Andrew Oakland on Angel of Destruction by Martin Reiner

We're celebrating the release of the newest volume of TWO LINES, Counterfeits, which you can buy right this second direct from us, on Amazon, Powell's, and just about everywhere else. To mark the new book we'll be publishing interviews with some of the translators who have stories and poems therein. The first is with Andrew Oakland, who translated the story "Angel of Destruction" by Czech author Martin Reiner. (Incidentally, that story can be read online as one of the pieces we're offering on our website.)

Scott Esposito: In your translator's introduction, you note that this story occurs on August 21, 1968, the day that the Soviet Union initiated the repression of the Prague Spring in Czechoslovakia. (In fact, it was published as part of that day's 40th anniversary commemoration.) That said, it takes a very atypical approach to that day, being told mostly through the eyes of a 4-year-old. Why do you think Reiner chose to approach this day through this slant, and would it have anything to do with the fact that Reiner himself was 4 years old in 1968?

Andrew Oakland: That Reiner was four years old in 1968 is surely no coincidence. It is also significant that the story was written to be read on a particular day (it was published in a daily newspaper). As he was writing the story the author had no thought of having it translated into a foreign language (this was my initiative). Martin Reiner is an established writer of the "middle generation" who sometimes turns to writers of the "older generation" for inspiration—indeed, as a publisher he himself has been inspirational for twenty years in bringing the works of many older writers to print. (These generational distinctions might grate and can hardly be regarded as a catch-alls, but they are significant in a Czech context. Understandably perhaps, the interests of the current younger generation of writers are more contemporary; the few younger writers who do engage with their country’s past tend to address periods before their own lifetime. The history of the Czech lands has long been a popular inspiration for Czech writers of fiction.) Much of Reiner’s writing—prose and poetry alike—is richly autobiographical. It is very much in Reiner’s character that the narrator should address the events of August 1968 through eyes that might be associated with the author’s.

SE: In the story there's an instance of a soldier screaming "khui svyashchenniy!" It's the only thing in the story that you left in the original language, and I'd like to ask why you made that choice, and if you have any personal guidelines as to when you leave something in the original.

AO: These words are not Czech, so there is an obvious tie-in here with your next question! I chose not to translate the only words in the story spoken by the Russian soldier—he is cursing in pretty strong language—in order to retain a distinction made by the author. When would I leave something in the original? When there are two languages at play in the narrative. For example, the characters are native speakers of a language other than Czech but the writer and primary reader are Czech, so the original language of the text is Czech; if one of the characters says something in (perhaps broken) Czech, I leave this in Czech and, if it is appropriate to do so and circumstances allow, attempt to ensure that its meaning is clear from the context. (This is not uncommon in fiction set in a Czech past, the characters typically being German or Russian.) The text of dialogue may also be left in the original where the reader needs to make a connection with the sounds of the words spoken. As a reader of translated works, I tend to feel irritated or perplexed, sometimes even patronized by text left in the original to no apparent purpose.

SE: In your introduction, you also note that the author was concerned that an American reader might not have the cultural context to understand the significance of August 21, 1968, a concern that you do not share. When do you feel that lacking sufficient cultural context might begin to detract from an American reader's experience of a work in translation?

AO: They are so many angles one could approach this question from, and so little space! So I’ll limit my answer to "Angel of Destruction." I mention in the introduction that the story could serve to introduce the uninitiated to the events of the day it describes; viewed from this angle, a lack of knowledge of the cultural context might even be an advantage, a source of added freshness. But I certainly believe that the reader of a work in translation needs to get a handle on it fairly quickly. The everyday world of "Angel of Destruction" contains elements to which all readers can relate—early childhood’s merging of fantasy and reality, calf-love, first experience of a collective, the boredom of early childhood, a threat from an outside world barely understood.

SE: Lastly, you've noted that translating the child's voice presented complications to you as a translator. Was there anything in this story that you found untranslatable, or that forced you to go to far lengths to bring into English?

AO: First of all, the narrator’s is not really the voice of a four-year-old child; it’s the voice of an adult returning to his four-year-old self. And yes, to replicate the tone of a "remembered" child was certainly a challenge to me. The dialogue is, of course, (more or less) the true voice of a child, and one instance of dialogue from the middle of the story sticks in my mind. The kindergarten teachers are speaking about "okupanti" (occupiers) and the children are listening in. "I" does not know what "occupiers" means, and he naturally tries to relate it to something he understands. I came up with "occupying force" and by childish analogy "porcupine force."