Written by: Ryan Krishna
Understanding how scholarship evolves through translated literature reveals compelling and powerful ideas. When a text moves from one language to another, it doesn’t just shift linguistically—it transforms. Each translation opens up new dimensions of meaning, allowing us to revisit familiar works from unfamiliar angles.
Take Homer’s The Odyssey, for instance. Over centuries, translators have returned to this epic, each bringing forth a distinct interpretation. One version might preserve the musicality of the ancient Greek, while another might emphasize historical relevance, emotional impacts, or the narrative clarity. Each translation is a different opportunity for readers to encounter the text in a (sometimes drastically) new light.
Another example is Gabriel García Márquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude. Gregory Rabassa’s English translation is celebrated not just for its accuracy, but for its spirit. Márquez himself praised Rabassa’s work, claiming that the English version was even better than the original Spanish. Rabassa’s translation manages to preserve the novel’s blend of magic and melancholy in a way that feels both true to Márquez’s voice and is highly accessible to English-speaking readers. In doing so, he demonstrates that translation is not replication, but interpretation. Translating literature is about carrying over meaning, emotion, and nuance in a way that spans across cultural, linguistic, and historical boundaries.
The case of The Tale of Genji—a Japanese classic written by Murasaki Shikibu in the 11th century—illustrates this point beautifully. Translations by Arthur Waley, Edward Seidensticker, and Royall Tyler vary significantly in tone, structure, and style. The different translations are distinguished by the name of the translator; for example, referring to the version translated by Arthur Waley as “the Waley Genji.” Waley’s translation was the first full English translation that reads as romantic and lyrical. Seidensticker offers a more literal translation, maintaining a good balance between literary fidelity and historical accuracy. Tyler maintains the original intricate structure and nuances, with plenty of footnotes that explain Heian* customs. Each edition opens significantly different interpretations, shaping how different audiences understand not only the story, but the cultural context in which the piece was written.
These examples remind us that translation is neither a neutral, nor mechanical, process. Translating literature is a creative, artistic, and intellectual act that involves constant negotiation between fidelity to the original source and relevance to the present time. Through this negotiation, scholarship itself evolves. Our understanding of a work—and the value we place on it—can shift meaningfully with each new version.
This process is human in nature. We naturally grow through reinterpretation—like when we hear the same story at different points in our lives, and it carries a different meaning each time. It is in this way that translated literature allows us to engage with texts dynamically. It turns the literary work into a conversation, open to a wide range of voices and perspectives.
Ultimately, translation teaches us that scholarship is less about preserving a single, static truth. It is about engaging in an ever-changing dialogue between languages and cultures. Each translation is an invitation to see old stories, poems, and literary works through new eyes—and to reflect on how meaning itself can change.
*The Heian Period (794-1185 CE) in Japan is known as its “Golden Age” for its flourishing artistic, cultural and literary developments
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