Liliana Valenzuela and the art of translation
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Liliana Valenzuela, a Mexico City native only in her 20s, immigrated to the United States by a twist of fate and has worked as a translator since 1993. For more than 30 years, she has translated over 30 works of fiction, poetry and children’s and teenage novels. She has translated from English to Spanish for authors such as Sandra Cisneros, Julia Alvarez, Denise Chávez, Dagoberto Gilb, Richard Rodríguez, Cristina García, Alex Espinoza and many more.
The majority of authors that Valenzuela has translated are Latine, which means that many of them write in English and incorporate some passages in Spanish. She is conscious of these mixed texts and the challenges of translating them. Her first translations of Sandra Cisneros were for “Hairs/Pelitos,” a bilingual children’s book published by Alfred A. Knopf in 1994, and for “El Arroyo de la Llorona,” a storybook published by Vintage Español Random House in 1996. After the publication of the translation of “El Arroyo de la Llorana,” Valenzuela read through it, which was translated in Spain, and found it to be all the same.
“There wasn’t any play on words between Spanish and English, and I lost a lot of the original meaning. As a whole, I had a lot of mistranslations. It seemed like the translator had no concept of American Culture at all,” Valenzuela said. For example, the words “mason jars” were translated as “mason’s tools,” which has nothing to do with the original meaning. She attributes the translation errors to the lack of internet access and the inability to research and explore the cultural context further. Her goal with translating was to produce a version that was more faithful to the culture and the original text. She grew up reading translations from Spain, and there was something about the linguistic styles that she didn’t fully identify with. To translate Cisneros’ texts, Valenzuela had to conduct thorough research on both U.S. Spanish and the working-class Chicano Spanish of Chicago that’s spoken by many of her characters and distinguish it from other varieties of Spanish spoken in Texas, California or along the border. Another major challenge for her was to reflect the code-switching used by the characters since it could not be identical. If an author used a Spanish word in an English text, leaving it in Spanish in the translation would not make sense, as it would lose its effect and become a normal Spanish word.
“Spanish has to create the same effect,” Valenzuela said. “The effect of surprise, longing, curiosity and wonder. The question is, what is that, and how did the author do it?”
In the ‘90s, mixing languages was not yet a popular technique in English literature. According to Valenzuela, therefore, it was surprising when it was used. In order to achieve an accurate translation, Valenzuela conducted fieldwork. She shared how Cisneros had invited her to her house in San Antonio, where she met many Chicano friends, and how she had arrived with a yellow book full of questions. The brunch dragged on and turned into an evening of translation, during which she asked them how they say certain words.
“We have discussed this many times amongst ourselves,” Valenzuela said. “’No, that’s how you say it. No, that’s not how you say it,’” she said.
One example of these concerns during the discussions is the word “chingazos”, Mexican slang meaning “blows” or “punches,” or the expression “agarrar a alguien a chingazos,” meaning “to beat someone up.”
“I grew up hearing people say ‘chingadazos’ in Mexico City,” Valenzuela said. “But one of them said, ‘No, here it’s a chingazos.’” Although this form was not the most natural for the translator, she chose the version that was more authentic to Texas, where the character was from.
Valenzuela’s translations have been successful thanks to her close collaboration with the authors. “Sandra helped me a lot because we worked together closely,” Valenzuela said. Cisneros read Valenzuela’s translations and revised the voice, or “how it sounds,” to remain faithful to that of the mother or character being translated. The two authors discussed the matter in person and over the phone until they agreed on a phrase that most closely matched the original English meaning. This was done to capture the authentic feel and create the same experience for Spanish-speaking readers.
