Introduction by Olivia E. Sears

Waves and quakes.

On January 26, 1700, at around 9 PM, a violent earthquake ruptured 500 miles of Pacific coastline from Northern California to Puget Sound. The quake registered an unequaled magnitude of 9.0 on the Richter scale. Within 10 hours, an enormous tsunami had struck a 500-mile stretch of Japan. The undulation of the earth's crust had been translated into a swell of water traveling across the earth's largest ocean to crash on the shores of a distant island.

How do we know these facts? The historical records from both continents told only part of the story. By ascertaining the ages of drowned forests, examining beach sands swept far inland, and dating buried layers of peat and mud, American seismologists have been gathering scattered hints of ancient coastal quakes for years. They have learned from the Native American oral tradition of legends telling of an earthquake occurring on a winter night. Yet scientists were not able to interpret precisely all their evidence: did the signs point to a succession of great quakes or to one giant temblor?

Recently, Japanese scientists studying ancient records of tsunamis traced the great waves of that night back to their origins as a coastal quake in North America, which in turn had originated in the abrupt rupture and rebound of rocks deep in the earth unloosing accumulated strain. They were able to establish not only the exact date and time of the quake but also its magnitude based on the recorded size of the tsunamis that struck Japan. In the end, scientists expanded their knowledge of the original event by looking at a distant translation of it.

This is not to say that natural phenomena are like art. But this traveling force is informative for translators. These waves retain nearly all their original energy as they move, even over great distances. The resulting tsunamis emerge only as they approach the shore (tsunami means "harbor wave"), as the decreased ocean depth increases the waves' compression and directs their energy upward.

Thus, upon arrival these waves can be devastating in their force. We have seen this effect in literature. A particular novel or poem or play may be more popular than another in its native country, but it is one work among many. Yet when it is translated into the language of another country, this same work may afford the only access to its nation's cultural production. The impact can be tremendous.

Waves and quakes. The publication itself has endured changes of great magnitude this year as we found independence, for better or worse. Due to budget tightening, our journal is no longer published under the auspices of a university. We decided to make Two Lines autonomous rather than close its pages forever. We are now permanently located atop an old Victorian in San Francisco (speaking of quakes). This change has been and will be a challenge.

Translation is the art that embodies change, movement, and negotiations of distance. Our journal focuses attention on this process and on the practice of translation-vital for a culture's understanding of the flux of stories, wanderings, and events. Waves are signs of motion. Yet waves are not static traces of a movement that is already in the past, they are the transference of a force, the shape and tendencies of its character, its expression. Which leads us to the origin of the word. The noun wave comes from the Old English verb wafian, to sway to and fro, which first referred to a waving hand. A motion that communicates.