Hilary Mantel writes on translation and her relationship with that quibbling class of people called translators. Klik hier voor de Nederlandse vertaling / For Dutch translation, click here
Like many Britons of my generation, I am virtually a monoglot. I was taught French at school but taught so badly that I had no confidence either in speaking or reading the language; essentially, it was taught to me as an extinct language, like Latin, and no acknowledgement was made of the fact that, within visible distance of our shoreline, millions of happy Frenchmen and women were chatting away.
Again like many of my compatriots, I feel guilty for being so bad at languages, and guilty that I cannot help my translators more. Though usually, they have not asked. Queries have been restricted to a few difficult phrases, idiomatic or obscure. And I have often wondered what is the effect of my work in translation, since often there is no feedback after publication. I know I am a quirky writer, and make use of non-standard English and of different registers and tone; also, my writing is interrupted, or inflected — however you like to put it—by nods and winks to other writers, by quotations not marked by quotation marks, by allusions that probably only a few readers will grasp. I am not a difficult or obscure writer (I hope) but I am ferociously intertextual. Mostly, the sense of the passage remains intact for the reader, whether or not the teasing echoes are picked up. But I suppose some of my translators must think I am a very strange woman. Verder lezen In Writers’ Words: Hilary Mantel on translation