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The Translator’s Voice is a new monthly column from Ian J. Battaglia here at the Chicago Review of Books, dedicated to global literature and the translators who work tirelessly and too often thanklessly to bring these books to the English-reading audience. Subscribe to his newsletter to get notified of new editions as well as other notes on writing, art, and more.
I’ve been lucky enough to be part of the Chicago Review of Books for several years now, and for much of that time, I’ve dreamed of doing a column like this. My interest in global fiction goes back almost as long as my interest in books. I’m not one to make grand pronouncements about the power of books, but I think the magic they do have is in their ability to connect a reader with someone else’s thoughts and feelings more directly than perhaps any other medium of art. If that’s the case, then global literature takes it a step further and allows a reader to span cultures.
While global fiction is reaching ever-higher critical reception, the translators who open the doors to these new worlds for us are still often neglected. Translators like Jennifer Croft (translator of Nobel-winning Olga Tokarczuk) have worked to correct this, such as through the #TranslatorsOnTheCover campaign, but there is still much work to be done.
It’s my distinct pleasure to start this column off on such a high note, interviewing Japanese-English translator Philip Gabriel about their work translating Honeybees and Distant Thunder from the prize-winning Japanese author, Riku Onda. It was through engaging with Gabriel’s translations of Haruki Murakami that not only sparked my interest in global fiction, but prompted me to begin studying Japanese myself.
Honeybees and Distant Thunder explores the relationship between the competitors at the Yoshigae International Piano Competition. Its characters confront not only each other, but the weight of genius, which pushes down on each pianist individually. From child prodigies to rising stars and musicians making their final efforts, Honeybees and Distant Thunder casts a wide and well-woven net. Delving into the distance between tradition and originality, competition and friendship, expectations, courage, I’m thrilled that Gabriel has brought Onda’s book to an even-larger number of readers.
Thanks to the help of Pegasus Books publicist Julia Romero, I was able to correspond with Gabriel about his work on Honeybees and Distant Thunder, the art of translation, and embracing friendship in the process of making art.
This conversation has been edited for length and clarity.
Ian J. Battaglia
Philip, you’ve translated a number of monumental books from Japan, perhaps most notably the work of Haruki Murakami. Can you tell me what drew you to the work of Riku Onda?
Philip Gabriel
I was translating the novel Forest of Wool and Steel, about a young man learning the craft of piano tuning, and I became intrigued by a notion running throughout that book; namely, the question of how you describe sounds, and music, in words. In that novel the narrator describes the tone of different pianos, how master tuners can coax sounds no one else can from the instruments, sometimes to approach an ideal they hear reverberating in their heads, and sometimes in response to ordinary clients asking for, for instance, a “brighter sound.”
When I heard that Riku Onda’s Honeybees and Distant Thunder was the first novel to win both the Naoki Prize and the Japan Booksellers’ Prize in the same year (two prestigious literary awards in Japan), that was enough to intrigue me. But when I found that it dealt with similar ideas of describing sound in words—here the performances of top classical pianists—I knew I wanted to translate it. And the book lived up to my expectations, and I was fortunate enough to be asked to translate it.
Ian J. Battaglia
I was also fascinated by the tuning aspect; it stands to reason that each pianist would have their own style, but the novel also talks about the sound Jin, perhaps the central character in the novel, is able to get out of his piano. Jin builds a relationship with one of the competition’s piano tuners, Asano, and has experience with piano tuning himself, which surprises some of the other characters.
Writing, like playing piano, is often thought of as a solo act, and yet there are many people involved in making art. Do you feel any kinship with Asano as a translator?
Philip Gabriel
I never thought of a connection between tuning a piano and translation. The musical analogy I think of is of an arranger of music—taking a score and maybe arranging it for a different instrument. But you are certainly right that there are many people involved in making art. In translation, there is back and forth sometimes between author and translator, then between translator and editor, and copy editors (sometimes more than one). I love Jin’s genius—how he hears sounds no one else can, and can make minor adjustments to, for instance, a piano’s position, that make all the difference in the sound.
Ian J. Battaglia
Honeybees and Distant Thunder deals with an international piano competition, following several competitors through the process. Of course, music plays an integral part in the novel, with each character’s playing used as a means of developing and distinguishing them. Did that present any interesting opportunities or complications when translating? What was translating that like?
