Pitch Perfect: Is Translating Publishers’ Proposals the Hardest Gig of All?

完美的音调:翻译出版商的建议是最难的工作吗?

2019-10-28 20:00 Lingua Greca

本文共2712个字,阅读需28分钟

阅读模式 切换至中文

I’ve just reached the end of my first year of describing myself as a literary translator. This does not, unfortunately, mean that I’ve spent the last twelve months translating high-quality fiction for discerning independent presses. Instead, the bulk of my work continues to be non-literary: academic papers, documentation for NGOs, corporate communications. My literary work, also, has been a mixed bag. I’ve translated my first “proper” book (a piece of narrative non-fiction), had a play performed and published, and churned out a scree of samples (some paid, others speculative initiatives of my own). And sitting in the middle, straddling the literary and the non-literary worlds, is the occasional work I do for agents and publishers, translating book proposals, more commonly referred to as pitches. There’s a widespread, if largely unspoken, assumption that literary translation in some way represents the pinnacle of the translation profession, if not for the financial rewards it offers then for the satisfaction it provides and, perhaps, the challenges it poses. To put it bluntly, people think not only that literary translation is more interesting than other forms of translation (I’d tend to agree) but also that it is more difficult. Looking back over my translation year, I’m not so sure. It’s true that I’ve faced plenty of literary challenges. In the first chapter of my narrative non-fiction text, I had to master a bewildering range of voices: from contemporary reportage to seventeenth century Spanish colonial chronicles, from the Quechua-inflected voices of Bolivian tin miners to the cadences of a liberation theologian from the Basque Country. For the play, I had to translate a song, sight unseen, to fit music that had not yet been composed, delivering the full script in a fortnight so that the theatre could cast and rehearse actors. And for a commissioned sample, for a chapter of Buenos Aires noir set in the 1930s, I found myself in a state of mild linguistic paranoia as I came to realise that every other sentence of the text concealed a tango allusion. My non-literary work, too, has thrown up its challenges. There was the analysis of European Union migration policy that I had to rewrite on the fly as part of the translation process. Evidence of a job well done and (paradoxically) of a lot of hard work, was a target word-count that weighed in a full 25% lighter than the source. Or perhaps the delicate letter I had to translate, balancing the cultural sensibilities of Barcelona, Tokyo and Los Angeles. The addressee was unlikely to read the letter, but only because he had died a month earlier. My translation was to be included in the corporate magazine of a pharmaceutical multinational by way of an obituary. But none of these assignments compares for sheer trickiness with the proposals I’ve translated for a clutch of agents and publishers that I’ve made contact with as a result of my relentless