“It was a real collaboration,” Valenzuela said. “Together, we came up with better solutions than either of us could have done alone.” In contrast, Julia Álvarez’s translations were more complicated because they used Dominican Spanish. “I also wanted it to be as authentic as possible,” she said. Álvarez immigrated to the United States at the age of 10 and was subsequently educated in English. She hired a Dominican anthropology specialist from the University of Texas at Austin to work with Valenzuela on her book, “Before We Were Free”, which is about the Trujillo dictatorship. The specialist was from the same generation as Álvarez, and together with Valenzuela, they worked on a list of words and their translations. Valenzuela and the specialist met to discuss the best Spanish options. For example, he explained that using “mochilas,” the Spanish word for “backpacks,” would be incorrect in Spanish since bundles of books were used at that time. Through this collaboration, Valenzuela concluded that language is an ever-evolving entity and that learning about another culture and its history is an ongoing process.
However, not all of the authors were involved in the translation process. Each collaboration was distinct, as was the case with Espinoza, who was involved to a limited extent. Another example is the book, “A Handbook to Luck” by Cristina García. According to Valenzuela, although Garcia is Cuban, the story is not specifically Cuban, and it was not necessary to maintain Cuban Spanish.
“It wasn’t important for the dialogue to sound Cuban,” Valenzuela said. The translation process depended on the plot of the novel or the stories being told. Some stories do not include Chicano, Dominican or Latine characters per se. When these Latine characters are included, Valenzuela says that “less is more” regarding the added code-switching. Just a few well-chosen words can create the desired effect and tone. This technique is primarily used in dialogue to define the characters. Some of the questions Valenzuela asks herself when translating are: How would this character sound in Spanish? Who would this person be? How would they speak? This imaginative process also enables her to distinguish the characters from one another, ensuring they don’t all sound the same.
In terms of poetry translation, Valenzuela translated Cisneros’ “Women Without Shame”. Having translated Cisneros’ poems “bit by bit” for magazines and publications over the years, the process for this collection was easier. For “Women Without Shame”, a selection of poems from the last 30 years was made. Although Valenzuela could channel Cisneros’ voice more easily, there were still poems that needed to be discussed to achieve a more faithful translation. The most challenging poem in “Women Without Shame” was “Women of a Certain Age,” inspired by Dylan Thomas’ “Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night.” In this poem, Cisneros parodies the underwear worn by older women while maintaining the same rhythm and structure as the original.
“In Spanish, most people don’t know Dylan Thomas and don’t have the background or points of reference,” Valenzuela said. “Poetry is more difficult because there are multiple meanings, and every word you choose affects all the others around it. They can convey different meanings. But furthermore, how do you make the music sound more or less the same?” she added. Initially, Valenzuela provided a literal translation of “Women of a Certain Age,” but it still failed to capture the poem’s essence. After discussing the matter with Cisneros, they decided it would be best to abandon the original poem and consider how one would speak if they were furious and which words would be used.
Throughout this process, Valenzuela served as both a translator and a creative poet. After translating the other poems in the “Women Without Shame” collection, Valenzuela attempted to translate the poem again with the intention of conveying anger. The translator concluded from this that, even if a problem seems very complex, setting it aside allows the unconscious to keep working on it.
“It’s like a puzzle that your mind keeps turning over and over,” Valenzuela said. She has developed her translation process over time from reading and analyzing the plot and style before accepting a translation assignment to figuring out what kind of research would be needed. Undoubtedly, Valenzuela is a historical translator, having translated the works of some of the earliest Latine American writers. She has developed her own approach to translation, since there are no set instructions and each translator has their own method.
“All these insights into translation are important, interesting and reveal a lot about the language and the historical moment we are living in,” Valenzuela said.
– Story by Ofelia Montelongo
– Translation by Sabrina Femino
– Copy edited by Channing Matha and Valerie Izquierdo
Ofelia Montelongo is a bilingual Mexican writer who holds an MBA in Strategic Leadership and a Master’s degree in Latin American Literature. Her work has appeared in The Rumpus, the Latino Book Review, The Acentos Review and other publications. She edited the “Latine Monsters” issue of Barrelhouse. Montelongo is currently a PEN/Faulkner writer-in-residence, a member of the Macondo Writers’ Workshop and a fellow in PEN America’s Emerging Voices programme. She is also an alumna of Tin House, VONA and the Key West Seminar.
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