Asymptote’s most recent Spring Issue includes an excerpt from Alice Heathwood’s translation of Jean-François Beauchemin’s idiosyncratic and playful Le jour des corneilles (translated as The Day of Crows). The novel plays with language and voice, creating a sense of whimsy that counterbalances the darkness of the story. In this interview, Tyler Candelora talks to Alice Heathwood about translating Beauchemin, the tension between translating the reading experience one had and leaving open the possibility of other readings, and inventing words.
Tyler Candelora (TC): Can you tell me what led you to Jean-François Beauchemin’s work, and why you decided to translate this story in particular?
Alice Heathwood (AH): I came across Le jour des corneilles many years ago. I was going through a period where I was craving fiction, but just couldn’t find the right book for me. It had been ages since I’d fallen in love with a novel, and I missed that immersion in another world that you get from really good stories. I asked a friend who worked in a bookstore for a recommendation and she handed me Le jour des corneilles. It sucked me in completely from the first line. The language is so lyrical, so striking, so odd yet so inviting. Fortunately, my friend had told me nothing of the plot, which is dark, and would be difficult to handle if not wrapped in the book’s particular prose, or I may never have read it. But it is exactly that juxtaposition of light and dark that makes the book so compelling. It was my first taste of Beauchemin’s work and a strange sort of introduction, as his other works, while very poetic, do not play with language in this very idiosyncratic way. Of course, being so struck by the prose, I couldn’t help wondering how it could be translated: occupational hazard. But for years I dismissed the idea as crazy, until eventually, I just could not resist the challenge. It was as if the book wouldn’t leave me alone.
TC: Do you typically translate from Quebecois French, or was this a new venture for you?
AH: Being based in Paris, I normally translate from the French of mainland France. I wouldn’t necessarily take on any book from another culture, but the book’s unique style places it, in some ways, outside of its particular literary context. At the same time, I want to be careful not to brush that context entirely aside. I’m aware of the dangers inherent in translating a work from a culture in which I am not immersed. However, I think there are ways to mitigate our blind spots and approach the work with respect and a willingness to learn. In practical terms, this means reading more Quebecois literature, listening to podcasts, watching films from Quebec and talking to fellow translators and the author himself. Recently, I participated in a week-long event with other literary translators at the International College of Literary Translators in Arles, France (the ateliers ViceVersa, run by the French association for the promotion of literary translation, ATLAS and brilliantly facilitated this year by Mona de Pracontal and Ros Schwartz). We each brought along an extract of our work to workshop with the others. It was a wonderful, enriching experience. One colleague in particular, Arielle Aaronson, who lives and works in Montreal, really helped me rethink my approach. I think it’s great to collaborate with other translators. In my experience we are always willing to help each other out.
On a more practical level, I felt free to choose this book partly because it was published some time ago, and I’d rather it was brought to English readers by me than be forgotten. If my colleagues at the ViceVersa workshop are anything to go by, not everyone would want to translate a book like this!
Ultimately, translation is always a dance between decisiveness and doubt. When I’m translating, I question everything, so in a way, my approach to this work is simply an extension of the way I approach texts from mainland France. Speaking on the panel “Translation and Racial Justice” at the 2021 English PEN International Translation Day, Barbara Ofosu-Somuah said something about translation that really struck me: that our job is to provide “a careful home” for the text we’re translating, and I always try to keep that in mind.
TC: It’s apparent that your translation relies heavily on a mixture of archaic English and French residue from the original piece to create the anachronistic language present in Le jour des corneilles. Was this combination of language something the translation instinctively demanded, or was it something that became more apparent through your editing process?
AH: It was both instinctive and a deliberate strategy. I didn’t create hard and fast rules for myself, and I let my instinct do a lot of the work, (I asked Jean-François Beauchemin how he approached inventing the language, and he too worked instinctively), but I made sure to hone that instinct first. Before starting the translation itself, I looked for literature I could use as parallel texts. For example, a few critics had compared Beauchemin’s prose in Le jour de corneilles to that of Rabelais. So, before I tackled the translation, I got ahold of an English translation of Gargantua and Pantagruel (actually, I bought the audiobook, so I could get the music of that kind of language in my ear). I also re-read parts of Tristram Shandy, because in some ways the book reminded me of that unusual fictional biography. On top of that, I’ve spent a fair bit of time (no doubt too much) going down etymological rabbit holes to try and make the tone consistent and avoid anything that might sound like an anachronism. All of that said, Arielle, the colleague from Montreal who I mentioned earlier, has made me question this approach. Some of the language in the book may sound archaic to French ears, but not so to a Quebecois speaker: A concrete example of the potential pitfalls in translating outside of your comfort zone. I myself experienced the language as very archaic-sounding, and fell in love with it that way, as did many French readers. Translation being ultimately creative and subjective, translators tend towards transmitting the reading experience we ourselves have had, but we also need to bear in mind the potential for other readings and other interpretations. So, I’m now thinking about how I might need to adjust my strategy. It’s a live question. On the basis of the feedback I got after submitting to Asymptote, I’m also thinking about my use of French residue and reliance on Latinate terms, and am currently reading Seamus Heaney’s translation of Beowulf as potential inspiration for a more Germanic reworking of the text. The dance of doubt continues!