book-hounding. These proposals are the texts that agents and publishers put on the foreign rights section of their websites, include in catalogues for book fairs, and send out to their contacts whenever they have a title they think might work in translation. I’m going to start with a couple of caveats, though. What follows refers to the proposals of the select band of Spanish agents and publishers I work with. I’m sure that other agents do things differently. And I’d be very surprised if things weren’t done differently in other countries, too. It’s also worth noting that agents have to take a somewhat scattergun approach. Of course there’s the odd safe bet, but most titles won’t be picked up, so agents tend to present a fairly extensive list of potential candidates in the hope that a few of these will appeal to buyers. (One of the side benefits of doing this work is that it helps me to keep abreast of the Spanish publishing industry in general, gives me insights into what agents think is likely to sell, and also allows me to develop a feeling for what does and doesn’t work, which, hopefully, I can apply to any pitching I might do on my own account.) It’s also important to realise that English is a vector language, used to sell on into other languages. And, finally, the deadlines are pretty tight, with proposals generally being put together (and then translated) at short notice. All of this means that, far from writing bespoke pitches for the English-speaking market, agents have little choice but to cut and paste from existing material, with minimal cultural adaptation or rewriting. And the existing material may have been created for a home audience (Spain, in my case) and with a different purpose in mind (persuading booksellers to give shelf space to a title that has already been published, for example, or facilitating the work of critics and reviewers in the hope of garnering media coverage). Those disclaimers aside, the typical proposal document I receive looks something like this: a paragraph or two about the author; a paragraph or two about the book itself; and some external validation of the text, in the form of sales figures, prizes and quotes. So, a page in total, which really consists of three rather distinct micro-texts, each of which requires a very different approach. Author bio Let’s see what this looks like in practice, starting with the author bio. Here’s the opening paragraph of a pitch I translated recently. (I’ve changed a few of the details for reasons of confidentiality.) Cristina Jiménez nació en Cádiz en 1990. Es arquitecta por la Universidad Autónoma de Barcelona y tiene estudios en Derecho por la UNED. Ha sido redactora en la revista especializada Arquitectura Hoy y escribe también en otros medios de comunicación y difusión cultural, como la web literaria Letras. Ha traducido textos periodísticos y libros. En 2013 obtuvo una beca de residencia literaria en la Fundación José Martínez para Jóvenes Creadores de Zaragoza, durante la que desarrolló su primera novela, Al otro lado del mar. Here’s a faithful translation (so minimal adaptation of the