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Issue #4 - Bradford - Pseudotranslating Renée Vivien (...)

Pseudotranslating Renée Vivien: a problematic and problematising practice

Terry Bradford

Abstract

The practice of pseudotranslation provides material with which to answer Patrick McGuinness’s question (2019: 209): ‘What happens when a translation has no original?’ Brigid Maher (2017: 25) explains that a pseudotranslation is a ‘fictitious translation’ with ‘no single corresponding source text’. For Isabelle Collombat (2003: 145), pseudotranslation serves as a ‘laboratory’. In this experimental light, I have pseudotranslated a number of texts, including one ‘never written by Renée Vivien’. Most scholarly discussion of pseudotranslation deals with its definition, history, and place in literature. Against this background, in contrast, this short paper allows me to describe my method for pseudotranslating non-existent text as well as my particular aims in attempting this. It thereby provides insight into a range of issues at play in the composition of pseudotranslation – this in turn sheds light on questions traductological, including that of translator (in-)visibility. My practice – exploratory, experimental, creative – has led me to reflect critically on the process. It is in this vein that the paper moves on to discuss and problematise the positionality of the pseudotranslator of ‘queer’ fiction.

 

Le Foulard et les gants – A short story never written by Renée Vivien:

an annotated pseudotranslation by Terry Bradford

Please download the short story from the following link. Le Foulard et les gants

Pseudotranslating Renée Vivien: a problematic and problematising practice

1/ What is pseudotranslation?

Brigid Maher (2017: 25) has defined pseudotranslation thus:

'A pseudotranslation, sometimes also known as a fictitious translation, is a text that is presented and/or widely received as a translation, but for which no single corresponding source text has ever existed' (cf. Toury 1995: 40).

For Isabelle Collombat (2003: 145), it acts as a ‘laboratory’ – it is a (creative) space for ‘experiments in imagining’ (Olufemi, 2021: 8). In looking descriptively and historically at pseudotranslation(s), scholars have underlined – among other things – ‘the emancipatory and/or legitimising potential of pseudotranslations’ (Vanacker & Toremans, 2016: 26). Rather than looking at pseudotranslation from the outside[1], my approach embraces pseudotranslation as a metafictional form of (emancipatory and participatory) practice.

My particular take on pseudotranslation is problematic and problematising – it indeed seeks to ‘challenge the very notion of translation’ and ‘the idea of an accountable relationship tying source-text to target-text’ (Vanacker, 2018: 280). Significantly, there is no intention on my part to mislead or more mischievously fool the reader into thinking they are reading a ‘real’ translation – the pseudotranslations are presented as such. But this packaging may itself be seen as misleading, for there is arguably little to distinguish them from ‘fan fiction’ (Anna Wilson, 2021) or ‘transcreation’ (Juliane House, 2018: 41).

That ‘there is no attempt to convince readers of their translational status’ (Aoyama & Wakabayashi, 1999: 218) could seem to indicate that my aim is more to produce parodies of translation. This is not so. Nevertheless, one way in which I hope to exploit the metafictional potential of pseudotranslation is through heavy annotation of the texts. This feature may justifiably be received as ‘mocking, ironical paraphilology’[2] (Horsfall, 2009: 41). Even so, whilst its self-reflective dimension leaves me room for play, this does not preclude a genuine interest in exploring issues in translation.

