The translator can’t go where the writer hasn’t gone. But it feels good to bound eagerly toward a text’s limits.
“I was more impressed by what I heard from my mother than by what I read in the library.”
“Somehow, we are so present, and yet not even there. That surreal juxtaposition really pissed me off and fascinated me.”
Maria Dahvana Headley’s translation of “Beowulf” forces us to think about what we need to be true about the past, and our access to it.
What Chinese readers consume diverges from what is translated into English. Writers of ordinary life are often left untranslated—until now.
A Taiwanese scifi novel—set under the sea, after the surface becomes unlivable—reveals the remarkable burst of cultural freedom in 1990s Taiwan.
“For those of us who can feel unsettled in terms of identity, translation can feel like home.”
Within western poetry, women writers of color—and their lived experiences—are not nearly as recognized nor represented as their white peers.
The global literary market is a body of books in translation that, despite being from very disparate contexts, sound a lot like each other. Why?
Despite using a pseudonym, Ferrante has made clear how readers should understand her work. Should critics listen?
To work as a translator is to encounter a text with an active desire in mind, a desire that both constitutes and modifies the way that text is experienced.
In both World Wars, France used West African “colonial conscripts.” Deployed on the front lines, they were often the first to be killed.
The dead, the disappeared, and the forgotten—these Iberian poems make clear—can never be safely put away.
"I really liked Cardi B’s 'WAP.' It reminded me of one of the earliest poems written in history."
Ten years since the 2011 Syrian uprising, there has been a veritable literary boom of fiction writing from Syria. What does it reveal?
Why excavate these Reformation characters—the preacher and the werewolf—now? What do they have to teach us?