content): Cristina Jiménez was born in Cádiz (Spain) in 1990. She graduated in Architecture from the Autonomous University of Barcelona and studied law with the Spanish national distance learning university, UNED. She has been an editor at the specialist journal Arquitectura Hoy and also writes for other media and cultural outlets, such as the literary website Letras. She has translated journalistic texts and books. In 2013, she obtained a literary residency grant at the Fundación José Martínez for Young Creative Artists in Zaragoza, during which time she developed her first novel, Al otro lado del mar. And here’s my adapted version: Cristina Jiménez was born in Cádiz (Spain) in 1990. She holds a degree in Architecture from the Autonomous University of Barcelona and studied Law at UNED. She has worked as an editor for the journal Arquitectura Hoy, writes for some of Spain’s leading cultural platforms, including the literary website Letras, and has translated books and articles for publishers and news outlets. In 2013 she was awarded a José Martínez Foundation grant for Young Creative Artists in Zaragoza, which funded a residency to work on her debut novel, Al otro lado del mar. Now, if it was up to me, I’d cut this down further. I can’t imagine any commissioning editor being swayed to buy a comic novel because they are impressed by the young author’s architectural and legal background and, personally, I don’t include this kind of biographical detail in a pitch. But the nature of my relationship with the client and the constraints of time and budget mean that I prefer not to make that suggestion for now. Instead, I focus on cutting out any excess information, making the piece flow, and subtly refocusing it towards the business of writing. Synopsis Now it’s on to the next section: the synopsis. The following is from a different novel, which the publisher categorises as “up-market women’s fiction.” La anodina vida de Samuel y su esposa Carmela cambia radicalmente cuando él recibe una carta anónima en la que se le dice que Rosario no es su verdadera madre y que si quiere conocer la verdad de su origen debe volar a Roma esa misma noche. Hay preguntas que necesitan una respuesta. Aunque los secretos familiares a veces son de los más temibles. Descubrir que uno tiene a un hermano gemelo desconocido, y que este decida usurpar tu identidad en tu propio matrimonio solo puede provocar una sucesión de terribles acontecimientos… tanto como encuentros inesperados. En el oscuro Berlín de la RDA, ¿todo vale para conseguir la libertad? ¿Acaso Carmela se dará cuenta? ¿Hasta qué punto a ella misma le conviene asumir esa nueva realidad? Here’s a rather literal translation: The anodyne life of Samuel and his wife Carmela changes radically when he receives an anonymous letter in which he is told that Rosario is not his real mother and that if he wants to know the truth about his origins he must fly to Rome that very night. There are questions that need an answer. Although family secrets are sometimes the most frightening. Discovering that one has an unknown twin brother, and that he