Practising pseudotranslation is one way to explore Patrick McGuinness’s question (2019: 209): ‘What happens when a translation has no original?’ As a practising translator, this strikes me as an utterly intriguing, multi-faceted question – the activity is exceedingly appealing and has proven enriching. Since there is no source text, there is no troublesome original ‘meaning’ or ‘nuance’ to ‘capture’. This is not to say, however, that my approach is unconstrained…

 

2/ My aims and method in translating non-existent text

I was first inspired to attempt pseudotranslation after having translated two novels by Boris Vian. During a trip to Scotland in between lockdowns owing to the Covid pandemic, I was struck by the idea of pseudotranslating a third novel to turn my translations of Vian’s novels into the first two parts of a trilogy. This is an ongoing project – not least because Vian’s main protagonists are not yet in the public domain.[3] Only more recently have I hit upon the idea of pseudotranslating shorter pieces by writers unencumbered by copyright issues, such as Renée Vivien.[4]

Thus far, I have completed just a handful of short pseudotranslations. My approach relies on some familiarity with the work of a given writer[5]. In the present case, I had produced ‘real’ translations of a number of Vivien’s poems[6]: in that undertaking, I sought to achieve maximum semantic and symbolic accuracy whilst ‘respecting’ – whatever that means – the formal (poetic, stylistic) aspects of the original texts, including rhyme.

Translating Vivien involved research – into her life (and death), her loves, travels, literary output – and resulted in a personal appreciation of her leitmotifs, techniques, and style. This furnished me with a set of tools, themes, or tricks with which to play. But even if we could conceive of pseudotranslation as a science[7], these tools alone would not suffice to ‘construct’ a text à la Vivien. Some creativity and imagination were required.

When not serving solely as a literary device or as a means of accruing freedom (e.g. from censorship), pseudotranslation can also be intended to hoax readers. As is made explicit in the annotation of the present pseudotranslation, my aim was not to hoax readers. On the other hand, imitation certainly is an aim – as with translation ‘proper’, the aim was to produce a ‘convincing’ text (Hervey & Higgins, 1992: 165), a text that might reasonably ‘pass’ as a Vivienesque text. Overtly, this draws attention to the fact that the pseudotranslator is the creator. And this perhaps begs the question as to why I did not just invent my own story: why go to all the bother of pretending to translate a non-existent story penned by someone else when I could have written my own? My instinctive answer to this question would be that I have no story to tell and/or – ironically – I do not have the imagination to conjure up a story from nothing, as it were.

Armed with an appreciation of another writer’s style, outlook, and persona, I felt more confident in embarking on what Raymond Queneau might have called an ‘exercise in style’. But then there is perhaps little to differentiate my pseudotranslations from fan fiction. As my pseudotranslational practice has other aims, however, I hope the resulting texts can be read (polyphonically) as something more than that.

One additional aim, for example, was to make my presence felt or visible[8] in the text. This is most manifest in the annotations. When I began practising pseudotranslation, the inclusion of lengthy footnotes – some serious, some spurious, some engaging with translation theory or practice – was always part of the plan. The first footnote, for example, is a serious, factual introduction to the intriguing Vivien. It also offers references – via Colette and Maria-Mercè Marçal – encouraging and enabling the reader to find out more about her[9].

Luise Von Flotow (2012: 130) has explained how relatively recent feminist practice/analysis has sought to remedy the fact that:

'[…] literary and academic institutions have neglected female writers and translators, thus depriving cultures and societies of the ideas of an important yet marginalized sector of the population. Similar work is currently underway with regard to gay and queer genders in translation.'

This gesture therefore contributes to realising one of my aims in my work as both a translator and pseudotranslator. I do not wish to serve patriarchy – rather, I seek to address and counter the erasure of marginal/marginalised voices from literary history.

The second footnote draws attention to the ‘fictitious’ aspect of the pseudotranslation, roots the pseudotranslator in the text, and problematises the process from within. The third footnote further problematises the endeavour in terms – most importantly – of gender and sexuality. It also invites the reader to reflect on these issues.

As a final example, the fourth footnote points – mystifyingly – to a non-existent source text: it constitutes an imaginary translation issue. I am having fun, here, and invite the reader to join in. Such footnotes can also give an idea of how the story was ‘generated’ – and they provide an insight into different types of challenges encountered in ‘real’ translation… even if the examples are imagined or invented.

