Why Keep the Literary Experience Within Your Comfort Zone?

A Conversation with Lúcia Collischonn

Lúcia Collischonn is a Brazilian German translator and a bit of an enfant terrible in the academic world for her uncompromising views on directionality, translator agency, and the decolonization of literary translation. Her research centers on translation into a non-mother tongue, and she has been instrumental in introducing and championing the term exophony within the field of literary translation.

Her translations and essays include Yoko Tawada’s Etüden im Schnee and Der erste Nachtgesang, as well as “Freed from the Monolingual Shackles: A Mongrel Crônica for the Mutt Translator” in Violent Phenomena (2022). Lúcia holds a PhD in Translation Studies from the University of Warwick, and her book Literary Exophonic Translation was published last year by Cambridge University Press.

In this conversation, Lúcia Collischonn and Marina Stefanova discuss the book, the shifting (or stagnant) attitudes toward L2 translation, what it means to be an exophonic translator, who gets to translate literature, and the broader implications of working between languages.

MS: Some thirty years ago, academic discourse was already questioning the long-standing assumption that there is only one “correct” direction in translation, e.g. Dominic Stewart in “Translators into the foreign language: charlatans or professionals.” What about today? Have we, in academia and in the realities of the translation market, overcome the predispositions to view the L2 translator as marginal and inherently suboptimal?

LC: I am not sure we have, and this answer depends a bit on which area of academia we are talking about. If it’s the more progressive, flexible sides of applied linguistics and critical multilingual studies, or some of the postcolonial approaches to L2 translation, then I would say yes—some of these predispositions have been overcome. In some areas of translation studies (TS), like translation process research, L2 translation and directionality have always been approached more neutrally. Areas such as sociology of translation, I believe, and postcolonial/critical translation studies are where I can see these predispositions being more openly challenged. In the more traditional translation theory, they haven’t moved very far in any direction, to be honest with you. However, all this comes from my perspective as a Global Majority TS scholar—topics currently debated in the anglophone Eurocentric TS are old news in Brazilian TS. In any case, I think the L2 translator—though in recent years there are examples of some who went on to become award-winning translators—remains a bit invisible. People don’t want to out themselves as linguistic interlopers; there is, at the same time, an impostor syndrome, but also, deep down, a refusal to accept fixed lingualist definitions such as L1, L2, L3. This opacity and the complex polysystems of academic areas in which translation (and specifically L2 translation) is studied make this a very hard question to answer. To make matters even more disjointed: academia doesn’t really communicate with the realities of the translation market, and vice versa—the translation market does not truly care what we, academia, have to say. Structural rigidity on both sides is, in my opinion, what keeps L2 translation from being respectfully studied and properly debated.

MS: If these biases persist, what do you think sustains them? Are we dealing with inertia, institutional gatekeeping, market pressures, or something more deeply rooted in how linguistic authority is constructed in the first place?

LC: All of the above [haha]. Speaking specifically about the English-language market (of translation INTO English), it is such a powerhouse of a language on the global stage, but of course, the UK and US (with some exceptions) are still mainly the ones calling the shots in the anglophone publishing world. They are still the center of the empire. Even though English is spoken everywhere and many different varieties of English are popping up every day in different contexts, native English speakers still hold an impressive amount of power in deciding anything about the English language, whether they know/want it or not. There are still much lower and fewer barriers to entry for translators into English who are native English speakers than for L2 translators into English. And I think that’s understandable. I am not saying it is done consciously, but we “protect our own.” You trust artistically people with whom you share a common ground—shared cultural and linguistic experiences result in the assumption that these people will be best placed to translate the world into something you, as the English reader, will find comfortable, relatable. That’s all fine. But why does it have to be comfortable? Why must you have the world digested and regurgitated to you in a way that will keep your literary experience within your comfort zone, which will seem worldly, but not too worldly? I think these inherent biases are very hard to beat. And editors, proofreaders, agents, they all work as gatekeepers, consciously or not, and whenever faced with something that sounds odd, are bound to interpret that oddness as a lack of fluency. But why must fluency be held to such a high esteem? Why can’t we truly shake the target language and culture when we are translating works of fiction from other contexts and cultures? In short, in answer to your questions: it’s all of the above. It’s deeply rooted in how we view and construct linguistic authority to protect our cultural and national unity. It’s also inertia, gatekeeping, and market pressures.

