Self-translation occupies an uneasy position within literary and translation studies, as it can be treated either as a form of translation or as a form of authorial rewriting. This ambiguity becomes particularly visible when a self-translated text is read alongside an allograph translation of the same source. The current essay offers a comparative analysis of two English translations of the same short story, “Birds,” by the Bulgarian writer and translator Elena Alexieva—one translated by Alexieva herself, and the other by the Bulgarian literary translator Ekaterina Petrova. The analysis is based on theories from both literary and translation studies and applies examples from research in these areas. Alexieva’s self-translation is examined as both a means of having privileged access to the author’s intended meaning and as a vertical translation practice with its own norms and freedoms. Using examples from both translations, the comparison points out differences between the two texts, focusing on lexical, structural, syntactic, and metaphorical choices, as well as the motivations behind them. It explores whether self-translation in this case can be considered a form of rewriting and, if so, which elements determine it as such.
Elena Alexieva is an award-winning Bulgarian writer. She is the author of fifteen books of prose and poetry and has established herself as a literary translator of authors such as William Faulkner and Victor Pelevin. Her self-translation of the short story “The Fun Fair” appeared in Hayden’s Ferry Review and was nominated for the Pushcart Prize. Ekaterina Petrova is also an accomplished literary translator. She holds an MFA in Literary Translation from the University of Iowa, where she was awarded the Iowa Arts Fellowship. Her professional experience includes publications in a variety of literary magazines, full-length book translations, participation in several international residencies, teaching translation workshops, and more. The analysis, therefore, treats the following translators’ choices not in terms of relative merit, but rather as decisions motivated by their respective translational frameworks. It considers the asymmetry of responsibility toward the source and target texts. From this perspective, the comparison is not only between two translations, but also between different translational regimes—one that can be considered a deliberate extension of the author’s writing experience, and the other that transfers the original meaning of the source text within the freedoms of the translator. All of the above is approached from the theoretical perspective of AUTOTRAD, a research group at the Department of Translation and Interpreting at the Universitat Autònoma de Barcelona, which focuses specifically on the study of self-translation, treating it as unquestionably a form of translation rather than simply an act of rewriting.
One of the main differences between the two translations concerns the structural freedom and the expansion of meaning, which is reflected in the presence or absence of a definite article in the title. While Elena Alexieva’s decision here is to keep the title as just one word, “Birds,” mirroring the original version of the story, Ekaterina Petrova’s approach is to remain loyal to the grammar of the source text and keep the definite article. If we are to consider self-translators as superior to translators in terms of their unlimited access to the intention behind a text, the memory of its creation, and the experience leading up to it, we can consider Alexieva’s choice as a deliberate addition of abstract meaning to the story. It demonstrates paratextual freedom, a motivated decision to elevate the initial meaning. “The presence of revisional changes in self-translated texts makes it necessary to rethink the role and meaning they fulfill” (Spagnuolo 2018, 35). This is something Petrova has no translational liberty to do. Restricted by her obligation to the initial text, she keeps the definite article, which anchors the narrative, keeping the initial message untransformed.
Another important translation choice worth discussing is the 24-hour clock notation, which Alexieva uses: “The first bird fell from the sky at 16 hours 42 minutes on August 3rd in clear weather,” as opposed to the more common 12-hour format that Petrova prefers: “The first bird fell from the sky at 4:42 pm on August 3, in clear weather.” In Alexieva’s self-translation, the choice of this 24-hour clock expression can be considered as an authorial act of resistance against the domestication of the story into the target culture. Had Ekaterina Petrova opted for this time format, her decision might have been perceived as unusual in English. However, when the author makes this translation decision as the holder of knowledge beyond the main text, this 24-hour clock notation choice is considered an intentional estrangement from conventional phrasing meant to create a sense of measured, observational detachment in the narrative. This is a clear example of how Alexieva’s status as the author not only protects her from questions of translational adequacy but also gives new nuances to the overall meaning of the story.
An essential difference between the two translations concerns the following passage from Bulgarian: “Такава хубава птица, помисли си тя. С лимонени гащи и сивозеленикаво елече. Сигурно здравата се е изпотрошила. Сигурно вътрешностите ѝ са станали на пихтия.” (Alexieva 2021, 44). Ekaterina Petrova’s strategy here is to choose a more idiomatic phrasing. For the translation of the colors, she uses hyphenated terms such as “lemon-colored pants” and “grey-green vest,” which can be considered slightly more natural than what Alexieva uses—“lemon pants” and “greenish grey vest.” Alexieva’s sentences are longer, with unexpected phrases like “It must be badly shattered,” where “shattered” is a slightly unanticipated choice for a bird. This allows for a slower reading experience that prioritizes the story’s existential dimensions over rhythm. Petrova translates the last sentence as follows: “Its insides were probably a pulpy mess,” creating a vivid visual image. Alexieva, on the other hand, chooses to stick to a more neutral vocabulary with “Its entrails must be a mess,” resulting in a more literal and blunt translation that once again enhances the story’s level of abstraction.
