Borrowed Tongues: Life Writing, Migration, and Translation
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Translation as Allegorical Metafiction: Marlene Nourbese Philip and Jamaica Kincaid
Eva C. Karpinski
The last chapter examines translation as allegorical metafiction in Marlene Nourbese Philip’s Looking for Livingstone and Jamaica Kincaid’s The Autobiography of My Mother. These postcolonial texts replace Eurocentric vertical models of translation as power imposition from above with horizontal models of creolization and creative borrowing.
Eva C. Karpinski
Eva C. Karpinski teaches feminist theory and autobiography in the School of Women’s Studies at York University. She has published articles in Literature Compass, Men and Masculinities, Studies in Canadian Literature, Canadian Woman Studies, and Resources for Feminist Research, among others. She is the editor of Pens of Many Colours: A Canadian Reader, a popular college anthology of multicultural writing.
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Borrowed Tongues - Eva C. Karpinski
Borrowed Tongues
LIFE WRITING SERIES
In the Life Writing Series, Wilfrid Laurier University Press publishes life writing and new life-writing criticism and theory in order to promote autobiographical accounts, diaries, letters, and testimonials written and/or told by women and men whose political, literary, or philosophical purposes are central to their lives. The Series features accounts written in English, or translated into English from French or the languages of the First Nations, or any of the languages of immigration to Canada.
From its inception, Life Writing has aimed to foreground the stories of those who may never have imagined themselves as writers or as people with lives worthy of being (re)told. Its readership has expanded to include scholars, youth, and avid general readers both in Canada and abroad. The Series hopes to continue its work as a leading publisher of life writing of all kinds, as an imprint that aims for both broad representation and scholarly excellence, and as a tool for both historical and autobiographical research.
As its mandate stipulates, the Series privileges those individuals and communities whose stories may not, under normal circumstances, find a welcoming home with a publisher. Life Writing also publishes original theoretical investigations about life writing, as long as they are not limited to one author or text.
Series Editor
Marlene Kadar
Humanities Division, York University
Manuscripts to be sent to
Lisa Quinn, Acquisitions Editor
Wilfrid Laurier University Press
75 University Avenue West
Waterloo, Ontario, Canada N2L 3C5
Borrowed Tongues
Life Writing, Migration, and Translation
Eva C. Karpinski
Wilfrid Laurier University Press acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts for our publishing program. We acknowledge the financial support of the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund for our publishing activities.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Karpinski, Eva C.
Borrowed tongues : life writing, migration, and translation / Eva C. Karpinski.
(Life writing series)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
Issued also in electronic format.
ISBN 978-1-55458-357-7
1. Canadian prose literature (English)—Minority authors—History and criticism. 2. American prose literature—Minority authors—History and criticism. 3. Women immigrants—Canada—Biography—History and criticism. 4. Women immigrants—United States—Biography—History and criticism. 5. Autobiography—Women authors—History and criticism. 6. Translating and interpreting—Philosophy.
I. Title. II. Series: Life writing series
PS8185.A88K37 2012 818’.50809920691 C2011-908616-6
—————
Electronic monograph in PDF format.
Issued also in print format.
ISBN 978-1-55458-399-7
1. Canadian prose literature (English)—Minority authors—History and criticism. 2. American prose literature—Minority authors—History and criticism. 3. Women immigrants—Canada—Biography—History and criticism. 4. Women immigrants—United States—Biography—History and criticism. 5. Autobiography—Women authors—History and criticism. 6. Translating and interpreting—Philosophy.
I. Title. II. Series: Life writing series (Online)
PS8185.A88K37 2012 818’.50809920691 C2011-908617-4
© 2012 Wilfrid Laurier University Press
Waterloo, Ontario, Canada
www.wlupress.ca
Cover design by Heng Wee Tan. Cover image: 1989, by Daniel Karpinski. Text design by Angela Booth Malleau.
This book is printed on FSC recycled paper and is certified Ecologo. It is made from 100% post-consumer fibre, processed chlorine free, and manufactured using biogas energy.
Printed in Canada
Every reasonable effort has been made to acquire permission for copyright material used in this text, and to acknowledge all such indebtedness accurately. Any errors and omissions called to the publisher’s attention will be corrected in future printings.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or trans-mitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior written consent of the publisher or a licence from the Canadian Copyright Licensing Agency (Access Copyright). For an Access Copyright licence, visit http://www.accesscopyright.ca or call toll free to 1-800-893-5777.