has decided to usurp your identity in your own marriage can only provoke a succession of terrible events… and unexpected encounters. In the dark Berlin of the GDR, does anything go to achieve freedom? Will Carmela realise? To what degree is it convenient for her to assume this new reality? We get the gist. There is subterfuge, romance… and melodrama galore. But the job of the synopsis is not just to summarise the plot but to sell the text. So I have to do my best to make this synopsis shine. Some of this is just the usual business of intelligent word choice, taking care not to mindlessly reproduce source structures in the target, and the like. The mundane lives of Samuel and his wife Carmela change radically when Samuel receives an anonymous letter informing him that Rosario is not his real mother, and telling him that he must fly to Rome that very night if he wants to know the truth about his origins. Some questions demand an answer. But family secrets can be the most terrifying of all. And the discovery of an unknown twin brother, one who has decided to steal Samuel’s identity and supplant him in his marriage, inevitably unleashes a succession of terrible events… and unexpected encounters. For someone trapped in East Berlin, is anything fair game in the search for freedom? Will Carmela realise what’s going on? Or perhaps she has her own reasons for accepting the new situation? I can’t change the content, obviously. Who am I to say whether a commissioning editor somewhere will be intrigued by this tale of identity theft and espionage behind the Berlin Wall? But I do need to make my translated synopsis as appealing as possible. I gently clarify that confusing first sentence by repeating the protagonist’s name, craft a punchy middle paragraph out of the final two sentences of the opening paragraph of the original, and make the final paragraph more cohesive by introducing a hunting theme (“unleash”, “trapped”, “fair game”). Quotations And so, fresh from crafting a piece of micro-fiction, I move on to some quotations. These are always tricky. Quotations make people nervous. Understandably, the general rule is to privilege word-for-word accuracy over fluency. I guess that’s why it’s now so common to see Google-translated quotes dropped into newspaper articles. I can see the thinking: who am I to change the speaker’s words? (Although, of course, you’ve already changed them by turning them into English. And happily incorporating the unedited output of Google Translate into your carefully crafted article strikes me as the journalistic equivalent of trailing a pair of muddy boots across an Afghan rug.) But in this context, the quotes are not courtroom evidence, to be tampered with at the translator’s peril. Rather, they are there to demonstrate the credentials of the text, to show that it has been read and appreciated by discerning readers. Here are a few examples of fulsome praise for a Spanish crime series: «¡Qué maestría para convertir a Goya en el protagonista de una novela negra del siglo XXI! El lector se emborracha de felicidad leyendo esta novela.» «La comisaria