This week, Banu Mushtaq’s Heart Lamp, translated from Kannada by Deepa Bhasthi, secured the prestigious International Booker Prize, marking it as the tenth recipient of this honor. This award celebrates outstanding works of fiction in English translation, acknowledging both the author and the translator equally, with the £50,000 prize money shared between them.

As a literary translator who specializes in Portuguese, Spanish, and French languages, I have witnessed the growing influence of the International Booker Prize over the last decade. It not only highlights a selection of fascinating books annually but also elevates the visibility of literary translators and the vital roles we play. Yet, the field of literary translation remains shrouded in mystery for many. Here, I share insights that I believe are important for the public to understand.

No word in one language can perfectly correspond to a word in another. Take, for example, the word ‘pain.’ In French, ‘pain’ means bread, which leads to interesting nuances. The French ‘pain’ rhymes with French terms like ‘main’ (hand) and ‘bain’ (bath), while the English ‘bread’ rhymes with ‘head’ and ‘dead.’ Even if the sounds of the words were aligned across languages, would a French person conjure the same image as a British person does? As a translator, do I attempt to bridge this gap, and how?

Meaning is not always paramount; sometimes, other elements hold greater significance. For instance, a character in a French children’s book residing at ‘numéro deux’ on a certain street becomes ‘number seven’ in my English version. A dictionary might suggest that ‘deux’ translates to ‘two,’ but I require the number to rhyme with ‘heaven.’ Furthermore, my English translation features a ‘to’ and a ‘too,’ making the addition of another ‘two’ sound clumsy. These factors often overshadow the importance of the actual house number; the preservation of meaning alone is not my only consideration. While AI technology has made strides in conveying meaning, it often misses the nuances of human expression.

Collaborating with authors is invaluable. Due to the unique nature of the English language, translators often work closely with authors proficient in English. Most of the works I’ve translated have involved a degree of interaction with the author, unless they are inaccessible, perhaps due to fame or having passed away. Authors may assist with queries or provide detailed feedback on drafts, though some can be overly involved.

In translation, losses are inevitable, yet gains occur as well. The act of changing each word confirms this reality. While some losses can be deeply felt, others may not significantly undermine the essence of the work. For example, the English translations of the Asterix comics by Anthea Bell and Derek Hockridge do more than depict the French text’s meaning; they embrace the English language’s unique possibilities. This translation enriches the humor beyond the original text; in English, the dog name ‘Idéfix’ cleverly becomes ‘Dogmatix,’ merging a joke about his tenacity with a new layer. Rather than focusing solely on damage control, translation can open new avenues; interpreters can shine.

Poetry translation is indeed a challenge, and I consider myself too hesitant to tackle it.

The selection of works for translation can oftentimes be unpredictable. The books that come into our market depend on multiple factors, which could be circumstantial or inherent to each text. Quality and marketability are vital considerations, but other elements come into play as well. Factors such as which languages British editors are familiar with, the strength of their networks, and the level of cultural dissemination support offered by respective countries can significantly impact availability. Recently, some friends and I initiated Salt — the South Asian Literature in Translation project — to address the disparity in translated literary works. Surprisingly, literature from Catalan (which has a mere ten million speakers) is translated more into English than from all South Asian languages combined, which number nearly two billion speakers. While there are certainly remarkable Catalan authors, their strong funding strategies enhance their literary translation. There’s much progress still to be made, and the recognition given to this week’s Booker Prize winner will aid our efforts.

Translations are distinct to each translator. We do not have a singular translation of a piece, but rather unique interpretations. Even ostensibly straightforward prose can branch into a variety of choices in another language. I’ve been researching variations of Shakespeare’s works and discovered twelve adaptations of the phrase “to be or not to be” in Spanish — none being particularly outlandish. Each translator must choose vocabulary, tone, pacing, and style, and we each bring our perspectives and preferences to the process. Moreover, our individual styles often influence our choices of words. Not every translator would select the terms ‘graceless’ or ‘outlandish,’ but I’ve opted to include them here.

Compensation plays a role for some translators, alongside other, less tangible motivations. When translating a text similar to the length of this article — such as a short story for an anthology — many publishers offer around £105. This often requires us to work quicker than desired, which isn’t sustainable for long-term financial stability. The leading publishers I collaborate with also face their own financial challenges.

Translators serve diverse readerships. Recent research commissioned by the Booker Prize Foundation has unveiled intriguing trends in the translated fiction market. Notably, 48.2% of translated works sold in the UK are purchased by readers under 35, with nearly half of these readers identifying as male. In contrast, general fiction appeals predominantly to a female demographic (68%) and older readers (with the largest buying group aged 60-84). This relatively youthful and diverse readership is encouraging for us translators.

Daniel Hahn is the author of Catching Fire: A Translation Diary.