In Memory of Barbara Godard, 1941–2010
Contents
IntroductionMigrations of Theories: Autobiography and Translation
1 Literacy Narratives: Mary Antin and Laura Goodman Salverson
2 Immigrant Crypto(auto)graphy: Akemi Kikumura and Apolonja Maria Kojder
3 Experimental Self-Translations: Eva Hoffman and Smaro Kamboureli
4 Translation as Allegorical Metafiction: Marlene Nourbese Philip and Jamaica Kincaid
Conclusion
Notes
Works Cited
Index
Introduction
Migrations of Theories
Autobiography and Translation
Why does everything have to be translation?
(anonymous)
Reading a library book, I pause at the comment scribbled in the margin by a previous borrower. Is the frustrated voice telling me that translation has become another critical cliché, a dead metaphor? Has the academic market been saturated with calls for translation? Or is this reader’s reaction to be taken as a symptom of resistance to translation whose challenge entails a discomfort of stepping out of the familiar zones of self, language, history, and culture? I argue that despite the accelerated movements of people across the globe we have far from exhausted the possibilities of translation—learning to translate and learning from translation. The voice above reminds me that in addition to historically persisting inequalities, there are new conflicts and scattered hegemonies asserting themselves through globalization. From illegal immigrants, victims of human trafficking, farmers evicted by transnational corporations, to new cosmopolitan elites, both financial and intellectual, and mass consumers of globalized popular culture—translation (and often wilful mistranslation) has its place in the production of new hybridities, new linkages between the local, the national, and the global. In the landscape where migrancy and translation are inextricably linked, people affected by larger historical shifts, past and present, turn to life narrative as a means of translating their lived experiences into texts. This book hinges on translation as itself a migratory practice that transfers meaning from one signifying context to another and on translation as practised by migrants in their life narratives.¹ Why do they often feel, or are told by others, that they are living and writing in borrowed tongues
?
The idea of a borrowed tongue—of living, communicating, and working in a language that is not one’s mother tongue or mother’s tongue—has been constantly present in autobiographical narratives written in English by American and Canadian immigrant women who are the subjects of my study. The metaphor of borrowed tongues refers primarily to writing literally in a second language or a language which is perceived as not one’s own, a language on loan
by migrants, immigrants, or various displaced subjects. For indigenous and postcolonial subjects, writing in borrowed tongues often means using the language of colonial oppression and domination while at the same time trying to challenge cultural imperialism and the dominance of standard English through the use of various local englishes.
But amid the pronouncements that in a postcolonial, globalized culture there are no longer pure originals
as regional and national identities are remade in a constant flow of borrowing and lending across porous cultural boundaries
(Lionnet, Postcolonial 15), there lurks a more sinister meaning of borrowing
linked to economic dependence. After all, the creation of those vibrant diasporic and migrant cultures and identities is frequently one of the material consequences of poverty and debt incurred by the countries forced into a discursive regime of neoliberal economies. Likewise, writing in borrowed tongues may refer to any discursive activity—complicitous or otherwise—that involves engagement with dominant ideologies of gender, class, and racialization, the imposition of normative (hetero)sexuality, and the hegemonic constructions of religion, ethnicity, and citizenship. Life in a borrowed tongue can also describe a general mode of being in the world for women writing under the conditions of patriarchy and using the master’s tools—man-made languages and male-dominated discourses—to dismantle the master’s house, to borrow Audre Lorde’s memorable phrase. In particular, writing as an immigrant woman in the genre of autobiography means writing both in a borrowed tongue and in a borrowed genre—grappling with a legacy of (or indebtedness to?) inherited models of androcentric or mainstream autobiographical representation. Focus on language and translation in immigrant women’s narratives makes these texts suitable vehicles for the task of feminist rewriting and remaking of the mastercode
of autobiography into new sub-genres of what I prefer to call life writing.²
Since borrowing and debt are as ubiquitous as translation, and it is tempting to see them as synonymous, in this book I examine different attitudes to translation as a form of working in a borrowed tongue. All chapters are organized around a few general questions: What mutualities and affinities exist between life writing and translation? How is life writing staged and performed as a project of translation in particular texts? What is the relationship between languages and identities they are capable of constructing and articulating? How does the writer’s choice of translation strategies correspond to her understanding of social and symbolic power invested in languages at a particular historical moment? What can the underlying philosophical and ethical paradigms of translation located in each text reveal about the writer’s conceptions of subjectivity, alterity, and genre? How do the translator’s choices correlate with her politics and ideology? My goal is to supply theoretical insights into individual narratives, place different articulations of immigrant subjectivities in a comparative perspective, and develop sub-generic categories capturing prevailing themes and methods of immigrant women’s life writing. The underlying premise of my approach is a belief that autobiography studies can benefit from borrowing
concepts and theories from translation studies so as to enrich and expand our reading of life writing.
