For the month of October, the Asymptote Book Club is doubly proud to present our October selection, Ronit Matalon’s And the Bride Closed the Door, as it not only won Israel’s prestigious Brenner Prize, but was also translated by Man Booker winner Jessica Cohen. In the following interview, the translator talks to Asymptote’s Josefina Massot about her complex relationships with the author, her love for translating dialogue, and her bicultural self.
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Josefina Massot (JM): Your first book-length translation happened to be Ronit Matalon’s Bliss, her second novel and second work to be published in English overall. What drew you to her so early on, before she hit the level of international recognition she enjoys today?
Jessica Cohen (JC): Bliss (which in Hebrew was titled Sarah, Sarah) was Matalon’s second novel, but she had previously published a YA novel, a collection of short stories, and numerous journalistic and opinion pieces, so she was quite well known in Israel in both literary and political circles. I had read her first novel, The One Facing Us (translated by Dalya Bilu) and found it fascinating. I was certainly excited and honored to be asked to translate her novel, although since I was in the very early stages of my career, I was not really in a position to pick and choose anyway.
JM: You were each more or less getting started back then, and were also, I take it, able to exchange thoughts on the translation. And the Bride Closed the Door found you both in a radically different place: at the top of your game but presumably unable to engage as much due to Matalon’s untimely death two years ago. How did these factors—your evolution as translator and novelist, your sudden inability to fully interact—affect the translation process? What, if anything, didn’t change?
JC: When I translated Bliss I did meet with Ronit to consult with her about the translation, but our contact was quite minimal. This was both because I was an absolute beginner and still unsure of what the translator-author relationship typically looked like, and because Ronit was busy with other projects and explained to me that she found it difficult to step back into this novel that was, from her perspective, something she had moved on from. She did offer to answer specific questions should they arise, and we corresponded a little after I had finished my first draft (this was before email was such a large part of our lives, and if I remember correctly we exchanged faxes), but I think that at the time I felt I should do my best to struggle through difficult parts of the text and not “bother” the writer too much. I have since learned that discussing the text with the author is actually one of the most rewarding—and important—aspects of my work, and I have been told by a number of authors that they worry when a translator has no questions at all.
I finished translating And the Bride Closed the Door in the fall of 2017, and Ronit very helpfully answered all my queries about the text. At the time I did not even know that she was ill, but just three months after our last exchange she passed away. There were a few issues that she sadly did not have time to weigh in on, but her family members have been very generous in helping the publisher (New Vessel Press) and myself to find solutions when the book was being prepared for publication. Beyond the immense personal loss suffered by Ronit’s loved ones, and the public loss felt by her readers, I have also found the experience very unsettling. The relationship between author and translator can feel quite intimate, even if there is not a close personal relationship or even much direct interaction. It is the intimacy that results from becoming closely acquainted with the author’s words and what they represent, and—if I’ve done my job well—from my speaking those words in my own voice. Completing the translation and seeing it through publication without Ronit, without her being here to approve or even enjoy this new iteration of her work, is extremely bittersweet and the void is palpable.
JM: You’ve said that you enjoy translating dialogue the most, since it allows you to “truly embody a character and channel his or her persona” through your own voice, taking liberties that aren’t quite as permissible when working with an author’s direct narrative style. And the Bride Closed the Door revolves largely around memorable characters in dialogue with themselves and others. Were there any characters that you particularly enjoyed embodying, and what sorts of liberties did you take in adapting their speech?
JC: I particularly enjoyed translating Ilan, the cousin of the bride, who is such an idiosyncratic character that he seems almost detached from any particular language or culture, which perhaps made it easier to find his English-speaking counterpart. Although he appears to be mentally unstable and living in his own world, Ilan is in fact one of the kinder and more down-to-earth members of the cast, relatively quick to understand what is going on with his reluctant cousin and state quite simply what is happening, without struggling to figure out why, as everyone else does. When asked by the confused grandmother why Margie doesn’t want to get married, Ilan replies simply: “She doesn’t want to. She said she doesn’t want to get married.” He seems content to leave it at that. Later, it is Ilan who suggests bringing a cherry-picker or truck-ladder to hoist the psychologist up to speak to Margie through the window, and while initially his suggestion strikes everyone as absurd, they soon decide that it is in fact the only practical thing to do.