Regarding the method, I began with the title, but did not sketch a beginning, middle, and end for the story. First came the gloves – through their association, perhaps, with a general trope of ‘queer’ writing (Wednesday, 2008): hands. I added the scarf to the gloves merely to produce a spurious footnote. I set the story in Marseille because I have experience (and memories) of living there and because Vivien – whose work was often autobiographical – is known to have passed through that city. By way of characters, I imagined Vivien herself sitting at a café (thereby re-enacting her autobiographical mode) and the waitress serving her (thus setting up a power dynamic as a dramatic device, potentially). I presumed their encounter would be somehow sensual, and that the scene would be coloured by the decadence of the age (hence the absinthe and references to ‘prostitution’/sex work).

Other than that, the ‘story’ very much evolved organically on an ad lib basis, with detail/narrative being ‘mysteriously’ motivated/generated within the aforementioned parameters, all drawing on my imagination and knowledge of écriture féminine[10]. This illustrates a number of things at play:

  • inspiration for the subject – in this case – came from a literary trope;
  • some ideas were prompted by my strategy – for example, the desire to make my presence known via lengthy footnotes. Their inclusion is a nod to (and subversion of) Vladimir Nabokov’s ideas on translation[11] – they are also designed to engage with questions of translator (in-)visibility, domestication/foreignization, queer(ing) translation, and experiential or creative translation;
  • I drew on my own autobiography to some extent for inspiration;
  • detail and story were ‘generated’ step by step, often as a result of research. For example, in seeking ‘realistic’ detail, I found a picture of the Café du Ventoux from the 1900s via Google Images;
  • the story ‘played out’ and resolved according to themes/ideas that I either drew from or projected onto Vivien’s œuvre (doubtless including my own subconscious prejudices, biases, obsessions, fantasies, fears, and feelings).

3/ Problematising the positionality of the (pseudo)translator of ‘queer’ fiction

The practice of pseudotranslation has attracted the attention of James St. André (2018: 86) – among others – who, through the lens(es) of queer theory, sees it as a potential form of ‘cross-identity performance’. For him, it:

'[…] offers a non-essentialist, post-positivist way of understanding translation […]. It also shifts emphasis away from the oft-decried image of the translator as copyist to an understanding of translation as transcreation, thus attributing to the translator creative agency. […] If crossing is based on the mimicry of general traits, then we can begin to think of translation not in terms of equivalence or fidelity but in terms of successful or unsuccessful performance, and we can also consider other related types of textual practices, such as pseudo-translation and adaptation […].'

Pseudotranslation overlaps – potentially – with queer(ing) translation, transcreation, and translation more generally. Whilst we know that queer translation cannot be reduced to that of/by ‘“gay” and “lesbian”’ voices (Baer & Kaindl, 2018: 2), and whilst queer(ing) translation constitutes a move ‘away from the reification of essentialist identities to focus on desire and performance’ (Baer & Kaindl: 1), for me – as a working-class, heterosexual and cisgender male (and thus I ‘essentialise’ myself!) – the pseudotranslation of a ‘high-profile’ lesbian raises its own issues and anxieties.

Such issues have been framed by Von Flotow (2012: 132): ‘Can men translate women’s texts or women men’s? Does a translator need to be gay in order to successfully translate a gay writer’s work?’ The same questions apply to pseudotranslation. In reality, such abilities or pre-requisites have never prevented translators from translating texts by writers with whom they do not identify in terms of gender or sexuality. But that – perhaps – is not the point. Von Flotow – like St. André – emphasises the potential for ‘success’ in such enterprises. That – I contend – does not depend on gender. I doubt anyone would cast aspersions on the ability of Barbara Wright, for example, to translate Alfred Jarry, Raymond Queneau, and Michel Tournier – amongst many other male writers – because she was a woman. That said, I think it is worth bearing in mind (and I do) that male translators have a poor track record in translating representations of women[12].

