Alice Munro’s Short Story “Amundsen”
and its Translation into Armenian by Anna Davtyan
Alice Munro is a Canadian short story writer, winner of numerous literary awards including the 2013 Nobel Prize in Literature for her work as “master of the contemporary short story.” Her short story “Amundsen” appeared in The New Yorker in 2012 and was later included in her collection of short stories Dear Life. Anna Davtyan’s translation of the collection was published by Zangak in 2016. It introduces Alice Munro to Armenian readers; in fact, it is the first time Munro was translated to Armenian. Anna Davtyan is a poet, writer, and translator, author of an Armenian-English bilingual book of poems, Book of Gratitude. In 2020, Anna published her first novel Khanna. She has also authored several essays on various topics. A passage from “Amundsen” is quoted in her essay on translation methods “Թ is for Թարգմանություն,” which followed her translation of Dear Life.
So far as the plot of “Amundsen” is concerned, there is not much going on in the story. A young woman (the narrator), a college graduate, moves to Amundsen, a fictional town 200 km from Toronto, towards the end of WWII to teach schoolchildren with tuberculosis at a sanatorium. She soon finds herself in an affair with the doctor, a lung surgeon. They decide to get married, but just before going to the town hall the man changes his mind without giving her a reason. For Munro, what happens as event doesn’t really matter. “When the event becomes the thing that matters, the story isn’t working too well. There has to be a feeling in the story.” Munro says she wants the “characters and what happens subordinated to a climate,” by which, she says, she means something like “mood.” “Amundsen” is all about that mood, it seems. As the title prompts, it is a story of exploring a new world, beautiful and yet unwelcomingly cold․ It could be that the Arctic cold is used as a metaphor of human relations. Translating “Amundsen” thus becomes all the more challenging, given the challenge of conveying all that makes it more than a simple realistic story.
This is Anna Davtyan’s first major work as a translator, one which she confesses to have done intuitively, but which made her contemplate over and eventually define her method and agenda as a translator, in her essay. Interestingly, at first Zangak refused to publish her translation and was planning to have it redone by a different translator. While the publisher’s concern was that it was not readable enough for an average reader, Anna regretted not having applied her favored method more consistently.
Translation should be as literal as possible, Anna believes, and by literal she means not just the words but all the units of the source text. “Before a word is turned into the target language, it is seen and understood in relation to the neighboring words, sentence, syntax, punctuation, narrator’s voice, context, translator’s own language, agenda, and other elements of the original, and the translator then uses her awareness of this relation to convert that word into the target language. Literal translation thus uses one language to give the other what the latter perceives but has not managed to express yet.” And then comes an example passage from “Amundsen” to illustrate her approach. It is in the opening of the story: “A couple of women were waiting to get on (the train). They greeted the woman with the meat, and she said that it was a raw day.” “Raw day” is translated as “հում օր է.” “This is not an idiom English uses to describe (damp or cold) days, but even if it were one, I would have still translated it literally,” Anna writes. “It slipped out of the pure language—in the Benjaminian sense—and the author chose to keep it. Why would the translator discard it?”
What Anna fails to detail in her essay is that “raw” is part of a pun. The very first paragraph of the story reads: “On the bench outside the station, I sat and waited. The station had been open when the train arrived, but now it was locked. Another woman sat at the end of the bench, holding between her knees a string bag full of parcels wrapped in oiled paper. Meat—raw meat. I could smell it.” This was the same woman who “said it was a raw day” later in the text. Moreover, “raw” seems to be one of the key words in the story, alongside “cold” and “ice.” It is used three times in the opening paragraphs, setting a “mood” or perhaps even describing the new world to be opened for the main character, the world of flesh. Without literal and consistent translation, therefore, the story loses the pun, and the key word.
I will be using Antoine Berman’s research framework set forward in “Translation and the Trials of the Foreign” to analyze my further findings. Anna was kind enough to share with me her draft translation along with the comments made by her editor Sona Mnatsakanyan. It was curious to see how the editor and later the publishing house interfered with Anna’s approach in search of more natural wording, as well as with the consistency of her choices.
DESTRUCTION OF UNDERLYING NETWORKS OF SIGNIFICATION
Another repetition of a signifier was handled less carefully resulting in what Berman calls “destruction of underlying networks of signification.” Many details in the story emphasize a dichotomy between the men’s and the women’s worlds. Here are a few examples. “One afternoon I spotted Mary in the yard there, taking part in a snowball fight. It seemed to be girls against boys.” “But the loggers, the men from the sawmill, would never yelp at you . . . they were deep in a world of men, bawling out their own stories, not here to look for women.” Throughout the story, Vivien (the narrator) searches for ladies’ rooms as some sort of a refuge from the world of men. “The coffee shop didn’t have a ladies’ room, so you had to go next door to the hotel, then past the entrance to the beer parlor (full of men – loggers).” When the surgeon refuses to marry Vivien and drives her to the railway station to see her off to Toronto, he says to her: “It’s nice and warm in the station. There’s a special ladies’ waiting room.” A ladies’ room is where she changes into her wedding dress eventually. It appears that this repetition has been lost in the translation. “Ladies’ room” and “ladies’ toilet” are translated as «զուգարան» throughout the story. Understandably, ‘ladies’ is omitted by the translator to avoid redundancy and misinterpretation, but it appears that the word is a part of the subtext.
