pH Balance

I’ve spent enough time reading literary equivalents of mediocre sitcoms: sure they’re fine, maybe even a little entertaining—but at the end of the day, they’re completely forgettable.

But every once in awhile, there comes a book that’s so wholly wonderful that it makes you think: why can’t all books be like this? They’re page-turning, thought-provoking, well-written, and sometimes even funny. Instead of one-dimensional caricatures they feature multi-faceted characters we love (or love to hate). Nothing pretentious about it—they’re just good books.

The Book Thief. Snow Crash. 1984. These are some on my list—and the list is different for everyone. The most recent addition to this short but very important collection is Babel by R. F. Kuang.

Babel is important to me for a few reasons. As a writer, it showed me that I could write a novel with heft (easier said than done) and have an audience for it. As a student of language and a (semi) bilingual, I found the author’s takes on translation, language-learning, and its relation to epistemology fascinating. As a lover of anti-colonialist (historical) fiction, I learned a lot about the world that should have been taught in school, instead of learning about the same 300 years of American history for my entire childhood education. She handles intersectionality pretty well. It uses fantasy to craft a powerful allegory and allow us to imagine a world where things could be different.

Apart from all of that, it’s also just a good escapist, dark academia novel. I wish I could read it again for the first time.

Translation and its discontents

Literal translation has its place for sure. Mainly, for people who aren’t interested in translating very deeply and instead want to ask for directions or find a toilet. Translating meaning is, on the other hand, incredibly difficult. When we read or listen to translations, there’s always going to be something lost in the ether when the conversion between languages takes place—which is the essence of Babel. There are a few scenes in the novel where characters explain how translation is often an excruciating search of finding the right word—even if you’re fluent in both languages you’re working with.

For example, my mother loves Hindi Oldies (Kishore Kumar, Lata Mangeshkar, etc.). When she’d translate for us, she’d run into some trouble finding exactly the right words. Though she’s fluent in both English and Hindi, finding a good translation that conveys both the sentiment of the source material while retaining its literal integrity is difficult.

When I’d watch Telugu and Hindi movies growing up, I relied heavily on English subtitles. Even at a young age, I was a harsh critic: I thought the songs and dialogues were poorly written. Especially the songs. Musically, they were fantastic, but lyrically they were clunky, simplistic, and trite. When I got a bit older, I realized that it wasn’t the writing of the source material that was shoddy: they were just poor translations.

After learning a bit more Hindi, I’m able to better critique these translations. Though I am by no means fluent, I can recognize where the translations fall short, offer better alternatives, and fill in that wordless gap between languages. I also recognize that the English translations may be compiled by people who aren’t fluent English speakers.

Finding the right word is difficult enough in one language. The way to do it in any language is to keep reading, writing, speaking, and listening—to hear words in as many contexts as you can. One day, it’ll all click.

As a writer, I’m very rigorous when it comes to finding the correct word. That awareness of the context and connotation makes someone a better writer in their own language and also, in my experience, a better student of foreign languages.

And sometimes, at the end of the day, you concede that no matter what language you’re speaking, there’s a point where if someone gets what you’re trying to say, it’s not worth pushing anymore. There was a scene from In Bruges where the guy who played Mad-Eyed Moody in Harry Potter and a Russian named Yuri had some banter over whether “alcoves” or “nooks and crannies” was a better way to describe the hidden corners of a garden. Of course there’s a difference in connotation between the two, but at the end of the day, does it really matter which one you use?

Language as power

This is not an original thought. Language has been used as epistemological gatekeeping for as long as people have been talking. From the Catholic Church’s use of Latin to the current global hegemony of English, what languages you speak—and how well you can speak them—determines your access to power.

Additionally, with translation, you can change contexts, connotations, erase entire cultures, and wipe out entire ways of thinking. Translators of Murakami’s work often add footnotes to explain Japanese linguistic or cultural tidbits that would be otherwise lost on foreign readers. On the other hand, English subtitles for Bollywood movies regularly erase references to Indian culture in favor of their Western counterparts. For example, they’ll often subtitle references to tragic lovers Laila-Majnun as Romeo and Juliet for Western viewers.

fiction as power

Fiction is a tool that allows writers to expand what their work is actually “about.” For example, 1984 is “about” totalitarianism and fascist dictatorship in the WWII era. But after the 2016 election, many people found it to be “about” what they were going through in the present day. Fantasy adds to this capability, allowing us to imagine worlds that are better, worse, or just plain different.

For me, Babel was “about” so many different things. If I re-read it in a few years, it might be about something else entirely.

This Week’s Top 3

• Gekkō 🦎 – Bad bunny’s miami sushi restaurant. Have the Bebe Conmigo and eggplant.
• “BOYFRIEND, GIRLFRIEND (2020 Demo) (feat. YG)” 🧳
• Running on Key Brickell 🌴