Figueroa es el mejor ejemplo de novela de procedimiento con ritmo, pulso narrativo, creación de personajes y acción.» «Ana Cristina Sánchez pinta un Barcelona de espacios míticos y nuevos fantasmas de la ópera. Una novela para el placer y la reflexión.» «Sánchez ha sabido entender un talante tan peculiar como el de los policías y convertir todo lo que sabe por su oficio en ficción y literatura.» Here, for what they’re worth, are the direct translations: “What mastery to convert Goya into the protagonist of a thriller novel of the 21st century! The reader becomes drunk on happiness reading this novel.” “Commissioner Figueroa is the best example of a procedural novel with rhythm, narrative pace, creation of personalities and action.” “Ana Cristina Sánchez paints a Barcelona of mythical spaces and new phantoms of the opera. A novel for pleasure and reflection.” “Sánchez has known how to understand the very particular character of police officers and convert everything she knows from her craft into fiction and literature.” I hope we can all agree that these are somewhere between unusable and incomprehensible in this form. They certainly aren’t going to help convince a wavering commissioning editor that this is the title they need to add to their list. And here are my adapted versions: “What a touch of genius to make Goya the protagonist of a thriller set in the 21st century! The reader is in for an absolute treat.” “Harbour of Death is a brilliant police procedural, narrated with rhythm and pace, packed with action, and full of characters who are all too believable.” “Ana Cristina Sánchez’s Barcelona is a city of timeless spaces inhabited by modern-day phantoms of the opera. A novel that provides both pleasure and food for thought.” “Sánchez has drawn on her experience as a journalist, transforming her detailed knowledge of the police into fiction and literature.” Some of this is fairly standard mildly creative translation, so that maestría becomes “a touch of genius” (rather than “mastery”) and espacios míticos are “timeless spaces” (rather than “mythical” ones). But in other places I’ve had to engage in full-blown transcreation, transforming the happily drunken reader of the first quote into one who is in for an absolute treat, or specifying the title of the book in the second quote or, in the final quote, informing the English reader that the author—a well-known Spanish journalist—draws on this experience in creating her fiction. And there’s one more factor to consider. I already mentioned the tight deadline, which means there’s no question of sitting on these texts for days and going through multiple revisions while you wait for inspiration to strike. But to make this job pay (and I don’t do it just for the love of it), I have to get through about 2,000 words a day. In practice, that means that the work I’ve just walked through here has to be turned around in about 30 minutes, from rough draft to finished product, including any background research. I think those practical constraints, combined with the conflicting challenges of information transfer, creative translation and cultural adaptation, make this the hardest work I do as a translator. Now could someone please just commission me to translate a big fat novel? This article originally appeared in In Other Words (Issue 53, Summer 2019), the journal of the Translators Association, published by the National Centre for Writing.