A few passages in the story contain misinterpretations of the source. Here is one of the misinterpretations that has caused destruction of yet another network of signifiers. Vivien and the doctor arrive at Huntsville for their wedding.
ENGLISH: When we get there, I discover that there are other ways to get married, and that my bridegroom has another aversion that I hadn’t grasped. He won’t have anything to do with a minister.
ARMENIAN: Բայց հայտնաբերում եմ, որ ամուսնանալու այլ եղանակներ էլ կան, ինչպես նաև այլ հակակրանքներ՝ փեսացուիս մոտ, որոնց մասին մինչ այդ գլխի չեմ ընկել։ Զագսի աշխատողի հետ գործ չունի, ասաց։
Obviously, “minister” means “priest” here, but to explain why this is important, we need some context. When the doctor proposes to Vivien, he warns her he isn’t for anything more than a “bare-bones wedding”: no diamond rings, no invitees, no calling attention. She has nothing else to do than to make sure she complies with his taste: “I told him I had never wanted a diamond ring, and he said that was good. He had known that I was not that sort of idiotic, conventional girl.” “I’m watching to see if there are any early wildflowers along the road that I can pick to make a bouquet. Would he agree to my having a bouquet?” When they arrive in the town, she discovers that he also has an aversion with priests. We also find out in the story that Vivien’s grandfather, her primary caregiver, was a church minister.
RATIONALIZATION, DESTRUCTION OF RHYTHM
Like most of Munro’s stories, “Amundsen” is written in first person. Other features of Munro’s distinguished conversational tone manifested in this story as well are contracted forms of speech, hesitations, repetitions, interactivity, focus on the immediate context, and retrospective elaboration, e.g., postposed adjectives, periods between clauses. The postposed adjectives have become preposed in the Armenian text:
ENGLISH: Across the tracks was the electric train, empty, waiting.
ARMENIAN: Գծերի վրա սպասողական կանգնած էր դատարկ էլեկտրական գնացքը։
While reading the draft translation, I found out that Anna’s initial version of the sentence preserved the original rhythm and was apparently edited by Zangak later:
Գծերից այն կողմ էլեկտրական գնացքն էր, կանգնած էր դատարկ, սպասելով։
RATIONALIZATION, QUANTITATIVE LOSS
Next is an example of rationalization compromising fluency and clarity. Before their wedding, the couple have lunch in a cold restaurant that serves chicken dinners. “The plates are icy cold, there are no other diners, and there is no radio music but only the clink of our cutlery as we try to separate parts of the stringy chicken.” And then:
ENGLISH: I find the nerve to ask about the ladies’ room and there, in cold air even more discouraging than that of the front room, I shake out my green dress and put it on, repaint my mouth, and fix my hair.
ARMENIAN: Այնուամենայնիվ, խիզախություն եմ գտնում հարցնելու զուգարանի տեղը, և այնտեղ՝ մեր նստած սենյակից ավելի պաղ օդի մեջ, թափ եմ տալիս կանաչ զգեստս, հագնում այն, թարմացնում եմ շրթներկս ու ուղղում մազերս։
The translator seems to have tried to avoid subordinate clauses and chose to rationalize—“մեր նստած սենյակից ավելի պաղ օդի մեջ”—rather than follow the original syntax. She has also omitted “discouraging,” whereas it’s an important word describing the narrator’s state of mind. The choice of “պաղ” is not quite clear either, perhaps it’s intended to convey coldness both directly and figuratively, but instead it adds a needless poetic touch. Perhaps, something like “այնտեղ՝ էլ ավելի թևաթափող ցրտին, քան հյուրասենյակինն էր” would work better here.
CLARIFICATION
Below is an example of what Berman describes as “paraphrastic or explicative translation,” which, to do justice to the translator, is rarely resorted to in the translation. Vivien in the middle of an ongoing argument with her husband:
ENGLISH: I had gone that afternoon to a show at the Art Gallery, to get myself into a more comfortable frame of mind.
ARMENIAN: Այդ օրը գնացել էի արվեստի մի ցուցադրության՝ գլուխս այդ մտքերից մաքրելու ու հանգստանալու։
This seems to be a clarification of what a comfortable frame of mind is and how it is achieved.
EXPANSION, DESTRUCTION OF RHYTHMS
What I love about Anna Davtyan’s translations is that she appeals to the reader’s senses and does her best to “show, rather than tell,” sometimes even where the author has opted for a neutral, narrating phrase. Sometimes, this quality is achieved through literal translation. Here is an example:
ENGLISH: I wrestled off the boots—there was no chair to sit down on—and set them on the mat where the woman had put hers.
ARMENIAN: Մարտի բռնվեցի սապոգներիս հետ (նստելու աթոռ չկար), մի կերպ հանեցի ու դրեցի դռան շորին, որտեղ կինը դրել էր իրենը։
Had the translator chosen “մի կերպ հանեցի սապոգներս” or “դժվարությամբ հանեցի սապոգներս,” the sentence would not be as “inflated.” But not as expressive either.
