TITLE: Untranslatable
AUTHOR: Alma Alexander
158 pages, Crossroad Press, ISBN 9780463304662 (ebook)
DESCRIPTION: (from Goodreads): There is a story behind every word. There is a word behind every story. Some concepts require a single word in other languages but paragraphs to explain in English.
There are times when it is impossible to have a direct translation of something, to understand an idea at once simple to one mind and unutterably impenetrable to another—except through the bridge of story, through a literal journey into another language, another culture, another mind. The 14 stories in this book are bridges made of words—crossing into language landscapes of Japan, of Sweden, of France, of Portugal, of Tierra del Fuego—glimpses into the worldview and the mindset of cultures different enough from our own to produce a single word that encompasses a world of concepts.
Translating the untranslatable.
MY RATING: Four of five stars
MY THOUGHTS: The interplay between languages is always intriguing. How do concepts and subtleties move from one language to another? How, when translating, do we take into account differences in the way gender, tense, or possession are expressed? In this collection of fourteen stories, half reprints and half new, Alma Alexander builds worlds out of words that don’t easily or succinctly translate into English. And there is not an unsatisfying story in the collection, although some stick closer to the theme than others.
In the table of contents, Alexander provides broad translations for the words she’s chosen to build her stories on, but those translations should not lead the reader to expect what kind of story each will be. The author uses science fiction, fantasy, and horror equally throughout the collection; words whose broad definition implies hopefulness sometimes underlie dark stories, and vice versa. I would argue that not every word Alexander chose for this collection is difficult to translate into English. “Inshallah” is pretty straightforward as “By Allah’s will,” and by Alexander’s definition, “Kintsugi” seems more like the name of an artform that a word seeking translation. But that’s a minor quibble in an otherwise strong and very diverse collection.
“Black Wings over Kjellmar” is science fiction, built around the Inuit word Iktsuarpok, “the frustration of waiting for someone to turn up or the anticipation of constantly going outside to see if someone is coming.” The human ambassador to a world that has a hidden winged population gets frustrated at every turn as she seeks to learn more about them. It’s a tension-filled story, touching heavily on issues of colonialism: what gives human curiosity precedence over the rites and rituals of native populations? And where does one drawn the line between personal interest in a culture and political demands?
The fantasy tale “Dreamshare” is built around the Japanese word Ikigai, “a reason to get up in the morning, a reason to live.” A woman leaves her village and her safe life to track down the man who left her thanks to a visiting ship and the magical drug that brings communion through shared use but uses up those who can’t find someone to share with. I found this one a particularly brutal story in its depiction of addiction and drug use, and a dark twist on the type of story one would expect such a word to inspire.
The French word Trouvaille, “a valuable or lucky find, something lovely discovered by chance” informs the horror tale “Bucket List.” Here again Alexander plays with the meaning of the word, giving it a dark turn. While the house with the bucket of “3 for $10” might be a valuable find, it doesn’t turn out to be that lucky or lovely for the protagonist, a character who cannot say no to his own innate curiosity about why things are what they are.
I found “Equinox,” a fantasy tale build around the Yagan (Tierra del Fuego) word Mamihlapinatapei (“the wordless yet meaningful look shared by two people who both desire to initiate something but are both reluctant to start.”) to be a whimsical story at points, a nice switch from the preceding couple of darker tales. The distant interaction between a summer child and a winter child at a remote campground as one family leaves and the other arrives affects both of their lives. I really liked the development of the Winter people’s society as different from our human “summer people” experiences. This is one of the stories in the collection that really nails the loose translation of the word as both inspiration and plot point.
“To Remember Riobare” is a science fiction/horror blend built around the New Guinian word Mokita, “the truth everyone knows by nobody says.” It’s another story that heavily hinges on the translation: what are the unspoken truths about the place this colony exists and how it effects procreation? I think a lot is left unsaid and up to reader interpretation about whether what the main character experiences is real or in her own head. Potentially unreliable narrators always fascinate me.
“Color” is ostensibly connected to the Japanese word Komorebi, “the quality of dappled sunlight through trees, the interplay between the light and the leaves.” I’m not sure it quite capture the word it’s attempting to convey, but it’s a solid fantasy story about human changelings inspiring a fairy lord to want to see in color and how it changes his world completely and forever. Another pretty brutal story in terms of the emotions it evokes, and one of my favorite stories in the book.
“Go Through: is a fantasy/horror, trading on the “portal story” trope without ever really resolving, for me, the shifting perspectives. I wanted to like it more than I did. It’s meant to illustrate Mångata, the Swedish word for the glimmering, roadlike reflection that the moon creates on water.
Another story in the collection that I absolutely loved was “Leaving Via Callia.” It is fantasy-tinged, about a boy who hopes to one day leave his village and family to sail the seas, thanks to a dreamy prophecy made by his ailing grandfather. It’s a lovely, poignant story of living life while waiting for the expected to occur, built around the Japanese word Aware, “the bittersweetness of a brief and fading moment of transcendent beauty.”
“Night Train” trades off of the aforementioned easily translatable Arabic word Inshallah, literally “if Allah wills.” This is a fantastic story about meeting your internal ghosts/gods and deciding whether you need to change or not, and a pretty solid depiction of depression to boot. I loved it when I first read it in the anthology Dark Faith II: Invocations, and loved it as much on a second read.
The fantasy story “She Wore Yellow” is another that really works with the word it’s meant to reflect. The Korean word Won expresses the reluctance on a person’s part to let go of an illusion. In this story, the narrator sees the same woman over and over again throughout his life, wearing different colors that seem to have different meanings, but no-one else sees her. Despite their assurances that he is seeing things, he cannot let go of her until he learns what she is all about.
I mentioned that the Japanese word Kintsugi, the art of fixing broken pottery with lacquer resin dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver or platinum, seems more like the name of an artform than a word that needs translation. It’s the basis for “Something That Would Shine,” another story of an Ambassador to an alien world getting in over his head. In this case, discovering the native race’s secret in producing the crystals that are so valued on his homeworld. Very topical, speaking to modern issues of blood diamonds and taking advantage of indigenous populations who are also taking advantage of their own.
The Arabic word Ya’aburnee, an incantation meaning “you bury me,” doesn’t seem like a good fit for Alexander’s tale of “The Flying Dutchman,” but the story itself is an interesting twist on the classic tale. A man who escaped service on the titular ship tracks down the captain years later to try to free him from his curse, or at least to understand it why he persists in it long past the need.
“The Painting” is perhaps the only non-genre story in the collection, based on the Spanish word Duende, “the mysterious power a work of art has to deeply move a person.” A very bittersweet story about the effect art can have on people, and the effect our reaction to art can have on others.
Finally, in “The Bones of Our Ancestors, The Blood of Our Flowers,” Alexander tries to explicate the Portuguese word Saudade, “the feeling of longing for something or someone that you love and which is lost.” A beautiful fantasy-tinged tale to end the collection, wrapped up in remembrance and loss and hope for the future.
Untranslatable is a strong single-author collection, and each story is accompanied by the author’s notes about why she chose each story to represent the word it does. By her own admission, some connections are less firm that others, but that doesn’t diminish from the quality of the stories included.