I remember I heard them say “hell,” not “shell.” The house is a hell, I heard.
— Mariana Enríquez, excerpt of ‘Adela’s House’ Things We Lost in the Fire (trans. Megan McDowell)
wanted to talk briefly about the genius of McDowell‘s translation of Enríquez’s stories, perhaps perfectly encapsulated in the above translation.
the Spanish original text reads, “Recuerdo que los escuché decir «máscara», no «cáscara». La casa es una máscara, escuché.” if we were to translate this literally, it would translate as “I remember I heard them say ‘mask’ not ‘shell’. The house is a mask, I heard.”
but McDowell doesn’t translate it literally. why not? the cadence of a language is often lost in translation, but this cadence needs to be preserved. máscara and cáscara rhyme in Spanish, but mask and shell do not.
the word hell comes into English from Proto-Germanic *haljō, meaning ‘the underworld’. and *haljō, in turn, comes from the Proto-Indo-European root *kel, meaning ‘to hide’. (the word occult shares this root). the word hell literally means the hidden place. and what is the task of a mask? the task of a mask is to hide. to cover it. it could also be said that this is the task of hell; to conceal the dead from the living, the damned from the saved.
and a house? a house is a hell because it masks what traumas lie within.
Translation is an art, just as writing is. It’s interpretation and illustration in one: the choices matter. Language is a tool of communication and the best way to wield that tool is the most effective way.
I love reading a translation that strikes me as artful. I love reading several translations and seeing what strikes me as true.
Whenever my work is being translated, I’m really honoured. I ask for the translator to have my contact information if they have any questions at all, and I trust them. It’s their art, not mine.