Another significant difference between the two strategies is the translation of the word “юродив” later in the story. The latter being a slightly problematic term even in the original text, Petrova decided to choose a more descriptive and categorizing word. She translates it as “feebleminded” in an attempt to render the condition in a neutral, less emotionally charged manner. Alexieva has an entirely different strategy here and takes the opportunity to elevate the word. She uses “lunatic,” adding another layer to the emotional nuance of the term. Being the author, Alexieva allows herself a bolder, unfiltered lexical choice, while Petrova decides to be a mediator and aligns closely with conventional expectations of literary English. This illustrates how each of them has a different relationship both to the text and to the English reader. Alexieva tends to expand the audience’s perception of appropriateness and conventional literary English, whereas Petrova’s approach can be read as a professional mediation. A similar situation occurs with the word “сбърканото” in the sentence: “Повтаряше си, че не е лош човек, този пропаднал баща на две момчета – онова, сбърканото, и другото, дето уж не беше сбъркано…” (Alexieva 2021, 57). In her self-translation, Alexieva decides to use a more emotionally charged term, referring to the boy as being “mental,” while Petrova translates the word as “messed up.” The motivation behind each of these decisions is similar—the author takes the opportunity to intensify the emotional effect of the original story by selecting terms that are more provocative for the English reader. Alexieva exploits her freedom as a self-translator to push semantic and expressive boundaries, while Petrova prioritizes readability and ethical responsibility toward the target audience.
It is worth mentioning that, apart from the time format, Alexieva has chosen to self-translate her story in British English, while Petrova’s translation generally uses American English. However, even if we take into account the fact that British and American English may have some effect on the lexical choices, it’s important to point out that they do not account for the overall differences between the two translations. Although it can be essential when considering the specifics of the target culture, often this choice is linked to preliminary arrangements with a publisher, personal experience with the language, and conscious or subconscious preferences rather than being a highly motivated translation decision.
In The Task of the Translator, Walter Benjamin writes:
Fidelity and freedom in translation have traditionally been regarded as conflicting tendencies. This deeper interpretation of the one apparently does not serve to reconcile the two; in fact, it seems to deny the other all justification. For what is meant by freedom but that the rendering of the sense is no longer to be regarded as all-important? (21)
Essentially, it can be concluded that this tension between fidelity and freedom is what distinguishes Alexieva’s and Petrova’s translation approaches. Alexieva’s self-translation demonstrates freedom to expand, transform, and even challenge norms of standard English, while Petrova’s allograph translation privileges fidelity to the source text and the expectations of the English reader. In this sense, self-translation can in fact function as both a form of rewriting and an act of translation. Elena Alexieva’s choices—like the 24-hour clock, the sentence structure, and the specific selection of words—aim to balance between adapting the story for English readers, staying true to the original, and benefiting from the opportunity to add new nuances to the original meaning of the text, proving that self-translation exceeds the limits of both translation and revision.
Works Cited:
Alexieva, Elena. 2018. “Birds.” Ah, Maria Literary Magazine, no. 19: 88–105.
Alexieva, Elena. 2021. Прекъсването на Самсара. Жанет 45.
Benjamin, Walter. 2004. “The Task of the Translator.” Translated by Harry Zohn. In The Translation Studies Reader, edited by Lawrence Venuti. Taylor & Francis e-Library edition.
Petrova, Ekaterina, trans. 2022. “The Birds.” B O D Y, February 7, 2022. Accessed May 12, 2026. https://www.bodyliterature.com/2022/02/07/elena-alexieva/.
Spagnuolo, Elena Anna. 2018. Hybrid Voices in Self-Translation: Using Language to Negotiate Identity in (Trans)Migratory Contexts. University of Manchester. Accessed May 12, 2026. https://pure.manchester.ac.uk/ws/portalfiles/portal/163049566/FULL_TEXT.PDF.
Translation and Self-Translation: A Comparative Analysis of Elena Alexieva’s Short Story “Birds”
by Danila Raycheva
Photo by Khristina Sergeychik on Unsplash
Danila Mladenova Raycheva is a contemporary Bulgarian writer and translator living in Veliko Tarnovo. Raycheva holds a master’s degree in Translation Studies from the University of Veliko Tarnovo “St. Cyril and St. Methodius” and is currently an MA student in Anglophone Studies. Language—Culture—Literature. In 2024, she was selected to participate in the Elizabeth Kostova Foundation’s Translation Academy for Emerging Translators from Bulgarian into English. In 2025, her translation of short stories by Mihaela Ilieva appeared in the autumn issue of Washington Square Review.
Danila’s Translation Slam Book
Fidelity is... like a still-life composition—seemingly straightforward, yet open to interpretation.
Ninja or superhero? Move like a ninja, feel like a superhero.
Full-time job or glorified hobby? Ideally, a glorified full-time job. At least that’s the dream.
A translation I fell in love with is... Steinbeck’s Cannery Row, by Krastan Dyankov.
My favorite misconception about translation is... that fluency is enough.
My favorite translation grant is... the one that brings me together with other translators and fascinating new books.
Money is... not supposed to be a sensitive topic.
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