On Tuesday, Publisher’s Weekly posted an interesting profile of Kelly Sue DeConnick. Her name may not ring a bell with you, but you know her work if you’ve read Tokyopop titles such as Fruits Basket, Girl Got Game, Demon Diary, or Slayers or Viz series Sensual Phrase. The interview has drawn considerable interest from the blogosphere because adapting manga from Japanese to English is an art form in itself. When it’s done right, reviewers praise publishers for the fluidity of the translation; when it’s done wrong, fans line up to hurl cyber-rocks and howl about “authenticity.” (Witness the recent brouhaha over volume one of Air Gear, in which some racy dialogue was toned down for American audiences.)
Though DeConnick’s knowledge of Japanese is rudimentary (she has one year of formal study under her belt), she’s proven herself to be one of the most skilled practitioners in the field. She explains the philosophy that informs her work:
My primary allegiance is to author’s intent, which is subjective, I know, but I do my research. The literal translation of the dialogue is just one piece of the puzzle. And frankly, I’m of the belief that there is no such thing as a literal translation the way I sometimes see that term used on message boards—as if it meant “exact” translation.
Anyone who’s studied a non-Indo-European language can attest to the difficulties of “exact” translation when attempting to move between English and, say, Korean or Xhosa. Aside from obvious differences in grammar, certain words and phrases suggest a nexus of meanings to a native speaker that would be difficult for an outsider to grasp. Think of how many times you’ve casually invoked Shakespeare, the Gettysburg Address, or Network in conversation. Or used words such as galore or gerrymander. Or alluded to an event in American history that isn’t likely to ring a bell with a foreigner. (I’d mention Reconstruction as an example, but sadly, that period in nineteenth century history doesn’t ring a bell with most Americans, either. Read your Eric Foner, people!) Because these sort of cultural references defy easy translation, the adaptor’s job is to decide whether to substitute something more idiomatically appropriate in English (i.e. swapping one slang phrase for another) or to address the issue in a footnote.
DeConnick admits that she both “fears” and admires the otaku community for their interest in translation quality. But she cautions that “authenticity” is a fundamentally flawed concept when evaluating translation:
when I see someone rant about wanting their manga 100% authentic, I can’t help but think, well, to get that experience they really need to learn Japanese. And they might want to go live in Japan as well, and if they can, arrange to be born Japanese, because we can’t help but bring our own cultural experience to the table when we read these books. We can imagine what it’s like to go to cram school in Japan—that’s the glory of fiction! But to demand an “authentic” Japanese experience, well, I think you need to be authentically Japanese.
The full text of DeConnick’s interview with Johanna Draper Carlson is available on the Publisher’s Weekly site. I encourage you to check it out, as DeConnick may well have played a significant—if invisible—role in fostering your love for manga.
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