Introducing Translation
How many people live today in a language that is not their own? (Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, What Is a Minor Literature?
)
A poststructuralist answer to the question posed in the epigraph would be: Everyone. Living in a language that is not one’s own
addresses two kinds of linguistic displacement: the subject’s universal displacement from language and the translating (and translated) migrant’s displacement from the host language, both of which resonate with the scope of this study.³ In my discussion of immigrant women’s life writing I rely on poststructuralist approaches to translation, language, and subjectivity that allow me to deploy these concepts as heterogeneous, decentred, and non-unitary. Consequently, when I use Roman Jakobson’s classic paradigm of translation to map out different practices of linguistic and cultural translation, I can do so only with a qualification that language and culture are not stable entities with fixed boundaries but rather categories that are already plural and divided within, leaking and contaminated, open to flux and fusion. Jakobson’s definition of three types of translation—interlingual, or translation proper, between the signs of two different languages; intralingual, between the signs of the same language; and intersemiotic, between linguistic and non-linguistic signs—has been criticized by Jacques Derrida as monolingual, presuming in each case the existence of one language and of one translation in the literal sense, that is, as the passage from one language into another.
As Derrida further reminds us, there is no unity of the linguistic system; there is no purity in language; rather, there are in one linguistic system, perhaps several languages and tongues
(The Ear 100).⁴ In this sense, translation processes are at work in every text inasmuch as every language is foreign to itself and can never be one. Translation is thus a function of meaning making. If translation can be defined as the transport of a semantic content into another signifying form
(Derrida, The Ear 120), writing in general can be viewed as translative. Kathy Mezei voices this hermeneutic sentiment, describing writing as always a translating—the translation of thoughts, images, concepts, silence into words
(9). One can detect here the tensions between different philosophical and linguistic traditions: the Platonic one that posits translation as a link between thought and language, and the Aristotelian one that tends to focus on translation proper. As a result of the process of disciplinary hybridization
(Simon, Gender ix), translation studies today has left behind narrow Eurocentric definitions of translation as a univocal and unidirectional transfer of meaning from the source language to the target language, both of which are viewed as already polyvocal and hybrid. At the same time there has been a widespread recognition of the plurality of translational practices going beyond the linguistic model.⁵
In the chapters that follow I examine different strategies chosen by different writers for dealing with the problems of borrowing and translation and a range of positionalities employed in response to borrowed
tongues and discourses that traverse their narratives. Translation, more specifically its forms and models, provides a structural pattern to my contextualized close readings that focus on language practices grounded in concrete social, historical, and cultural situations.⁶ In each text I trace the movements of translation described by Jakobson, as well as multidirectional translations that occur at the interfaces of different systems. I attend to the material traces of translation proper as a linguistic transfer between a source language and a target language, where each language is already seen as plural within. I look at passages that are identified as translated and try to find evidence of the untranslatable and unassimilable difference in them. In terms of intralingual translation (within the same system of signs), I pay attention to negotiations and mediations in English of multiple constructions of subjectivity, through different intersecting codes of gender, race, class, sexuality, ethnicity, religion, and age—often conflicting or contradictory, filtered through the autobiographical subject’s experiences in non-English-speaking cultures. In each narrative, I analyze cultural translations that make possible contestation of discourses of assimilation, citizenship, nationalism, and diaspora. I study intersemiotic translation (between two different systems of signs) in the relationship between subjectivity and genre as a search for a form capable of accommodating specific gendered, racialized, and class experiences of the writing subject that exceed the traditional norms
of masculinist genre. Through the problematics of accent, I also show how different authors translate
between speech and writing. Moreover, I analyze the material, historical, and geopolitical conditions of the texts’ production and consumption as these conditions determine to a large extent the shape of each text. I ask how these conditions translate
into a possibility of a specific kind of life writing and how they permit or hinder different constructions of migrant subjectivities. Both language and translation operate in the material world as commodities, granting their users a privileged or marginalized status in the structure of social power relations, including those of the institutions of literary production and reception, access to publishing, and dissemination in the global marketplace.