One (ostensibly ‘noble’) reason for embarking on this arguably foolhardy project – as I’ve made clear – has been to promote marginalised writers. In this, I am attempting to follow ‘this dual directive—to address queer phenomena, that is, phenomena that are typically ignored, marginalised, or domesticated by the dominant regime(s) of knowledge/power, and to do so queerly’ (Baer & Kaindl, 2017: 3). As doing so ‘queerly’ is a question of approach or strategy, embracing theory and sensitivity, I can only hope that I have ‘succeeded’. In fact, I suspect I have failed. Time will tell if I have fallen into traps similar to those which have caught other male writers. For example, Lowry Gene Martin II (2010: 71) writes:

'In his description, Zola inscribes on the lesbian body the prevalent social-scientific masculine traits that were believed to be indicative of the lesbian, who as an invert had a male soul in a female body.'

Differently embarrassing, might I have projected ‘fantasies’ (of ‘writing desire on the lesbian body’) – as Baudelaire did, according to Emily Wieder (2021) – onto (but in contrast with) ‘Vivien’s realities’? I cannot answer these questions. But they illustrate – at least – how pseudotranslation can promote self-reflection and self-critique, and how these activities can feed into one’s ‘real’ translation work.

Quite consciously, I might confess to feeling a certain unease in putting ‘out there’ a pseudotranslation that pretends, however playfully, to be a translation of a work by a queer woman. Actually, this unease is similar to that which I might experience in ‘properly’ translating any woman or non-binary writer. One fear, for example, is that I might unknowingly – even automatically – convert a female gaze into a male gaze. The risks in pseudotranslating Vivien are manifold. The enterprise might be viewed (non-exhaustively) as:

  • an appropriation – vampire-like, parasitical;
  • a violation – with the violence that entails;
  • an impossible mission – misguided or even pointless, at best.

Whilst it may be true that the same accusations can be levelled at many ‘real’ translations, these fears have clearly not deterred me from (pseudo)translating women writers. One reason for this – I feel – is that I don’t have to be gay to be able to relate to Vivien’s ‘darker side’ (Engelking, 1992:129) or how, for example, she:

'[…] was eventually overshadowed by growing fears and mistrust of the reading public, and by morbid and self-destructive tendencies which seem to have been part of Vivien's psychic make up.' (Engelking, 1992:127)

Whilst we are a little more familiar, now, with the dangers of trusting men with translation, I actively seek to translate non-male writers (sensitively) with the feminist/queer(ing) aim of promoting voices other than those of male writers. If I have decided to pseudotranslate women writers, it is for the same reason I seek to translate them. In both translating and pseudotranslating Clémence Robert[13], for example, I hope to turn an academic spotlight onto her work. My reasons for translating Clémentine Mélois[14] are slightly different – in translating her, I sought to introduce a highly original contemporary female francophone voice to an anglophone audience.

In conclusion, I offer up my pseudotranslations for amusement, education, and criticism. Constituting a ‘form of elaborate intertextuality’ (Gürçağlar, 2010: 184), their serious sides lie in their feminist aims and engagement with theories social, cultural, political, historical, aesthetic, literary, and traductological – all of which are subject to constant reflection.

 

References

Tomoko Aoyama and Judy Wakabayashi (1999). ‘Where parody meets translation’ in Japan Forum, Taylor & Francis Group, 11:2, 217-30.

Brian James Baer and Klaus Kaindl (2018). ‘Queer(ing) Translation’ in Queering Translation, Translating the Queer: Theory, Practice, Activism, eds Brian James Baer and Klaus Kaindl, Routledge, 1–10.

Isabelle Collombat (2003). ‘Pseudo-traduction : la mise en scene de l’altérité’ in Le Langage et l'homme, 38:1, 145-56.

