Huzzah! The British Schlegel-Tieck Prize for translation from the German goes to the esteemed Breon Mitchell for his new version of Günter Grass's The Tin Drum.
I had the honour of fawning over Breon Mitchell in person the summer before last, when he read from this very translation in Berlin. So I know that a) he's completely charming, b) his translation is amazing and c) he does a great deal to support other translators and raise the profile of the profession as a whole.
The book also recently earned him the American Aldo and Jeanne Scaglione Prize.
Read more about this year's TLS/Translators Association prizes in the TLS. Including a brief passage about Breon's work:
As Mitchell says, he has “sometimes placed the sound and rhythm of a sentence above normal syntax and grammar”, while honouring a “syntactic complexity that stretches language”.
Showing posts with label breon mitchell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label breon mitchell. Show all posts
Tuesday, 1 February 2011
Tuesday, 7 December 2010
Translation Prizes to Dollenmayer and Mitchell (Both Male)
Not overly new news, but the American translators David Dollenmayer and Breon Mitchell have both won prizes recently.
Dollenmayer took the Austrian Cultural Forum New York's (ACFNY) 2010 Translation Prize for his translation-in-progress of Michael Köhlmeier's Idyll With Drowning Dog (Idylle mit ertrinkendem Hund), a short novel first published in 2008. This is an award of $3000 for translations of contemporary Austrian fiction, poetry, and drama which have not previously appeared in English. The translator gets the actual cash if and when they find a US publisher for their project. And Dollenmayer gets a sparkly trophy too. Congratulations!
And the American Modern Languages Association has awarded its Aldo and Jeanne Scaglione Prize for a translation of a literary work to Breon Mitchell, for his astounding new translation of Günter Grass' The Tin Drum. Well done to him too - he gets an unspecified cash award, a certificate, and a one-year membership in the association.
Now without in any way questioning these choices, which seem mighty fine to me, I did notice something of an imbalance when I was looking at past winners of both the MLA award and the Helen and Kurt Wolff Prize. They have both mainly gone to men. Interestingly, this isn't the case for the British equivalent, the Schlegel-Tieck Prize - even if you discount the fact that Anthea Bell's won it six times over.
I was suprised at this imbalance, because I'm used to thinking that translation, and literary translation as a subset of that profession, is a female-dominated industry. That may be because I live in Germany, where so many books are translated that there are plenty of translators, and the profession is not particularly prestigious. So as with many other lowish-status language-related jobs, women dominate. My hypothesis is that because literary translation tends to be the preserve of academics in the USA, the gender make-up of the award winners thus reflects a gender imbalance in the upper echelons of academia.
I can't draw any conclusions about the British situation, other than a sneaking suspicion that literary translators without academic posts can survive there because there is greater call for non-literary translations. But that's just a wild guess - and as the pattern of multiple wins shows, there aren't a huge number of people in the industry in the UK either.
Dollenmayer took the Austrian Cultural Forum New York's (ACFNY) 2010 Translation Prize for his translation-in-progress of Michael Köhlmeier's Idyll With Drowning Dog (Idylle mit ertrinkendem Hund), a short novel first published in 2008. This is an award of $3000 for translations of contemporary Austrian fiction, poetry, and drama which have not previously appeared in English. The translator gets the actual cash if and when they find a US publisher for their project. And Dollenmayer gets a sparkly trophy too. Congratulations!
And the American Modern Languages Association has awarded its Aldo and Jeanne Scaglione Prize for a translation of a literary work to Breon Mitchell, for his astounding new translation of Günter Grass' The Tin Drum. Well done to him too - he gets an unspecified cash award, a certificate, and a one-year membership in the association.
Now without in any way questioning these choices, which seem mighty fine to me, I did notice something of an imbalance when I was looking at past winners of both the MLA award and the Helen and Kurt Wolff Prize. They have both mainly gone to men. Interestingly, this isn't the case for the British equivalent, the Schlegel-Tieck Prize - even if you discount the fact that Anthea Bell's won it six times over.