All this signals that I foreground translation in a double sense—as a linguistic and as a philosophical phenomenon—while also pointing out its political and ethical implications. Part of my intention is to engage in current debates in translation studies concerning what many translation scholars find to be the annoying habit of borrowing
the term translation and extending the boundaries of its usage. The two competing approaches identified above are known as a narrow and a broad view of translation. The narrow view, corresponding with Jakobson’s translation proper, is defended by such theorists as Theo Hermans, who criticizes Jakobson for including intralingual and intersemiotic translations in the umbrella category of translation and argues that it is necessary to arrest a free semiosis of the sign translation
in which one semiotic entity is transformed into another
(44). Hermans’s views are opposed by André Lefevere, who challenges the idea that linguistic codes play a primary or fundamental role in translation.⁷ Generally speaking, broad approaches to translation are supported by different perspectives: poststructuralist, feminist, phenomenological, and postcolonial, on which I draw in my readings. In poststructuralist terms, all texts and subjects are viewed as always-already translated, so translation is part of any inscription of meaning. Feminist translation presents itself as a form of cultural production of gendered discourse that critiques and revisions patriarchal languages. In the context of phenomenology, translatability is treated as a hermeneutic property of discourse, a necessary condition for the production of meaning. Finally, in postcolonial studies, translation is often used as synonymous with colonial technologies of domination. In particular, Eric Cheyfitz’s comments seem pertinent to my discussion. Analyzing the role of translation in the history of Anglo-American imperialism, he returns translation to its etymological roots and rhetorical function as translatio, the figure of metaphor. The intertwining of translation and metaphor is expressed through their common grounding "in the desire of what names itself the domestic to dominate what it simultaneously distinguishes as the foreign—in the desire of what imagines itself as the literal or, crucially, the proper, to bring what it formulates as the figurative under control. Since I agree with Cheyfitz’s point that
the proper rarely imagines its own figurative status" (Cheyfitz xii), my own inclusive tendency is to combine the best of both approaches. While I consistently try to pay attention to language transfer and interference, justified by my choice of authors who are bilingual or translingual,⁸ I am also open to broader applications of translation as a route to uncovering complex relations between language and the social and symbolic realms.
How Is Life Writing a Project in Translation?
This is how we are, this is how we exist, scattered and confounded, and called to what? Well … to translation! There is a post-Babel, defined by the translator’s task.
(Paul Ricoeur, On Translation 19)
To unpack the complex question of the affinities between autobiography and translation, I turn to deconstruction, as well as to feminist, postcolonial, and cultural studies theories, all of which have contributed to a radical reconceptualization of both terms. Historically, autobiography as the writing of one’s own life and translation as the rendering of another’s text into a new language have been assigned a marginal status in literary studies. Both have been seen as forms of processing what is already written
rather than as creative
activities in their own right. As derivative
or imitative
forms, translation and autobiography have occupied a similar supplementary space in the hierarchically ordered literary institutions that have always privileged originality. Formalist criticism did not consider autobiography to be literary
in the same sense as creative
works were literary, and even within the hierarchy of literary
versus autobiographical
narratives, ethnic or immigrant autobiography was further marginalized as aesthetically poor.
⁹ One of the most important insights of deconstruction is a recognition that systems such as language, culture, or philosophy operate on the oppositional logic of the supplement, suppressing what they consider secondary or supplementary, but what is nevertheless necessary for them to achieve a semblance of identity and completeness. In the case of translation, the original appears as a totalized self-presence
only by defining itself against translation that it has banished to its ‘outside’
and labelled as derivative (Davis 35). Translation shares this structure of supplementarity with immigrant subjects, immigrant identities, and immigrant languages, all of which are designated as the outside
or margin.