MS: Let’s take a stеp back. Are you acquainted with the actual research translation studies gurus have based their claims about correct directionality upon (e.g., Newmark, Dollerup, etc.), or are these more axiomatic assumptions, self-evident truths that we have taken at face value for far too long?

LC: The latter! I haven’t found much actual evidence; in fact, the so-called evidence is usually anecdotal and full of assumptions and biases. I respect those with whom I disagree if they actually put the issue to the test following a scientific-minded process (like many in Translation Process Research and Marmaridou’s 1996 study). I honestly think that in order to make claims on “correct” directionality, we all must first spend decades diving deep into directionality testing across different genres with a big enough sample of informants. And then, we need to triangulate properly and borrow methodologies from other areas of translation studies. Translation sociology is still a young area within TS, and instead of just looking at the text and comparing original and translation, it truly understands the positionality of the translator. Also, the end-all result shouldn’t be aiming to put the absolute single claim of which directionality is best. They are different, for different goals, and in different contexts. That’s all. The problem is that the L2 directionality hasn’t really been given enough space to sediment itself, to be seriously studied. It is often seen as just a pedagogical tool, an exercise, not a serious endeavor. But we have to actually test these hypotheses rather than just use blanket statements. It enrages me that an area such as translation studies, which is varied, artistic, scientific, interdisciplinary, fascinating, has resorted to opinionated, anecdotal, biased blanket statements and claims about directionality, which haven’t been appropriately challenged. It’s almost like it is the TikTok version of a scientist, like wellness influencers spreading half-truths as gospel. We are better than that. Aren’t we?

MS: Drawing on your research and interviews, could you share some of the gatekeeping practices your informants have faced?

LC: It is not so much about specific instances that could easily be pinpointed. Some of the gatekeeping practices seem to be more covert. Such, for example, are calls for translators requiring native speakers of the target language, at times even using the term “mother tongue.” Others are more obvious. One translator recalled a moment at a literary translation conference where they gave a reading as an emerging translator fellow, presenting a translation into their L2. After the reading, a translator of some renown approached them and asked, “I noticed you have an accent. Don’t you think you should have found a co-translator?” and then proceeded to tell of an instance when he was translating something from Portuguese (not his L1) into English (his L1), and the story mentioned Wuthering Heights by Emily Brontë. In Portuguese, this has been translated as Morro dos Ventos Uivantes, which translates literally to “The Howling Winds Peak/Mountain.” The translator in question mentioned that had he not had a co-translator, he wouldn’t have known and would have left it as “Howling Winds.” The L2 translator recalls replying, “Well, if you read literature in both languages, you’d know that, and you probably wouldn’t make that mistake.”

Fluency and nativeness are not everything. Being a native speaker of a language doesn’t mean you are automatically better positioned to translate or judge a translation into your native language. I would argue that knowledge of translation theory across different contexts and languages should count as an advantage too, as should being well-read and generally curious. In fact, when it comes to choosing who gets to translate, these factors should count more than the language you spoke as a child. I don’t recall any of the others, but all fourteen interviewees had at least once experienced gatekeeping practices on different levels: from friends and readers to funders and editors. Some even from translation students.

MS: You suggest that “stepping out of one’s mother tongue is an active stance we can take as L2 translators.” To what extent does describing this practice as exophonic translation reshape our understanding of the translator’s position? Does it help in asserting professional and linguistic agency, or is it simply strategic rebranding that softens terms like “service translation”?

LC: I think both. Simply put. As I said, you can choose whatever term you prefer. You may choose no specific term and just call it translation/translator. Having a term does help, however, in framing your stance, your practice. I proposed exophonic because it is not tied to any fixed terminology like L1, L2, L3, Lx, is not tied to possibly loaded words such as inverse or service, and puts the action on the expressive capabilities of the translator. There are exophonic authors who consciously and intentionally write literature in a language that the world tells them is not the language they should be writing literature in, and still produce truly groundbreaking works. Then why can’t translators fashion themselves as such, as shapeshifters, who are not only conduits, bound by fixed lingualist definitions, but instead can step in and out, express, create? Anyway, did that answer your question?