I was suprised at this imbalance, because I'm used to thinking that translation, and literary translation as a subset of that profession, is a female-dominated industry. That may be because I live in Germany, where so many books are translated that there are plenty of translators, and the profession is not particularly prestigious. So as with many other lowish-status language-related jobs, women dominate. My hypothesis is that because literary translation tends to be the preserve of academics in the USA, the gender make-up of the award winners thus reflects a gender imbalance in the upper echelons of academia.
I can't draw any conclusions about the British situation, other than a sneaking suspicion that literary translators without academic posts can survive there because there is greater call for non-literary translations. But that's just a wild guess - and as the pattern of multiple wins shows, there aren't a huge number of people in the industry in the UK either.
Friday, 23 October 2009
Breon Mitchell on The Tin Drum
At Two Words, Scott Esposito talks to Breon Mitchell about retranslating Günter Grass' Tin Drum. He pretty much covers all the bases, except for asking whether Breon is a cat person or a dog person. Maybe I should try and get an interview with him too.
I'm currently immersed in the new translation, savouring every page. I'm using the Charlie Bucket reading method, which I'm sure you're familiar with: nibbling a tiny bit at a time, then shutting the book again, closing my eyes and enjoying the taste for as long as possible. I am so impressed. There's so much rhythm and texture in there all of a sudden!
In fact, this would be the perfect book to run one of those online joint reading ventures on like with Infinite Jest, don't you think?
I'm currently immersed in the new translation, savouring every page. I'm using the Charlie Bucket reading method, which I'm sure you're familiar with: nibbling a tiny bit at a time, then shutting the book again, closing my eyes and enjoying the taste for as long as possible. I am so impressed. There's so much rhythm and texture in there all of a sudden!
In fact, this would be the perfect book to run one of those online joint reading ventures on like with Infinite Jest, don't you think?
Friday, 3 July 2009
Ligging With Grass
We interrupt this interruption to bring you all the latest from a whole new world - for me - the community of Günter Grass fans, followers and favourites.
Last night was the long-awaited Grass reading at the LCB, celebrating fifty years of his phenomenal debut novel The Tin Drum - along with three of his translators, Breon Mitchell, Per Öhrgaard (Danish) und Oili Suominen (Finnish). You should be able to listen to the event on Deutschlandfunk on the last Saturday in July. The weather was gorgeous, absolutely perfect for a trip out to the Wannsee, and about 5000 people agreed with me. I blagged a seat a long way from the stage and craned my neck. But it was worth it.
Grass read three passages from the novel. Now what with my puerile rebellious streak, I don't usually have a lot of time for Günter Grass. But the reading reminded me that The Tin Drum must have been the first German adult novel I read, at the age of 17, presumably in Ralph Mannheim's translation. And it also called to mind how incredibly fresh and exciting the book still is, half a century after its publication. This is great story-telling, beautiful and angry writing that kicks over the statues of cosy economic miracle-era West Germany, and is rightly celebrated as a groundbreaking piece of literature.
The translators each read a passage of their own new versions, and I can hardly say how thrilled I was by Breon Mitchell's rendering. All those great words! I'm told he's in the closing stages of his translation - and I know I for one am going to read it as soon as it comes out. Although Mitchell defended his good friend Mannheim, citing the circumstances at the time and the fact that it's a heck of a difficult book, he didn't pull any punches about the quality of the existing translation - like a good many translators at the time, Mannheim thought he'd better simplify this young upstart's novel, slashing the sentences, skipping bits and generally translating in a way that's just not acceptable any more. Plus, translators today have many more resources at their fingertips than they did fifty years ago.
All the translators and Grass's charming editor Helmut Frielinghaus talked about the legendary meetings held with the author. I suspect Grass may possibly be a tiny bit of a diva, and there was an atmosphere of awe surrounding these meetings. The translators put their questions to him - no question is too banal - and he answers them by either explaining what he meant or by telling them to make something up. The Tin Drum meeting was held in Gdansk, and Per Öhrgaard's eyes went glossy as he recalled going into a church with the writer and the whole congregation whispering "Günter Grass, Günter Grass". Actually I made that bit up about the tears in his eyes - I could only see the back of his head from where I was sitting.