The philosophical and political rethinking of autobiography and translation is related to the postmodern anti-essentialist shifting of such categories as subjectivity and language, which are no longer viewed as stable elements in the process of linguistic and cultural meaning transfer. Both translation and autobiography have ceased to be perceived as sites of mimetic reproduction of meaning or identity, mirroring
their respective sources in reality, but rather have to be considered in terms of their active participation in the production of difference through language. The decentring of the universal subject, together with the deconstruction of the humanist, binary notions of translation and self-representation, has led to challenging the concepts of authorship and originality on which these cultural practices have traditionally rested. From the poststructuralist perspective, neither the original
nor the author
can serve as a guarantor of meaning or truth because texts
and subjects
are not originary and unified, but always already derivative and heterogeneous, themselves constructed at the intersections of multiple languages and codes. Theorized as isomorphic, the text and the self each is a system of relations rather than a self-identical presence, understood as processes rather than products. Both textuality and subjectivity are posited as effects of what Jacques Derrida calls différance, that is, of the continuous movement of difference and deferral in language, which destabilizes the work of signification and signature, making meaning plural and not reducible to the intentions of its presumed originators
or signatories. Moreover, recontextualized through reading, texts and selves are vulnerable to further transformations and reframings and consequently must be seen as performative rather than reflective.
Like performance, autobiography and translation are thought to supplant
the original,
which—whether as the autobiographer’s self
or the source text
—is seen as already plural, located in a grid of intersecting discourses and unsaturable contexts, and open to the possibility of multiple repetitions and citations. Sidonie Smith has adapted Judith Butler’s theory of gender performativity for autobiographical performativity as a process of subject constitution through available discursive resources. The history of an autobiographical subject is the history of recitations of the self,
much the same as the life as lived experientially is itself performative
(Smith, Performativity
21). The effect of stability and substance of the self, as well as of narrative coherence and meaning of a life, is produced through re-enactment or repetition of cultural scripts, among them the culturally pervasive discourses of identity and truthtelling that inform historically specific modes, contexts, and receptions of autobiographical narrating
(Smith, Performativity
18). Autobiography is performative in Butler’s sense of performativity as the power of discourse to produce effects of solidity, interiority, and depth through iteration (18).¹⁰ The intelligibility of individual autobiographical performances depends on the audience’s ability to recognize and process the norms and patterns of self-construction. This departure from the idea of autobiography as a product of self-expression has been echoed in translation studies by a shift away from understanding translation as a transfer of pre-existing meaning. Derrida in Des Tours de Babel,
his rereading of the myth of Babel and of Walter Benjamin’s influential essay The Task of the Translator,
makes an opening toward the performative dimension
of translation, rejecting the representative or reproductive
relation between the original and translation (180). According to Benjamin, translation is transformative rather than imitative in that it makes the target language grow
at the same time as it ensures survival of the original by making a foreign text perform new meanings in the target culture. What translation communicates is the kinship of languages
longing to converge into the ideal pure language.
For Derrida, too, language and translation neither reproduce nor communicate the meaning of the original. What they communicate is not the content but the need to communicate. The meaning of language is communication: a performative gesture of receptiveness, opening to the foreign
or Other. What is at stake from the beginning in his interpretation of the translated myth of Babel is the type of language contract involved in translation: the double bind of the unity of language and the multiplicity of tongues, the impossibility and the necessity of translation, of translatability and untranslatability (185).
Derrida’s theory here moves away from traditional discussions of fidelity and infidelity to the original toward contemplation of the performative nature of translation. However, rejecting speculative notions of translatability versus untranslatability as a final impasse, or aporia, of translation and working from the model of translation as a craft, Paul Ricoeur in his essays On Translation also arrives at a performative paradigm, recasting faithfulness and betrayal as indispensable practical alternatives
in the exercise of translation (14). In fact, the passage
of translation, its productive work, consists precisely in translating the untranslatable by generating equivalence without adequacy
(7). His view of translation as construction of commensurability entails betrayal as the condition of possibility of translation, whose risks must include creative betrayal of the original [and] equally creative appropriation by the reception language
(37). He thus proposes to accept the limits of translation as a philosophy of in-between, without absolutes. Paradoxically, by accepting a definition of translation as equivalence without identity
we remain faithful to language’s rhetoricity and its propensity for disseminating meanings. Ricoeur’s reconceptualizing of the problem of fidelity and betrayal can be compared to Barbara Godard’s reformulation of the same challenge in terms of "the ethical constraint of ‘fidelity’ to two languages (
Introduction" 18), which puts the translator in a different relationship to the source and target texts, de-emphasizing her mastery and control for the sake of creative, dialogic intercession that honours the generative powers of both languages.