MS: It certainly did. In this regard, let me ask you the following: in the conclusion of your book Literary Exophonic Translation, you state that it is “a work of epistemic disobedience” (after Walter Mignolo). I think we are already clear on the “why,” but could you elaborate on the “how”? And also, how can we express “epistemic disobedience”?

LC: I don’t have a definitive answer, and I think I never will. I believe it has to do with questioning every supposed truth we’re told about what translation is, what counts as a good translation, who the ideal translator is, who the reader is, and so on. It’s about questioning the processes of translation—the binaries, the structures we were placed into and continue to reproduce. I once attended a conference on L2 translation where a participant kept insisting that L2 translation is a fact of the world worth studying, yet inherently suboptimal. He repeated that point over and over. But what is the definition of optimal? Who gets to define it? To me, the whole thing feels suss.

But this disobedience can sometimes mean going around English altogether—using other languages to relay meaning to one another and completely bypassing European languages or English. It means making the reader uncomfortable at times; it means experimenting, opening up possibilities, and in doing so, opening up your own mind as well.

As my friend Anton Hur says, “That’s all well and good, but translators need to eat.” I’m not asking for working translators to take risks and jeopardize their ability to eat, as it were. What I’m calling for is something slightly different: for translation scholars to open up these possibilities; for the hotshot world literature professors to consider translation as more than a footnote; and for the literary translator who needs to put food on the table and therefore cannot do exactly as they please, to still use their voice and question things—something Anton already does. Disobedience doesn’t mean just one thing. If you cannot fully experiment with a text because the editors/publishers won’t let you, or there is a chance the reader may shun it, then there are other ways to disobey: with paratexts, opinion pieces, by judging a translation award or grant, fighting certain gatekeeping practices and terminology from translation programs and grants. It’s a good start. To be honest, epistemic disobedience to me is more of a stance, a projection of beliefs that slowly seeps into your practice and your thinking, rather than a fixed framework or a list of tasks. I think we need more of the latter, but we can start with the former.

MS: Do you think the translation community has a role to play in changing the attitudes towards exophonic translation?

LC: Yes, and I think it’s already doing that. I don’t know whether the term will catch on, or whether people will choose other terms—or choose not to name it at all—and I truly don’t mind if they dislike this one. What matters to me is that translators have an equal footing of opportunity when they work. That’s what I want for exophonic translators: simply to be allowed to try. I think the community is already doing a lot towards that goal. I started my PhD in 2018, when it was still something of a desert in that regard. Since then, so much research has emerged, and I definitely haven’t covered all grounds. It probably isn’t even possible, because so much of our understanding of L2 translation is scattered and hidden; it often comes down to keywords, to how studies are indexed, and to how different languages frame the field. I’m also limited by the languages I can read, so if there is a wealth of exophonic translation research in Tagalog, for example, I have certainly missed it. It’s funny, I am dependent on someone having translated their views on L2 translation into the languages I happen to read.

But the translators I interviewed for my thesis back in 2020 have since gone on to great heights, being shortlisted and winning prestigious awards left and right, and publishing prolifically.

MS: We discussed the L2 translation landscape and your views on the ecosystem. Shall we talk a bit about your role as a translator? Which translation projects have given you the greatest sense of enjoyment or fulfillment?