我把自己描述成文学翻译家的第一年刚刚结束。 不幸的是,这并不意味着我在过去的12个月里一直在为有眼光的独立出版社翻译高质量的小说。 相反,我的大部分工作仍然是非文学性质的:学术论文,非政府组织文件,企业沟通。 我的文学作品也是喜忧参半。 我翻译了我的第一本“正宗”的书(一本叙事性的非小说作品),演出并出版了一部戏剧,还制作了一堆样本(有些是付费的,有些是我自己的思辨性倡议)。 而坐在中间,横跨文学和非文学世界的是我偶尔为代理商和出版商做的工作,翻译图书提案,更多的时候被称为推销。 有一个广泛的假设,如果大部分没有说出来,文学翻译在某种程度上代表了翻译职业的顶峰,如果不是因为它提供的经济回报,那么就是因为它提供的满足感,也许还有它带来的挑战。 说白了,人们不仅认为文学翻译比其他形式的翻译更有趣(我倾向于同意),而且认为它更难。 回顾我翻译的这一年,我不是很确定。 我确实面临过很多文学上的挑战。 在我的非小说叙事文本的第一章中,我必须掌握一系列令人困惑的声音:从当代报告文学到17世纪西班牙殖民编年史,从玻利维亚锡矿工人的克丘亚语调到巴斯克地区解放神学家的抑扬顿挫。 为了演这出戏,我必须翻译一首歌《看不见》,以适应尚未创作的音乐,并在两周内完成完整的剧本,以便剧院安排演员和排练。 为了一个委托制作的样本,一部布宜诺斯艾利斯黑色电影的一章,背景设定在20世纪30年代,我发现自己处于一种轻微的语言偏执状态,因为我意识到文本的每一句都隐藏着探戈的典故。 我的非文学作品也 抛出了它的挑战。 对欧盟移民进行了分析 作为翻译过程的一部分,我不得不随时重写的政策。 一项出色的工作和(矛盾的是)大量艰苦工作的证据,是一个 目标字数比源字数轻25%。 或者也许 我不得不翻译的这封微妙的信,平衡了 巴塞罗那,东京和洛杉矶。 收件人不太可能阅读 这是因为他一个月前就死了。 我的翻译是 包括在一家制药跨国公司的公司杂志中 讣告。 但这些任务都没有 与我翻译的建议相比较,这是一个非常棘手的问题 我联系的代理和出版商 不屈不挠的书迷。 这些提案是代理人和 出版商在其网站的外国版权部分,包括 书展的目录,并在他们有资料的时候发送给他们的联系人 他们认为可能在翻译中起作用的标题。 我要从几个 不过,要注意的是。 以下所述的是#个选定波段的建议 与我合作的西班牙代理商和出版商。 我敢肯定其他探员 不一样。 我会很惊讶的,如果事情不是以不同的方式 其他国家也是。 同样值得注意的是探员 必须采取一些分散的方法。 当然有奇怪的保险箱 我打赌,但大多数头衔不会被选中,所以经纪人倾向于给出一个公平的 一份广泛的潜在候选人名单,希望其中的一些人能 吸引买家。 (做这项工作的一个附带好处是 我想了解西班牙出版业的总体情况,给了我 对代理商认为可能销售的产品的洞察力,也让我能够 培养一种对什么有效,什么不有效的感觉,希望我能应用这种感觉 对于我自己可能做的任何投球来说。)意识到这一点也很重要 英语是一种向量语言,用来向其他语言推销。 而且, 最后,最后期限很紧,一般情况下 一起(然后翻译)在短时间内通知。 所有这些都意味着,远非 为讲英语的市场撰写定制的广告,代理商几乎没有什么 选择,但从现有材料剪切和粘贴,最小化文化 改编或重写。 而现有的材料可能是为 国内观众(在我的例子中是西班牙),并考虑到不同的目的 (说服书商把书架空间让给已经 例如,出版或促进批评家和评论者的工作 获得媒体报道的希望)。 撇开那些免责声明不谈 我收到的一份典型的提案文件是这样的:一个段落或者 二是关于作者; 关于书本身的一两段; 还有一些 文本的外部验证,以销售数字,奖品和 引语。 因此,一个总共的页面,实际上由三个截然不同的页面组成 微文本,每一种都需要非常不同的方法。 作者简介 让我们看看这在实践中是什么样子,从 作者简介。 这是我最近翻译的一篇演讲的开篇。 (出于保密的原因,我更改了一些细节。) 克里斯蒂娜·希门尼斯·纳西翁·卡迪斯,1990年。 Es arquitecta por la Universidad 巴塞罗纳自治和关于人权的研究。 哈西多 专门的Arquitectura Hoy和escribe También en revista redactora otros medios de comunicación y difusión cultural,como la web literaria letras。 Ha traducido textos perioísticos y libros。 En 2013 obtuvo una beca de 何塞·马丁内斯儿童基金会文学研究中心(JoséMartínez para Jóvenes Creadores de) 萨拉戈萨,durante la que desarrollósu primera novela,Al otro lado del Mara。 这里有一个忠实的翻译(所以 内容的最小改编): 克里斯蒂娜 希门尼斯1990年出生于西班牙的卡迪斯。 她毕业于 在巴塞罗那自治大学学习法律 国立远程教育大学。 她一直是 专家杂志Arquitectura Hoy和 为其他媒体和文化媒体撰稿,如文学网站Letras。 她翻译过新闻文本和书籍。 2013年,她获得了 何塞·马丁内斯基金会青年创作人员文学留校补助金 在萨拉戈萨的艺术家,在此期间她开发了她的第一部小说,Al 奥特罗·拉多·德尔马勒。 下面是我的改编版本: 克里斯蒂娜 希门尼斯1990年出生于西班牙的卡迪斯。 她拥有建筑学学位 在巴塞罗那自治大学学习法律。 她有 我是Arquitectura杂志的编辑 Hoy为西班牙一些主要的文化平台撰稿,包括 文学网站Letras,并为 出版商和新闻媒体。 2013年,她获得了萨拉戈萨青年创意艺术家何塞·马丁内斯基金会的赠款,资助她在当地实习,创作她的处女作《Al otro lado del Mar》。 现在,如果由我决定,我会切断 再往下。 我无法想象任何一个委托编辑会被左右而购买 一本漫画小说,因为他们对这位年轻作家的建筑风格印象深刻 法律背景,就我个人而言,我不包括这种传记 在投球中的细节。 但我和客户关系的本质 由于时间和预算的限制,我不想提出那个建议 就目前而言。 相反,我专注于删除任何多余的信息,使 片断流,并巧妙地将其重新聚焦于写作业务。 提要 现在进入下一节:概要。 以下是 来自另一本小说,出版商将其归类为“高端女性小说 虚构。