In the same sentence, the dashes in the original have been replaced with brackets in the translation. Towards the middle of the text, the translator decides to keep the dashes where they are used to break a sentence, but she is not consistent in doing so. This has not crucially affected the rhythm of the story, but it does affect the integrity of the author’s style.
QUALITATIVE IMPOVERISHMENT
After her first visit to his house, the doctor drives Vivien back home and before she gets out of his car, he gives her a kiss: “a dry-lipped kiss, brief and formal, set upon me with hasty authority.” Later in the text, referring to the same moment:
ENGLISH: “Next Saturday” were the words that had been said, just before he administered the kiss.”
ARMENIAN — Մյուս շաբաթ, — համբույրը զետեղելուց ասված բժշկի բառերն էին։
While “զետեղել” hints that the original expression is not quite idiomatic, it is challenging, if possible at all, to come up with an Armenian word that would transmit “administer” in all its richness. It is not just formal or technical, it’s also imposing, and condescending. And there is a medical connotation too: “administer” collocates with “kiss” as well as it does with “drug” and “injection.”
DOMESTICATION
In the beginning of the story, Vivien takes a train from Toronto to Amundsen. As she gets off:
ENGLISH: Then there was silence, the air like ice. Brittle-looking birch trees with black marks on their white bark, and some small, untidy evergreens, rolled up like sleepy bears.
ARMENIAN: Լռություն իջավ, օդը սառույցի պես էր։ Կոզինախի նման կեչիներ՝ սպիտակ կեղևին սև բծերով, ու մի տեսակ փոքր քրջլոտ եղևնիներ կային՝ քնած արջերի պես կոլոլված։
I assume the translator meant the noun “brittle” (a brittle sweet made from nuts and set melted sugar) while the author meant the adjective (hard but liable to break easily). The author carefully draws a very specific background landscape for her story—“austere and northerly, black-and-white under the high dome of clouds”—and «կոզինախի նման» does not appear to be an appropriate simile, i.e. the range of associations it evokes—orient, seeds, sunflower, sun, honey, south, sweet—does not belong here. An opposite of “raw meat” in a way. Using a local rather than a generic name for it is a double faux pas. Interestingly, I found out from the draft translation that the editor had suggested using “մեղրընկույզ” for “brittle,” but it was discarded in the final version. There are more domestications, particularly sovietisms—հացաբուլկեղեն, զագսի աշխատող, սապոգներ—that are so “foreign” to the original they seem to create a network of signifiers of its own, in the translation.
CONCLUSION
When I chose this translation for my analysis, I did expect to find in it elements of Anna Davtyan’s signature translation style, her literalness, her straightforward, dialect-inspired domestications, concise nominalizations and colloquial phrasal verbs, but above all, her freedom and courage to sound different and push the boundaries of the language. However, as I was analyzing the translation, it made me wonder whether it is appropriate for a translator of a literary writing to have a style of her own in the first place. My question seems to be in line with Anna’s own conclusion. She writes in her essay: “The translator’s freedom is limited by the original text’s inclination to be interpreted freely. Unless the original can support such freedom, we are talking about a different genre, say, transcreation, but not translation.” This seems to contradict the fact that Anna’s voice is heard so distinctively in her translations that it outvoices the heterophony of the original including the narrator’s voice. Anna’s answer is that this specific writing does have the inclination to allow her voice to be heard, too. As a female author, she believes, Munro would not mind if more female voices were invited into her space. Referring to Gadamer’s idea of fusion of horizons, Anna suggests that the translated text belongs not to the author alone nor to the translator, but to both in equal measure.
The inconsistencies spotted in this debut by Anna as a translator make it obvious that it witnessed the translator’s search of a proper method. Nevertheless, despite all the discussed flaws, the translation manages to transmit the elusive mood of the narrator and the story. It is faithful to the original and yet easy to read most of the time. It would be interesting to compare “Amundsen” with a later translation of prose by Anna Davtyan where she would have an opportunity to exercise her method more consistently. The question is, however, whether that kind of translation would find a publisher. Although many of the analyzed examples indicate that this story would have benefitted from more literal rendering, it seems to be by sheer luck that even this version was eventually published notwithstanding the publisher’s urge to satisfy the average reader.
REFERENCES
Munro, Alice. (2012). Amundsen. The New Yorker. Online.
Մանրո, Ալիս․ (2012)։ «Կյանքի սիրույն»։ Թարգմանությունը անգլերենից Աննա Դավթյանի (2016)։ Երևան, Զանգակ հրատարակչություն։
Berman, Antoine. (1985). Translation and the Trials of the Foreign. Trans. Lawrence Venuti. In L. Venuti (Ed.), (2000), The Translation Studies Reader (284-297). London, UK: Routledge.
May, Charles. (2012). Alice Munro’s “Amundsen” and the Stories in Her New Book, Dear Life. Reading the Short Story. Online.
Դավթյան, Աննա․ (2016)։ «Թ is for Թարգմանություն»։ Ինքնագիր գրական հանդես։ Առցանց։
