“Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant day when his father took him to discover ice.” – One Hundred Years of Solitude
“It was inevitable. The scent of bitter almonds always reminded Dr. Juvenal Urbino of the fate of unrequited love.” – Love in the Time of Cholera
Each is almost a story in itself, a pleasure to read, and an even greater pleasure to unpack and understand.
I have been wondering about this — how much more enjoyable is it to read a book in it's original language, as opposed to just reading someone's translation? Or is it just the thought that you're able to read the original, as author intended — possibly after spending time to learn a language just to be able to do this — that makes it count?
A currently-popular literary theory (strongly espoused by Jorge Luis Borges, whose translation of Kafka's Metamorphosis was highly influential to Marques) is that the translation of a literary work is, in fact, a brand new literary work authored by the translator. The fact that languages don't line up one-to-one, and the fact that language (and literature) is deeply entwined with culture, means that the translator has to make a lot of creative decisions when translating, and that the final product can never be a 'perfect' reproduction of the original text.
It's not necessarily about enjoyment, as it is about reading what the author wrote as opposed to what the translator wrote. But this also means that sometimes, the translated work is a good work in its own right and worth reading (Borges once said "The original is not faithful to the translation"). So, it really depends on a lot of things. But for Marques in particular, his works are very tied to Spanish culture so even as an outsider, learning Spanish and reading the originals still isn't quite the same as reading them as a Spaniard.
If you're interested in translation, you may want to check out Why Translation Matters by Grossman, who translated Love in the Time of Cholera among other things. I hadn't thought of translation as anything other than utilitarian and found Grossman's book enlightening. https://yalebooks.yale.edu/book/9780300171303/why-translatio...
Borges work is available in two translations, one done by a friend in cooperation with Borges, one done after his death when his wife commissioned a new translation to avoid paying royalties to the first translator.
Depends very much on the writing style. Some authors don't use a lot of fancy, poetic language.
For instance, reading a translation of the Da Vinci Code, Hunger Games or Harry Potter, you're probably not missing out on anything. Reading translation of pretty much all poetry, you're missing out on everything.
Actually, the Danish translation of The Davinci Code is a great example of a translation that just flips the words into the new language, resulting in some very strange sentences that sound unmistakenly American. A lot of translated business literature (and most Netflix subtitles) are the same way.
Harry Potter, on the other hand, is beautifully recreated in Danish and thus mimics the effortless reading experience of the original.
Tangential, but there was actually some interesting work put into the Harry Potter translations. Puns like Diagon Alley need to be turned into something meaningful in the target language, and they have to be careful not to change any of the clues dropped in early books so that they'll still work later on.
As an Spanish speaker (from Mexico), I hate reading anything translated in Spain. They make absolutely no effort in translating the idioms, or cultural references. Latin American translations are better IMHO, but I almost always read in english.
I've never read Journey to The End of The Night in French but it's my absolute favorite novel. I wonder about that as well. I am always quite specific about recommending the Ralph Mannheim translation.
Similarly, I had a copy of Rimbaud's works which I was completely in love with. I moved back to the US and for the life of me cannot find the same translation. The ones I have found are somewhat limp in comparison.
One day I would like to learn both French and Spanish well enough to read Borges and Celine in their original, if for no other reason than to see if the Journey I know is that much different than the original.
I've been told that the translation of Bulgakov's Master and Margarita that I'm currently reading (along with its copious translators' contextual footnotes) makes the novel eminently more reading than previous translation, which was apparently much more stilted.
Do you think it loses a lot in translation? I've only read El coronel no tiene quien le escriba (in Spanish), but it didn't seem very hard to translate, since the language used was not complex or flowery.
You can certainly enjoy the stories, but I think interesting books add something to they way a particular language is used. That's what I like about Saramago and Rushdie, for instance. These are the types of authors I like to read out loud.
No doubt, some authors certainly use the language to its fullest, rendering their works essentially untranslatable. But I was referring specifically to García Marquez's works, since my recollection is that the language used was mostly plain (which I don't mean as a criticism!).
Consider reading them in a few years time. In my own experience many books require a certain amount of white hair to be fully appreciated, GGM's being remarkable examples at least for me.
The irony here is how jealously Garcia Marquez guarded his private life, only to have it posted online in its entirety. When he learned that one of his friends had sold their correspondence to an American university (much like UT), he stopped writing to his friends altogether, and started calling them on the phone. For more background, his long interview, "The Fragrance of Guava", is a great read.
“Many years later, as he faced the firing squad, Colonel Aureliano Buendia was to remember that distant day when his father took him to discover ice.” – One Hundred Years of Solitude
“It was inevitable. The scent of bitter almonds always reminded Dr. Juvenal Urbino of the fate of unrequited love.” – Love in the Time of Cholera
Each is almost a story in itself, a pleasure to read, and an even greater pleasure to unpack and understand.