“ Samuel和su esposa Carmela cambia radicalmente cuandoél的anodina vida de Samuel和su esposa Carmela recibe una carta anónima en la que se le dice que Rosario no es su verdadera madre y que si quiere conocer la verdad de su origen debe volar a Roma esa 米斯马·诺奇。 Hay preguntas que necesitan una respuesta。 奥恩克洛斯克利托斯 一个veces的儿子de los Más Temibles的家庭。 Descubrir que uno tiene a un hermano gemelo desconocido,y que este decida 独占鳌头,独占鳌头,同归于尽;独占鳌头,同归于好;独占鳌头,同归于好;独占鳌头,同归于好 de terribles acontecimientos…tanto como encuentros inesperados。 恩厄斯库罗 Berlín de la RDA,Todo vale para conseguir la Libertad? 阿卡索·卡梅拉·塞·达拉 昆塔? Hasta quépunto a ella misma le conviene asumir esa nueva realidad? 这是一个 直译: 止痛药 塞缪尔和他的妻子卡梅拉的生活发生了根本的变化,当他收到一个 一封匿名信,信中告诉他罗萨里奥不是他的亲生母亲 如果他想知道他的身世他必须飞到罗马 很晚。 有些问题需要一个答案。 虽然家庭秘密 有时是最可怕的。 发现 他有一个不知名的孪生兄弟,他决定篡夺你的 在你自己的婚姻中认同只会激起一连串可怕的事件… 和意外的遭遇。 在东德黑暗的柏林,有什么可以 获得自由? 卡梅拉会意识到吗? 她在多大程度上方便 假设这个新的现实? 我们知道要旨了。 有 花言巧语,浪漫故事……还有大量的情节剧。 但提要的工作不是 只是为了总结情节,但是为了推销文本。 所以我必须尽我最大的努力 这个梗概闪闪发光。 这其中有些只是智囊团的日常工作 词的选择,注意不要在 目标之类的。 平淡无奇的事物 塞缪尔和他的妻子卡梅拉的生活发生了根本的变化,当塞缪尔收到一个 一封匿名信告诉他罗萨里奥不是他的亲生母亲 如果他想知道真相,就必须当夜飞往罗马 关于他的出身。 一些 问题需要答案。 但家庭秘密可能是最可怕的 全部。 以及 发现一个不知名的孪生兄弟,他决定偷撒母耳的 身份并在他的婚姻中取代他,不可避免地释放出一连串的 可怕的事件…和意想不到的遭遇。 对于一个被困在东柏林的人来说, 在寻求自由的过程中有什么公平的游戏吗? Carmela会意识到 继续吗? 或者也许她有自己接受新情况的原因? 我不能改变内容, 很明显。 我凭什么说某个地方的委托编辑会不会 对柏林墙背后身份盗窃和间谍活动的故事感兴趣吗? 但我确实需要使我的翻译提要尽可能吸引人。 我轻轻地 通过重复主角的名字来澄清混淆的第一句, 从开头的最后两句话中写出一个有力的中间段落 段,并通过以下方式使最后一段更加连贯 引入狩猎主题(“释放”,“被困”,“公平游戏”)。 报价 所以,刚写完一部微型小说,我就开始 一些引语。 这些总是很棘手的。 语录让人紧张。 可以理解的是,一般的规则是逐字的准确性优先于 流畅。 我想这就是为什么现在看到谷歌翻译的引语如此普遍的原因 出现在报纸上。 我能看到这样的想法:我是谁去改变 演讲者的话? (当然,你已经改变了他们 把它们翻译成英语。 并愉快地合并了未经编辑的Google Translate输出 你精心撰写的文章给我的印象就像新闻工作者一样 在阿富汗地毯上拖着一双泥泞的靴子)但在这种情况下, 这些引文不是法庭证据,可以在翻译处篡改 危险。 相反,它们在那里是为了证明文本的凭据,以 表明它已经被有眼光的读者阅读和欣赏。 下面是一些fulsome的例子 为一部西班牙犯罪连续剧点赞: 《从黑人小说的主角到戈雅的转变》 德尔·西格洛21世纪! El lector se emborracha de felicidad leyendo esta novela La comisaria Figueroa es el mejor ejemplo de novela de procedimiento con ritmo,pulso narrativo,Creación de personajes y Acción Ana Cristina Sánchez pinta un Barcelona de espacios míticos y nuevos 拉佩拉幻想曲。 Una novela para el placer y la reflexión Sánchez ha sabido entender un talante tan peculiar como el de los Policías y convertir todo lo que sabe por su oficio en ficción y literatura 这是它们的价值 直接翻译: “什么掌握 把戈雅转换成21世纪惊悚小说的主角! 读完这本小说,读者会陶醉于快乐之中。“ “专员 《菲格罗阿》是一部具有节奏,叙述节奏, 创造个性和行动。 “安娜·克里斯蒂娜 桑切斯描绘了一个充满神话空间和新歌剧幽灵的巴塞罗那。 a 为娱乐和思考而创作的小说。“ “桑切斯 知道如何理解警官的特殊性格 把她从手艺中学到的一切都转化成小说和文学,“ 我希望我们都能同意这些 在这种形式中介于不可用和不可理解之间。 他们 当然不会让一个摇摆不定的调试编辑相信 这是他们需要添加到他们列表中的标题。 这是我改编的 版本: “多么感动啊 让戈雅成为一部以21世纪为背景的惊悚片的主角! 读者将会得到绝对的享受。“ “《死亡港》是一个出色的警察程序,叙述道。” 有节奏,有节奏,有动作,充满了所有的角色 太可信了,“ “安娜·克里斯蒂娜 桑切斯笔下的巴塞罗那是一座由现代居住的永恒空间组成的城市 歌剧幽灵。 为…提供乐趣和食物的小说 想着。“ “桑切斯 根据她作为一名记者的经验,将她对 把警察带入小说和文学。“ 其中有些是相当标准的 略带创意的翻译,使Maestría成为“一种触感 天才“(而不是”精通“)和”灵异世界“是”永恒的 空间“(而不是”神话“的空间)。 但在其他地方我不得不 在全面的改造中,将快乐的醉酒的读者 第一句引语给正在接受绝对款待的人,或指定标题 在第二次引用中,或在最后一次引用中,告知英国人 作者----一位著名的西班牙记者----借鉴了这一经历 创作她的小说。 还有一个因素 考虑一下。 我已经说过最后期限很紧了,这是毫无疑问的 坐在这些课文上几天,反复修改 你等待灵感来袭。 但为了让这份工作有回报(而我不这么做 我一天要完成大约2,000个单词。在 练习,这意味着我刚刚经历的工作 30分钟左右,从草图到成品, 包括任何背景研究。 我认为那些实际的制约因素,加上信息传递,创造性翻译和文化适应这些相互冲突的挑战,使这成为我作为一个译者所做的最艰苦的工作。 现在谁能委托我翻译一本肥大的小说吗? 本文原载于翻译协会会刊《换句话说》(2019年夏季第53期),国家写作中心出版。

以上中文文本为机器翻译,存在不同程度偏差和错误,请理解并参考英文原文阅读。

阅读原文