LC: I’ve had a crazy varied experience so far. And there’s something I often get frustrated about: I have done the dirty work, I have translated fridge manuals, tractor troubleshooting manuals, I have done machine translation post editing, translated boring corporate marketing comms, translated articles, abstracts, signs, letters, documents, you name it. I’ve also done interpreting. And it humbles you, so much. These experiences have changed me profoundly. Literary translation is, therefore, a small part of my translation experience. I don’t agree with the unspoken rule that it is a higher form of art than non-literary translation. Even though AI may take a little longer to replace literary translators, as it is already doing with their colleagues in other areas (and please, God, make it stop), seeing these as essentially separate strikes me as elitist. You may have a preference, and, in fact, if I had to choose, I would always choose translating literary texts or creative non-fiction, and my favourite is translating poetry. Now THAT doesn’t put food on anyone’s table, not even the poet who wrote the source poem. My preferences do not mean I don’t value the other types of translation. I also think I’m a better translator because of my experience with these wildly varied types of texts, contexts, audiences, purposes. I really enjoyed translating a book of poetry from Brazilian Portuguese to English, which is still seeking a publisher; one of the poems was published in Modern Poetry in Translation. Another one that gave me a great sense of fulfillment was a poem translation from German into English, none of which is my mother tongue (though the former is my mother’s mother tongue, but that is a subject for another interview altogether). But perhaps my biggest accomplishment was translating Yoko Tawada’s Memoirs of a Polar Bear into Brazilian Portuguese. I remember meeting Susan Bernofsky in New York and chatting about our shared experience, and when Tawada came to Brazil to meet me for the book tour, that was the cherry on top.

MS: To end on a positive note, are you optimistic about a potential (or ongoing) paradigm shift, and what advice would you give to budding exophonic translators?

LC: Ever the optimist. I am not, however, optimistic about AI in general and the threat it poses to translation. Though the human-in-the-loop will prove to be more necessary than tech giants and the AI bubblemakers were led to believe. Take the following example: when they replace us with robots that can translate ten times faster than a mere human, what will be left for us? Creativity. Would we still write? Would we still translate? I think the answer to this is a resounding YES.

I am not too optimistic about the future of it as a profession, as it has never been very good. Also, it would be highly optimistic of me to speak from a point of view that is not mine. I am not a full-time literary translator. I am not part of the privileged few who can survive on translating literature alone, while living where I live. When I was a full-time freelance translator, I still had to supplement my income. I’ve been paid to do doctoral research, and I currently work in research services at a university. Translation is now my side quest, my passion project, which means I have less time to invest in it, which means I do miss out on A LOT, but at the same time, it’s easy for me to say certain things when I have fewer stakes. I don’t depend on translation to pay my bills. My advice, then, is to take any advice with a fistful of salt and always consider the positionality of whoever is giving it. I wouldn’t tell a fellow immigrant translator living in one of the most expensive cities on earth, who depends entirely on translation to make ends meet, to go forth and be totally disruptive and do the opposite of what readers and publishers want. That would be horrible of me. My advice is to do little rebellions where you can. To try your hand, for the fun of it. And the biggest advice of all is to empower yourself, deconstruct your beliefs, test your optimality. Brazilian author Luis Fernando Verissimo once said, “Grammar needs to get beaten up every day to know who’s boss.” I think what he says applies to translation, to norms, to writing, to language. Use it. Abuse it. Make art with it.

Read More by Lúcia

Memórias de um urso-polar (translation of Yoko Tawada’s Etüden im Schnee, published by Editora Todavia)

“The First Night Song” (a poem by Yoko Tawada, published in No Man’s Land)

“Mother Joana’s House (everything goes)” (a poem by Michelle Buss, published in Modern Poetry in Translation)

Fidelity is… overrated, unclear (faithful to whom?), undefined.

Ninja or superhero? Ninja: more dangerous, more contextual, less of a pedestal.

Full-time job or glorified hobby? Both? If you are able to survive with it as your full-time job, great. It takes a certain type of privilege, mental fortitude, personality, perseverance, and good personal marketing skills. For the less fortunate of us, it effectively acts as more of a hobby, I think. It depends on your definition of a hobby.

A translation I fell in love with is… Disoriental by Négar Djavadi (translated by Tina Kover) and The Sun on My Head by Geovani Martins (translated by Julia Sanches).

My favorite misconception about translation is… the whole conduit metaphor, of a translator as a neutral transmitter of information. It’s not really FAVORITE, more like the one I think is the biggest misconception.

My favorite translation grant is… are the ones I win, haha. I really like the PEN ones, especially the one (PEN Presents) I have been recently shortlisted for, as it pays for the often-unpaid work of producing translation samples.

Money is… important as a background/baseline for a person to have mental space and time to pursue the truly important things.

Lúcia’s Translation Slam Book

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