Tama Engelking (1992). ‘Renée Vivien's Sapphic Legacy: Remembering the “House of Muses”’ in Atlantis: Critical Studies in Gender, Culture & Social Justice, 125-41

Şehnaz Tahir Gürçağlar (2010). ‘Scouting the Borders of Translation: Pseudotranslation, Concealed Translations and Authorship in Twentieth-Century Turkey’, in Translation Studies 3:2, 172–87.

Sándor Hervey & Ian Higgins (1992). Thinking French translation, Routledge.

Nicholas Horsfall (2009). ‘Dictys's Ephemeris and the Parody of Scholarship’ in Illinois Classical Studies 33-34, 41-63.

Juliane House (2018). Translation: the basics. Routledge.

Alfred Jarry (1911). Gestes et opinions du docteur Faustroll, pataphysicien: Roman néoscientifique, Charpentier.

  • Exploits and Opinions of Dr. Faustroll, Pataphysician. Trans. Simon Watson Taylor. Boston: Exact Change, 1996.

Brigid Maher (2018). ‘Pseudotranslation’ in The Routledge handbook of literary translation. Routledge, 382-393.

David Martens (2010). ‘Au miroir de la pseudo-traduction. Ironisation du traduire et traduction de l’ironie’ in LANS, Linguistica Antwerpsiensia, Themes in Translation Studies 9, 195-211.

Lowry Gene Martin, II (2010). Desire, Fantasy, and the Writing of Lesbos-sur-Seine, 1880-1939, UC Berkeley UC: Berkeley Electronic Theses and Dissertations. Permalink https://escholarship.org/uc/item/318502kw

Patrick McGuinness (2019). ‘The Permissions of Translation’ in Gravity and Grace: Essays for Roger Pearson, eds Charlie Louth & Patrick McGuinness (Legenda, Modern Humanities Research Association: 207-26.

Vladimir Nabokov [1955] (2012). ‘Problems of Translation: Onegin in English’ in The Translation Studies Reader, ed. Lawrence Venuti, Routledge, 113-25.

Lola Olufemi (2021). Experiments in imagining otherwise. Hajar Press, 2021.

Paolo Rambelli (2020). ‘Pseudotranslation’ in Routledge Encyclopedia of Translation Studies, eds Mona Baker and Gabriela Saldanha. Routledge, 208-11.

James St. André (2018). ‘In All His Finery: Frederick Marryat’s The Pacha of Many Tales as Drag’ in Queering Translation, Translating the Queer: Theory, Practice, Activism, eds. Brian James Baer, and Klaus Kaindl, Routledge, 84-95.

Gideon Toury (1995). ‘Excursus A. Pseudotranslations and Their Significance’ in Descriptive Translation Studies and Beyond, ed. Gideon Toury. John Benjamins, 40-52.

Beatrijs Vanacker and Tom Toremans (2016). ‘Pseudotranslation and Metafictionality’ in Interférences littéraires/Literaire interferenties: Pseudo-traduction. Enjeux métafictionnels, eds Beatrijs Vanacker & Tom Toremans 19, 23-38.

Beatrijs Vanacker (2018), ‘A Game of English Make-Believe: Reading Eighteenth-Century French Pseudotranslations’ in Translation Studies 11:3, 280–297.

Lawrence Venuti (2017). The translator's invisibility: A history of translation. Routledge.

Luise Von Flotow (2012). ‘Gender in translation’, in Handbook of Translation Studies 1, John Benjamins, 129-133.

Wednesday (2008). ‘Freaky Hands: A Phenomenological Reflection on Lesbian Hands’ in Journal of Lesbian Studies 12:4, 399–402.

Emily Wieder (2021). ‘Writing Desire on the Lesbian Body: Baudelaire’s Fantasies and Vivien’s Realities’ in Tête à Tête: Journal of Francophone Studies 1:1, 3.

Anna Wilson (2021). ‘Fan fiction and premodern literature: Methods and definitions’ in Transformative Works and Cultures, 36.

Emily Wilson (2018). ‘Translator’s note’ in Homer’s The Odyssey, Norton, 81-91.

