The Impact of Translation

The Stranger has had a huge impact on the literary world since its original publication in 1942, and as such it has been translated into English multiple times. Stuart Gilbert in 1946, Joseph Laredo in 1982, Matthew Ward in 1988 (the one we read), and Sandra Smith in 2013 have all attempted to capture the essence of the original as best as possible. These translations convey the story in surprisingly different ways, based largely on their translations of a few key sentences and phrases.

For example, the original Gilbert book translated the opening sentence (Aujourd’hui, maman est morte.) as, "Mother died today." The use of 'mother' here seems cold and distant, which influences our perception of Meursault throughout the novel. It's a lot harder to believe that Meursault loves his mother when he only refers to her in such a formal manner. The Ward translation, in contrast, leaves the French word Maman unchanged. This is meant to be a sort of compromise between the formality of Mother and the childishness of Mama, but it has the disadvantage of not actually being an English word. I personally prefer the Ward translation, but opinions differ and none of these translations match the French syntax. If the French word order were followed, we would have to say, "Today, Maman died." None of the English translators have done this because their versions flow better, but such slight differences, especially at the beginning of the book, can have major effects on how we read the novel.

Even the title of the book isn't always translated the same way. The French title is L’Étranger, which can be translated as The Stranger, The Outsider, or The Foreigner. Which of these titles is best? I actually think The Outsider may be a better fit for the novel than The Stranger, since Meursault is more an outsider than a stranger (especially during the trial). Even so, only by combining impressions of all three titles can we get a complete image of the implications carried by the French word. Every translation is doomed to be imperfect, and so the best thing we can do is read the original French or, failing that, read various translations and compare their merits.

The Nightmare of Gregor Samsa

While reading Kafka's The Metamorphosis, our class repeatedly mentioned how the novel felt dream-like somehow, despite the author's assurances that it was not. This tone is best exemplified in a passage from the first segment, soon after Gregor awakens.

The change in Gregor's voice probably could not be noticed outside through the wooden door, as his mother was satisfied with this explanation and shuffled away. But this short conversation made the other members of the family aware that Gregor, against their expectations was still at home, and soon his father came knocking at one of the side doors, gently, but with his fist. "Gregor, Gregor", he called, "what's wrong?" And after a short while he called again with a warning deepness in his voice: "Gregor! Gregor!" At the other side door his sister came plaintively: "Gregor? Aren't you well? Do you need anything?" Gregor answered to both sides... [he] congratulated himself for his cautious habit, acquired from his travelling, of locking all doors at night even when he was at home. The first thing he wanted to do was to get up in peace without being disturbed, to get dressed, and most of all to have his breakfast.

Everything about this situations is absurd. Gregor has just transformed into a huge bug, and yet he is mostly concerned with mundane things. His family is inordinantly worried about him because he isn't up by quarter to seven, and they're all questioning him at once through the doors of his room, of which there are apparently several. Oddly his boss arrives soon after to check on him because he failed to catch the five o' clock train that morning. No one is acting normally, and this is before they even know that Gregor has changed! This sort of bizarre behavior is reminescent of dreams, where the strangest situations seem perfectly reasonable.

As the narrative continues, this 'dream' becomes more and more of a nightmare. Gregor is left alone in his room and treated increasingly badly while he loses his ability to see the outside world and communicate. Eventually, he loses his furniture and his mobility as well. However, I believe that the crux of this blooming nightmare is how his family reacts to his change. They are repulsed by his visage and treat him like garbage. He has spent years as the only working member of the family, struggling to pay off their old debts, and yet they have no trouble finding work the instant he is incapacitated. Worse yet, the family is actually far better off without Gregor's aid. They are more successful and more healthy once they have to do things for themselves. In the end, his sister Grete says that the best thing Gregor can do is go die so they don't have to put up with him any more. To me, this is one of the scariest things imaginable: discovering that despite doing absolutely everything in your power to help others, they would do better if you had never existed. The inclusion of this fear solidifies my belief that this book tells of a nightmare, a dark dream in the recesses of our minds rather than a simple, fictional 'reality'.

How much is Jake actually drinking?

As I read The Sun Also Rises, I was continually amazed by the sheer volume of alcohol consumed by the main characters. From Harvey's stack of saucers early in the book to Jake's three bottle of rioja alta in the last chapter, it seems impossible that their livers haven't long given up the struggle. Although I tried not to worry about it too much, I couldn't help but wonder how this sort of drinking could be plausible in Hemingway's time.

After some research in class (kudos to Kyra), it seems that bottles of liquor were a little smaller than they are today (~24 ounces) and the alcohol concentration is now about the same in beer as it was in Hemingway's wine. This means that when Jake drank three bottles of rioja alta, he consumed the modern equivalent of 24 oz/bottle * 3 bottles * 1/16 beers/oz = 5 beers! This is quite a lot of beer, but it's plausible that someone could drink that much without getting visibly drunk if they had a high enough tolerance, as Jake evidently does.

With my concern assuaged, I began to wonder more about the implications of the heavy drinking in this novel. As we discussed in class, many of the characters drink to help them escape from things, although some also indulge for other reasons. Mike drinks to forget about his debts, Brett drinks to party and not think about her complicated love life, Cohn drinks to fit in with the others, and Jake drinks both to forget about his wound/unrequited love and to be sociable. Although these reasons are varied, in a way everyone is drinking to forget about the problems that make them stand out in the group. When they're drunk, they can all focus on partying without thinking about individual problems. They can just be a group of friends. I find this insight into why Hemingway's characters drink so profusely rather tragic, made all the more so by the fact that the volumes are not as humorously impossible as I once thought.