Interestingly, self-representation, like translation, has also been framed in terms of fidelity to the real
and authenticity
of expression. It has a lot to do with the fact that both translation and autobiography are produced under the sign of the proper name, making them indexical genres that point to something real
other than themselves. The proper name metonymically identified with the author
or the original
traditionally functions as a transcendental signified, the untranslatable presence
or the outside referent that arrests the process of supplementation. But translation can be replaced by retranslation just as life narratives are open to retellings and rewritings. Also, as Derrida shows in interpreting the meaning of Babel
as both the name of God and the word confusion,
the proper name can be translated into a common noun. Names can be changed, and signatures can be forged. A signature on the contract in both autobiography and translation has an institutional, legal significance, a reminder of property or copyright laws under which they both operate. How strong is the power of the proper name as a guarantor of authenticity
can be seen in situations of exposed fraud or forgery, which only intensify the binding force of the contract. One can recall the recent controversy around A Million Little Pieces, James Frey’s fake
memoir, whose readers demanded a thousand little refunds
when the hoax was discovered. This incident has prompted revisiting the terms of what Philippe Lejeune calls the autobiographical pact, sealed by the signature of the proper name as a mark of an unquestionable world-beyond-the-text, referring to a real person,
and has confirmed that [e]xceptions and breaches of trust only emphasize the general credence on the type of social contract
(11).
The function of the proper name in both autobiography and translation is not only ideological, as an instrument for producing and maintaining distinct subjects, but also genealogical, linked to transmission and continuity. According to Derrida, the scene of translation is inscribed within a scene of inheritance and in a space which is precisely that of the genealogy of proper names, of the family, the law, indebtedness
(The Ear 104). Earlier, in his essay on Babel, Derrida reflects on Benjamin’s view of the translator as an indebted subject, obligated by a duty, already in the position of heir, entered as survivor in a genealogy, as survivor or agent of sur-vival’
(Des Tours
179). Following Benjamin, Derrida posits a double sense of sur-vival
(sur-vivre), namely that of afterlife
and living on,
spanning two temporalities of translation: past oriented and future oriented, and corresponding with the genealogical and invigorating functions of translation.¹¹ This relation of survival is common to both translation and autobiography, as simultaneous attempts to commemorate and to inscribe something new and unique
in the inherited system of language. While the text’s afterlife
is a promise of its collective remembrance (Brodzki, Can These 156), it also lives on through the possibility of its future rereadings.
Deconstruction is not always perceived as politically viable, and in fact its claims have often been excessively distorted.¹² Still, I argue that for the subject who is posited as a supplement
deconstruction opens the possibility of empowerment and change through decentring and unravelling hegemonic meanings. Feminist, postcolonial, and cultural studies theories have politicized the concept of translation in both a literal and a metaphorical sense, relating it to the entire problematic of the power to represent. For example, from the mid-1980s, the Canadian feminist bilingual journal Tessera has showcased translation both as literal practice and as metaphor for how women [and, one might add, other minoritized subjects] are situated vis-à-vis the dominant culture
(Godard, Collaboration 13). Both translation and autobiography have undergone scrutiny as gendered and racialized concepts, implicated in the production and maintaining of ideologically charged, hierarchical oppositions between original/copy, active/passive, male/female, and self/other. Feminist translation studies claims that such oppositional thinking justifies a dominant tendency to feminize and devalue the figure of the translator, while for feminist autobiography critics such rigid binarism is linked to the hegemony of the (white) masculine subject. Similarly, postcolonial theories draw attention both to the exclusionary character of Western autobiographical practices in their constructions of the writing subject and to the historical role of translation in perpetuating colonialism.