Emily Wilson (2021). ‘Slaves and Sex in the Odyssey’ in Slavery and Sexuality in Classical Antiquity, 15-39.

Notes

[1] Paolo Rambelli’s (2020: 208-11) summary of the origins and history of pseudotranslation considers its ‘motivations’ (on the part of the creator), its capacity as a ‘device for cultural transitions’, and how pseudotranslations can ‘highlight both the role of writers as cultural mediators and the strategies, methods and reasons of cultural transfer and innovations’.

[2] In what he calls the ‘mirror of pseudotranslation’, David Martens (2010: 196) spies the ‘parodic irony of a mystifying strategy’. Martens (2010: 197) goes on to add that: ‘Despite their undeniable playful aspect, these texts ask questions crucial to translation and what creates the identity thereof.’

[3] Whilst it might seem strange for me to be worried about copyright issues over a non-existent text, I am aware that copyright extends to a writer’s characters. Perhaps naively or for fear of being perceived as infringing illegally on Vian’s œuvre, I have elected to turn this particular pseudotranslation into a long-term project.

[4] My pseudotranslation of Vivien was published alongside my translations of some of her poems in Typo #9: The International Journal of Prototypes (Jan. 2025: 68-70). Unfortunately – I feel – the footnotes were omitted in this publication.

[5] Translating Vulturne, a prose poem by Léon-Paul Fargue (1876-1947), gave me the tools I needed to pseudotranslate a short Farguian piece entitled ‘Buffers’ (Les Butoirs). Having translated La Fille de Satan by Clémence Robert (1797-1872), I have imagined – through pseudotranslation – her portrait of a certain critic, Eugène de Mirecourt (1812-80): the short story is my literary response – belated and by proxy – to Mirecourt’s staggeringly rude and patronising portrait of Robert. Finally, I have capitalised on what I have learnt in translating works by the dadaist Clément Pansaers (1885-1922) in producing a pseudotranslation of his work with a (homophonic) twist.

[6] These were published in Typo #8: The International Journal of Prototypes (Oct. 2024: 15-25) and Typo #9 (Jan. 2025: 62-67).

[7] We can certainly conceive of pseudotranslation as a “pataphysical” science. Alfred Jarry (1911/1996: 21-22): “Pataphysics is the science of imaginary solutions, which symbolically attributes to their lineaments the properties of objects described by their virtuality.”

[8] The nod to Lawrence Venuti’s The translator's invisibility: A history of translation is deliberate.

[9] This, generally, is another of my aims – to encourage readers to engage with the (typically) neglected authors whom I’ve engaged with as a translator.

[10] This I owe to Hélène Cixous.

[11] Nabokov (2012: 125): ‘I want translations with copious footnotes, footnotes reaching up like skyscrapers to the top of this or that page so as to leave only the gleam of one textual line between commentary and eternity. I want such footnotes and the absolutely literal sense, with no emasculation and no padding.’

[12] I am thinking, here, of Emily Wilson’s seminal ‘Translator’s note’ to her translation of Homer’s Odyssey. Therein, Wilson (2018: 89) explains how previous – overwhelmingly male – translators used sexist language to portray female ‘slaves’ where ‘the original Greek does not label these slaves with any derogatory language’. Elsewhere, Wilson (2021: 18) has argued that exposing such choices can enable us to ‘create more critical distance and resistance’ to such sexism.

[13] The website of the French National Library ranks Clémence Robert as important as Alexandre Dumas and Eugène Sue. And yet she barely features in any academic discussion, today. I hope my translation (‘Satan’s Daughter’) – just one of the hundred or so novels she wrote – will help re-activate interest in the work of this early feminist and socialist.

[14] Clémentine Mélois is a member of Oulipo. Her work is playful, creative, and always intelligent. My translation of her Sinon j’oublie (‘Otherwise I Forget’) was published by LUP in 2023.