Philip Gabriel
It made me wish I were a pianist! (Though I know I couldn’t take the tension of the competitions.) Again, the central question is how adequate language can be in describing sounds, here music, as well as its emotional impact on listeners. I knew from Japanese readers’ comments that reading the book made them feel as if they were right there in the concert hall, appreciating all the nuances and drama of the performances and how, even with the same piece, different pianists could approach it and interpret it so very differently. That was one challenge for me as a translator, to make sure these performers, and performances, came across as they did in the original, as distinct characters, each with their own distinctive approach and interpretation of music.
As I translated, I knew I also had to familiarize myself with the compositions performed in the novel, and it became a mini-seminar for me in the classical repertoire. And a good way to rest my eyes from looking at the screen, and enjoy listening to some wonderful music.
Ian J. Battaglia
It’s interesting to hear you talk about taking the Japanese readers’ interpretation into account. Is that normally part of your process? How do you work to conjure the same emotion in an English-language reader as the original did in Japanese?
Philip Gabriel
When I’m first working on a book, the only reactions I have to go on, other than my own, are Japanese book reviews and readers’ comments. I do like to get a sense of what ordinary readers say about the novel’s value, and I should mention that editors have sometimes asked me to specifically seek these comments out and translate a few. I don’t spend a lot of time reading these comments, but find it helpful to get a sense of how Japanese readers react to the book.
Ian J. Battaglia
How does the translation process change in a work with this many different characters, each with not only their own voice and tone, but often their own musical style?
Philip Gabriel
Most of the novels I translate have many different characters, so in that sense I felt on familiar ground. Still, it’s always hard to distinguish different voices. My job was to convey, as best I could, what Onda strikingly portrays in the original, how she makes each of the four main characters come alive as a distinctive personality. The backgrounds and the individual struggles they’ve each gone through are memorably portrayed, and these in turn are entwined with the stories the musical pieces tell, and each pianist’s unique approach to the music. Personality and performance are always intertwined, a performance always an expression of personality. Onda is masterful at drawing you in in this way to see both the person and the music in a new light.
Ian J. Battaglia
I love that: “Performance [is] always an expression of personality.” Does that bear any connection to the way you think about translation?
Philip Gabriel
I would say so. Each translator has their own personality, which can’t help but come through in their translations. The individual human voice coming through is what art is all about.
Ian J. Battaglia
As I read some of the passages describing performances, where audience members describe not only other competitors’ sound but also elaborate imagined scenes the performances conjure in them, I wondered if the novel in Japanese used a lot of giongo or gitaigo (onomatopoeia) words. If so, how did you go about translating those often-difficult expressions, or if not, how did those passages come together?
Philip Gabriel
I never got the sense that there were more onomatopoeia words here than usual (I could be wrong, of course), though Japanese often relies on these, and indeed they’re always a challenge for the translator.
One thing I did to prepare was read lots of reviews in English of classical piano performances, which gave me a greater sense of how performance is described in English, how the nuances of tone, timbre, pace, expression, etc. are expressed in writing. No matter what book I’m working on, I always find it helpful to read writing in English similar to, or related to, the Japanese I’m translating. Not always easy to find the right book, but when I do it puts me in a more receptive frame of mind, I think, and somehow helps the words flow more easily and make the transition from Japanese to English.
Ian J. Battaglia
Japanese presents a lot of complications for an English translator—between keigo (honorific speech), speech at different levels of formality, and gendered speech, for example—how did that manifest in this text?
Philip Gabriel
You might also include dialect and regional language. You’re absolutely right—it’s a language with some unique challenges for the translator working in English. Sometimes I get the impression that English flattens out some of these nuances. The one example that stands out in my mind in terms of levels of formality is that of the composer Hishinuma, who is commissioned to write a new piece all the pianists have to include in their performances. He’s a distinguished older composer, yet when he opens his mouth, he sounds more like a combative guy on a stool at a local bar. His speech in Japanese is a distinctive downtown Tokyo variety which doesn’t necessarily come through completely in English. As a translator you do your best.
Ian J. Battaglia
Is there anything you’d like readers discovering Riku Onda’s work to know?
Philip Gabriel
Honeybees and Distant Thunder is for those who love music, and those who love stories of friendship—of young people breaking down barriers and challenging the status quo as their affection for their art, and for each other, grows. There are so many outstanding writers at work in Japan today who are being translated, and I am very pleased Onda is joining the ranks of those now read internationally.
FICTION
Honeybees and Distant Thunder
By Riku Onda
Translated by Philip Gabriel
Pegasus Books
Published May 2, 2023
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