TC: In your translator’s note, you mention the illusion of freedom posed by linguistic invention. I’m curious how your perception of freedom may have shifted during the actual translation process itself. Did you initially think you had more freedom before translating, but felt more constrained as you worked through the translation? Or vice versa? In other words, what was your relationship to the translation process via the perception of freedom?
AH: I go back and forth about it. I felt more constrained in the beginning. I think a lot of translators are natural nitpickers. We want to understand and convey every nuance of the text we’re working on. At the ViceVersa workshop, my colleagues and I could spend hours debating a comma. When beginning the translation, my instinct was to try to recreate each twist of language as faithfully as possible in the place where I find it in the original. (Of course, English does not afford the same possibilities for language play as French; for example, Beauchemin sometimes changes the gender of nouns to give them a little whiff of strangeness. So instead, I think about the purpose of the play, and try to recreate that.) This approach involves lots of fine detail work and requires focusing on the source text to really unpick all its various meanings. But of course, we also have to consider the text as a whole, and when I zoom out, I can see how much leeway I have, how much room to play (and it is play, I adore making up words). But I always try to play by the rules of the source text. It’s as if I can dance, but always to the music of the author. In translation, we’re constantly making choices. I suppose the freedom of a translator is the freedom to choose what to prioritize, but those choices are always dictated by our understanding of the source text. For me, the more confident I feel in my understanding of the source text, the freer I feel. It’s paradoxical really. A deep understanding of a work is like a tether; you can roam around freely knowing you won’t get too far off track.
TC: This piece is unique, as the bond between animals and humans is more pronounced because of the protagonist’s abusive father. It seems as though the French syntax and rhythm helped convey the narrator’s tone, especially the different attitude shown towards their father and towards the animals. How did you manage the complexities of the tone of the piece in the English translation?
AH: Tone in this work is a really delicate thing. Beauchemin has managed to write a book that is dark, disturbing, funny, poetic and moving all at once. The protagonist’s relationship to animals is important because it gives some warmth to the stark narrative and it humanises the protagonist, helping the reader to empathise with him. I largely worked by ear to try and recreate the tone of the French, reading and re-reading my translation, adjusting where I felt it was too absurd or too earnest, trying to walk a line that would work for the reader in the same way Beauchemin’s text worked for me. The syntax and rhythm of the French have a poetry to them, which is also an important part of the text. I wanted that musicality to be present in English too.
TC: Did intimately working with this piece as you translated change the way you think about the relationship between animals and humans?
AH: I was certainly struck by the role of animals in this book, but it was reading some of Beauchemin’s other work that really made me think more deeply about animals and their role in our lives. It’s clear that Beauchemin has a great respect for animals. I think they often appear as something every day, yet sacred, in his work. If memory serves, there was a line in La fabrication de l’aube (Editions Quebec-Amérique, 2006) where he talks about looking into the eyes of his dog, and there was something spiritual about it, although I believe he is an atheist. I suppose those of us who don’t believe in an afterlife might instead worship this life, and to me, and perhaps to Beauchemin as well, animals seem to be closer to the spring of life itself, as though they have some understanding that humans do not.
TC: Is there anything else you would like readers of Asymptote to know about Le jour des corneilles and your translation?
AH: Alexandra Valiquette and Valérie Dupont (who manage foreign rights for Québec-Amérique) and I are currently looking for an English language publisher for the translation, so I suppose I’d like to tell any bold publishers out there who are looking for a truly unique book to get in touch!
Alice Heathwood is a French to English translator specializing in literature and the arts. Her recent published translations include the poetry collection, L’homme est une nuit agitée by Léa Abaroa (Man is a restless night; Léa Abaroa, 2022) and the graphic novel, Birmanie: la dernière bataille by Fréderic Debomy (Myanmar: the last stand; Slowork publishing, 2023). Since 2010, she has worked full-time as a translator and interpreter in Paris, collaborating with clients such as the French office for contemporary performing arts circulation (Onda), the British Council, The Canadian Cultural Centre, the Pompidou Centre, Art Basel and Shakespeare and Company bookstore. She has a double masters in translation and interpreting from Monash University Melbourne, Australia, and Jean Moulin Lyon III University, France, and is a member of the Australian Association for Literary Translation (AALITRA) and the French Association for the promotion of literary translation (ATLAS).
Tyler Candelora is an Assistant Editor in Fiction at Asymptote. He holds a BA degree in Comparative Humanities and Spanish from Bucknell University, and an MSt in Comparative Literature and Critical Translation from the University of Oxford. He is a budding translator and writer, and an avid language learner.
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