My favourite part of the event was of course when the moderator Denis "completely choochie" Scheck asked the translators how readers in their countries had reacted to the revelation of Grass's "membership of the Waffen-SS". The man himself leaped in and insisted on correcting Scheck: no, he wasn't a member, he was conscripted like 100,000 other young men. Scheck smiled and stood corrected. Apparently though, the whole issue has been a storm in a teacup outside of Germany.
And then it was over. And then came the whole new world. Once the photos had been taken and the autographs signed, the Grass community convened on the terrace. I somehow got swept along and even got a piece of Tin Drum birthday cake - which was absolutely delicious, with not an eel or a potato in sight. What can I say? Mr. Grass has a large number of acolytes, almost all of them male. Or perhaps that's too rude - perhaps it would be better to say that Günter Grass is his own mini-branch of the literary industry, generating enough work for a good few editors, critics, translators, PAs, hairdressers and cake-makers. A little like a small planet with many satellites. But a planet well worth exploring.
Last night was the long-awaited Grass reading at the LCB, celebrating fifty years of his phenomenal debut novel The Tin Drum - along with three of his translators, Breon Mitchell, Per Öhrgaard (Danish) und Oili Suominen (Finnish). You should be able to listen to the event on Deutschlandfunk on the last Saturday in July. The weather was gorgeous, absolutely perfect for a trip out to the Wannsee, and about 5000 people agreed with me. I blagged a seat a long way from the stage and craned my neck. But it was worth it.
Grass read three passages from the novel. Now what with my puerile rebellious streak, I don't usually have a lot of time for Günter Grass. But the reading reminded me that The Tin Drum must have been the first German adult novel I read, at the age of 17, presumably in Ralph Mannheim's translation. And it also called to mind how incredibly fresh and exciting the book still is, half a century after its publication. This is great story-telling, beautiful and angry writing that kicks over the statues of cosy economic miracle-era West Germany, and is rightly celebrated as a groundbreaking piece of literature.
The translators each read a passage of their own new versions, and I can hardly say how thrilled I was by Breon Mitchell's rendering. All those great words! I'm told he's in the closing stages of his translation - and I know I for one am going to read it as soon as it comes out. Although Mitchell defended his good friend Mannheim, citing the circumstances at the time and the fact that it's a heck of a difficult book, he didn't pull any punches about the quality of the existing translation - like a good many translators at the time, Mannheim thought he'd better simplify this young upstart's novel, slashing the sentences, skipping bits and generally translating in a way that's just not acceptable any more. Plus, translators today have many more resources at their fingertips than they did fifty years ago.
All the translators and Grass's charming editor Helmut Frielinghaus talked about the legendary meetings held with the author. I suspect Grass may possibly be a tiny bit of a diva, and there was an atmosphere of awe surrounding these meetings. The translators put their questions to him - no question is too banal - and he answers them by either explaining what he meant or by telling them to make something up. The Tin Drum meeting was held in Gdansk, and Per Öhrgaard's eyes went glossy as he recalled going into a church with the writer and the whole congregation whispering "Günter Grass, Günter Grass". Actually I made that bit up about the tears in his eyes - I could only see the back of his head from where I was sitting.
My favourite part of the event was of course when the moderator Denis "completely choochie" Scheck asked the translators how readers in their countries had reacted to the revelation of Grass's "membership of the Waffen-SS". The man himself leaped in and insisted on correcting Scheck: no, he wasn't a member, he was conscripted like 100,000 other young men. Scheck smiled and stood corrected. Apparently though, the whole issue has been a storm in a teacup outside of Germany.
And then it was over. And then came the whole new world. Once the photos had been taken and the autographs signed, the Grass community convened on the terrace. I somehow got swept along and even got a piece of Tin Drum birthday cake - which was absolutely delicious, with not an eel or a potato in sight. What can I say? Mr. Grass has a large number of acolytes, almost all of them male. Or perhaps that's too rude - perhaps it would be better to say that Günter Grass is his own mini-branch of the literary industry, generating enough work for a good few editors, critics, translators, PAs, hairdressers and cake-makers. A little like a small planet with many satellites. But a planet well worth exploring.
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