Free topic: The Beauty of Translation
As Toru Okada, or "Mr. Wind-Up Bird," drifted into a deep sleep after his long search of his missing cat and wife, the same uplifting feeling I had before from reading in Korean and in English, overwhelmed me. The blank portion of the last page stared at me for a while and whispered, "That's the beauty of translation."
In The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Toru Okada, the main character, and I, the reader, encountered different characters that shifted us into their metaphysical worlds. I was quickly captivated by Haruki Murakami's beautiful, surreal, exotic writing and his ability to fit numerous stories and perspectives into a single book. But what eventually intrigued me more were the resembling feelings I had each time after reading the book in the translated versions and in the original version.
Looking back, Korean and English translations gave a distinct touch to the story, with the unique structures, rhythms, and sounds of the Korean and English language. These three elements magically blended into the narrative and the dialogues of the characters. At the same time, there were the inevitable flaws of translation. For example, a simple sentence of five words, when translated, became a sentence of fourteen words. Some Japanese idiomatic expressions, when translated, lost their distinct cultural flavors. But the voice of Murakami was still there, if not within every sentence, within groups of sentences and paragraphs. Even with the imperfections, the dialogues and the narratives carried the same tone and gravity in both translations, giving me the same "chills."
For the original Japanese version of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, I read at a slower pace, because I had to constantly wrestle with the dictionary. My slow reading brought my attention to the individual words and phrases that Murakami had chosen, and the way they were deliberately put together in a sentence. In other words, I became aware of the importance of understanding the subtle meanings beneath these intended words and phrases, in order to truly understand the story itself. Thus, when I finished the original version and received the same stirring feeling that I had before from reading the translations, I could not help being amazed by the translators, as much as I was amazed by Murakami; they were able to carry the voice of the writer from one language into another by fully grasping the dynamics of both languages. Ultimately, it was the reading of this book that stimulated me to become an aspiring translator.
The beauty of translation lies in devouring the text, retelling it, and bonding different groups of people. In this sense, translators are artists, who, despite knowing the imperfections that inevitably follow, seek the best way to share with others the soul of a piece of literature. And that is exactly what I wish to do as a translator in the future, to continuously challenge myself in understanding language and literature.
I will greatly appreciate some criticism! Tear up this essay, please! :)
As Toru Okada, or "Mr. Wind-Up Bird," drifted into a deep sleep after his long search of his missing cat and wife, the same uplifting feeling I had before from reading in Korean and in English, overwhelmed me. The blank portion of the last page stared at me for a while and whispered, "That's the beauty of translation."
In The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, Toru Okada, the main character, and I, the reader, encountered different characters that shifted us into their metaphysical worlds. I was quickly captivated by Haruki Murakami's beautiful, surreal, exotic writing and his ability to fit numerous stories and perspectives into a single book. But what eventually intrigued me more were the resembling feelings I had each time after reading the book in the translated versions and in the original version.
Looking back, Korean and English translations gave a distinct touch to the story, with the unique structures, rhythms, and sounds of the Korean and English language. These three elements magically blended into the narrative and the dialogues of the characters. At the same time, there were the inevitable flaws of translation. For example, a simple sentence of five words, when translated, became a sentence of fourteen words. Some Japanese idiomatic expressions, when translated, lost their distinct cultural flavors. But the voice of Murakami was still there, if not within every sentence, within groups of sentences and paragraphs. Even with the imperfections, the dialogues and the narratives carried the same tone and gravity in both translations, giving me the same "chills."
For the original Japanese version of The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle, I read at a slower pace, because I had to constantly wrestle with the dictionary. My slow reading brought my attention to the individual words and phrases that Murakami had chosen, and the way they were deliberately put together in a sentence. In other words, I became aware of the importance of understanding the subtle meanings beneath these intended words and phrases, in order to truly understand the story itself. Thus, when I finished the original version and received the same stirring feeling that I had before from reading the translations, I could not help being amazed by the translators, as much as I was amazed by Murakami; they were able to carry the voice of the writer from one language into another by fully grasping the dynamics of both languages. Ultimately, it was the reading of this book that stimulated me to become an aspiring translator.
The beauty of translation lies in devouring the text, retelling it, and bonding different groups of people. In this sense, translators are artists, who, despite knowing the imperfections that inevitably follow, seek the best way to share with others the soul of a piece of literature. And that is exactly what I wish to do as a translator in the future, to continuously challenge myself in understanding language and literature.
I will greatly appreciate some criticism! Tear up this essay, please! :)
