Response to the readings due 9/18 (Bruce)

    In his discussion of whether a translated text can surpass the original in quality, Philip Gabriel recounted an anecdote in which author Oe Kenzaburo gave him a substantial amount of text to insert into his translation because he felt that it was closer to his original vision of the story. Not only was this the prime example of why an author should have a limited input on the translations of his works, I thought it was a rather poignant example of how singular a novel can be, and how little an author has to do with it. Like Kenzaburo, many writers probably struggle to flesh out their original vision on paper while retaining its original qualities. Sometimes, like humans should, they even fail to do so. Yet, readers might enjoy their failures nonetheless. Not because of schadenfreude, though a distinct possibility in any age, but because the experience of a novel is not crafted by the author, but by both the author and the reader (and for our purposes, the translator as well, though three is a crowd). 

 

    Emmerich discussed how everyone in his class experienced Murakami's works in a slightly different way. Yes, this could be attributed to the version of the translation they read. However, more subtle but interesting, in my opinion, is the differences in the readers' backgrounds that allow them to perceive literature in a slightly varied manner. Take, for example, Lieutenant Mamiya's story in The Wind-up Bird Chronicle, a vivid description of his experiences with the Japanese Imperial Army during the second World War. An American reader might feel moved at such a raw, emotional scene about the horrors of war. A Japanese reader might feel a much amplified feeling of the same form due to their connection with the history of their nation. A Chinese reader, on the other hand, might feel slightly ambivalent about the scene, due to the relations between the Chinese and Japanese during and after the war. Some may feel a sense of kinship, that their people were not the only ones who suffered through this period. Others may feel bitter, as though Murakami is neglecting to tell one facet of events while ignoring others.

    This leads to a concept of what I know as "participatory reading," a term coined by the late Toni Morrison, who is known to leave her texts somewhat vague with hopes that her readers will "participate" by filling the blanks with their flavor. As a result, a slightly different experience is created every single time her story is read. An ineluctable modality, if you will.