At the same time, translation and autobiography have been adopted and revamped by cultural studies as sites where cultural identities, individual and collective, are negotiated and produced when people strategically align themselves with and/or are forced into the existing regimes of difference. Taking the cultural turn, translation has become reconceived as part of the process of cultural representation and interchange, an interactive textual practice of transcoding and constructing meanings and selves cross-culturally. Embracing a plurality of translational practices as linguistic and cultural performances means abandoning both linguistic relativism (seeing language as culturally specific, basically untranslatable) and linguistic universalism (seeing language as capable of representing some transcendent human truth). It also means the end of a theory of translation as equivalence, grounded in a poetics of transparency that Barbara Godard, one of the pioneers of feminist translation studies, characterizes as the way in which certain cultural traces and also certain self-reflexive elements are eliminated from the text so that the translated text is deprived of its foundation in events
and its performative status (Theorizing Feminist
47). In practice, feminist translations have been used to counteract the erasure of the translation effect and to flaunt the translator’s presence as a gendered, racialized, and cultured being who leaves her signature on the work (Godard, Collaboration, 50). By bringing to the forefront the movement of its production, translation not only draws attention to the constraints of language and other semiotic practices, but also restores visibility to the figure of the translator and opens up a third space
between the extremes of pure difference and universal sameness, both of which render translation useless and both of which delegitimize the subject of difference into either absolute otherness or complete denial of specificity.
Flaunting the cultural and ideological underpinnings of translation reveals mechanisms of suppression and domination, of exclusion and inclusion, of appropriation and unequal access to self-representation that operate through specific linguistic practices—the processes which Gayatri Spivak defines as the staging of language as the production of agency
(The Politics
189). She also posits the politics of translation as epistemologically enabling in trying to rethink the binding problem of identity (the obligation of identity), of how boundaries are drawn within, around, and between the selves, and to envision other possibilities, of letting go of boundaries. Language is where the self loses its boundaries but also where it is constituted. Metaphorically speaking, translation can be adopted as a paradigm for transgressive or border
writing by women, migrants, and other marginalized groups, who experience the difficulty of access to language, [or] a sense of exclusion from the codes of the powerful,
and therefore call themselves translated beings
(Simon, Gender 136), becoming supplements
in a double sense: additional (secondary) and supplanting (alternative).
As a borderline
activity, translation can be turned into new modes of cultural production, or is indeed incessantly at work in the process of culturing, as the title of Spivak’s more recent essay Translation as Culture
indicates. This idea is present in Homi Bhabha’s understanding of global culture from the postcolonial perspective as a category of translation, which involves precisely borderline
transformations of cultural identities in migrant or minority discourses.¹³ Such ways of viewing translation as a productive (and sometimes violent) space of the border mark a departure from traditional vertical models in which sense or ideas trickle down
from the original (as a source of profound meaning) to translation (as an interpretation toward depth). The collapse of the hierarchy of originary
and secondary
languages and cultures is best captured by the image of translation as a transversal movement across surfaces that reveals unexpected linkages and genealogies, reflecting both postmodern fascination with different modalities of movement and mobility and the reality of global displacement of people that produces various migrant hybridities and located hybridities (Spivak, Translation as Culture
16). Barbara Godard explores the ethico-political implications of this shift from verticality to the horizontal in-between-ness by looking at indigenous Canadian resistant practices of translation as telling the story across, connecting translation with performance of testimony against colonialism by staging the encounter of "your word against mine (
Writing between Cultures" 87).
The Law of the Genre
The question of gender, then, cannot be explored mainly through the compulsory lumping together of all male-authored texts, on one side, and all female-authored texts on the other. Instead, I think the question can usefully be enjoined at a more specific level, at the level of each text’s engagement with the available discourses of truth and identity and the ways in which self-representation is constitutively shaped through proximity to those discourses’ definition of authority … Generalizations about gender and genre in autobiography naturalize how men, women, and the activity of writing an autobiography are bound together within the changing philosophies of the self and history. (Leigh Gilmore, Autobiographics 12–13)
My study of different forms of self-representation performed under the conditions of patriarchy and migrancy includes three interconnected theoretical directions, focusing on translator as an autobiographer, translator as a female writer, and translator as a producer of cultural identities. The first area revisits the law of genre, exploring how inherited forms of autobiography get translated
into sub-genres of life writing to accommodate texts and experiences which would have been barred from consideration as ‘autobiography’
(Gilmore, The Mark
11). The second area addresses the question of man-made language, or the name of the Father, by focusing on women’s writing, and especially French and Quebec écriture au féminin or feminist discourse, as well as gendered diasporic shifts from standard English (the language of the master
) to non-standard englishes
(mother tongues). Finally, the third locates the possibility of creating new names