manuel’s medieval text of frame tales, El Conde de Lucanor, which was written in 1335 but published in Seville in 1575.25
Although Baydaba introduced his book as forbidden and prohibited to outsiders, one that foreigners must not approach, touch, or read, the text was distributed across the Old World, influencing the development of literary traditions among Arab, Persian, and Spanish societies.26 Baydaba’s refusal to reveal the intellectual treasures of India goes hand in hand with objections to engaging with a foreign culture, reflecting the idea that “I will not read you, and you will not read me,” or “I will not translate you, and you will not translate me.”27
Conclusion
Though efforts to rethink translations and offer new readings that map the place of non-European traditions are ongoing and much needed, the status quo of world literature cannot be separated from the economic and political history of the world. Language has always been a powerful instrument of dominance and cultural imperialism. Some cultures have been destroyed because of the imposition of a powerful foreign culture, or even through “linguicide,” the death of a language that occurs when it loses its last native speaker. The current economic, social, and political order favors works written in English, and editors and translators diligently amend meaning for the purpose of facilitating the understanding of non-Western texts for a Western audience. World literature, then, is not necessarily faithful to literary history, but is rather a manifestation of Eurocentrism, often maintaining the past hegemony of European languages and cultures.
It is possible to observe this cultural Eurocentrism in contemporary Arab populations as well. Readers of literature in the region are often familiar with works by Hemingway, Joyce, and Baudelaire, but not by Al-Mutanabi or Abu al Ala’ al-Ma’arri. Even as “world literature” claims to encompass the global literary canon while prioritizing Western authors and languages, deconstructing its Eurocentric identity is one way of striving to amend the lack of recognition granted to Arab and other non-Western authors, both in historical and modern terms. After all, the story of “world literature” comes down to one question: on whose terms are the criteria for universal excellence in literary writing and human expression determined?
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The statements made and views expressed are solely the responsibility of the author, and do not represent Fiker Institute.