Interestingly, the character with the least dialogue in the book is probably Margie, the bride herself, whom we see and hear only in a few flashbacks told from the groom’s perspective. The most talkative two are the groom’s parents, whose portrayal approaches—but never quite crosses over into—parody, and I tried to sustain that same tone in English, making sure they are somewhat comical and slightly irritating, but still likable. Generally speaking, I find that this novella reads almost like a play—it is easy to imagine it being produced on a stage (in fact, about halfway through the book, the groom walks into the kitchen and observes: “Something had changed in the past half hour, while he’d been gone, as though stagehands and dressers had visited at intermission in a play and changed the sets and costumes”). And so the dialogue is arguably the most important element of the book, and needed to sound just a touch mannered but still believable.
JM: You are completely bilingual in English and Hebrew and fully multicultural as well, frequently moving between Israel and the States. What advantages has this relatively rare combination of traits given you as a translator?
JC: I’m not sure that this is a rare combination of traits among translators—I think it might, in fact, be closer to the norm in our profession. A translator does not necessarily have to be bilingual, but she must certainly be fully proficient in two (or more) languages, as well as in their respective cultures. What is perhaps unusual (although certainly not unique) in my background is that both of my cultures occupy near-equal spaces in my identity. I would be hard-pressed to say which of my languages is dominant (although there’s no doubt that my writing facility is greater in English), and I feel equally comfortable—and often, very uncomfortable—in Israel, the US, and the UK. I’ve heard many literary translators talk about their drive to bring works from the “foreign” culture into their “home” culture, and that is not my motivation. Rather, I see myself trying to navigate or mediate between the two parts of my identity through my translation work.
JM: A belated congratulations on your 2017 Man Booker Prize win! Could you briefly describe how you got there from your beginnings as a translator? What advice would you give emerging colleagues trying to access the occasionally cliquey world of literary fiction?
JC: Winning the prize has been a highlight of my career, and I am immensely grateful for the recognition (I won’t pretend that the money wasn’t nice too!). But I think it’s important to remember that a prize of this sort reflects the particular decision of a particular group of judges at a particular point in time. There’s something absurd, really, in the idea that Book X is objectively better than Book Y, and I think we all know that any of the books that make it as far as a shortlist or longlist (and even many that don’t make it to those lists) could rightly be considered deserving of the prize by many readers and indeed by a different set of judges. So it’s hard to answer the question of how I “got there” other than to say that I’ve always tried to translate books I like or feel some connection with, and I’ve invested a great deal of time and thought in creating English translations that capture the originals’ voices as much as possible.
I can’t speak to the broader world of literary fiction, as I’m on its margins, but I certainly have not found the world of literary translation to be “cliquey.” My experience has been that the vast majority of translators are generous, supportive, interested in what new translators are doing, and eager to welcome them into their ranks. My advice to new translators is to read a lot in their source language and stay current on what’s being written and published, to read even more in their target language so that they can become better writers (and remember: that is what we are, even if we’re not always writing our own original stories), and to connect with other translators, not just online but in person (for example at the American Literary Translators Association conferences, which I guarantee will be useful and enjoyable).
Jessica Cohen was born in England, raised in Israel, and lives in Denver. She translates contemporary Israeli prose, poetry, and other creative work. She shared the 2017 Man Booker International Prize with David Grossman, for her translation of A Horse Walks Into a Bar. Her translations include works by major Israeli writers including Amos Oz, Etgar Keret, Ronit Matalon, and Nir Baram. She is a past board member of the American Literary Translators Association.
Josefina Massot was born and lives in Buenos Aires, Argentina. She studied Philosophy at Stanford University and worked for Cabinet Magazine and Lapham’s Quarterly in New York City, where she later served as a foreign correspondent for Argentine newspapers La Nueva and Perfil. She is currently a freelance writer, editor, and translator, as well as an assistant managing editor for Asymptote.
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