An analysis of Pentti Saarikoski’s translation of J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye with special reference to the word ‘phony’
Pro Gradu Thesis
October 2000
University of Helsinki
Faculty of Arts
Sami J. Anteroinen
Yhdymme kaikkiin väittämiin
jotka liikkuu kun niitä kääntää
Ne kärsii muutossa ilman että
niihin tarvii viiksiä piirtää— Absoluuttinen Nollapiste: Olos (2000)
katso tuota taulua
saari kellahtaisi ympäri jos mies
kävelisi rantaanOdysseus
— Pentti Saarikoski: Mitä tapahtuu todella? (1962)
A man of genius makes no mistakes.
His errors are volitional and are the portals of discovery.— James Joyce: Ulysses (1922)
| ST | source text |
| TT | target text |
| CR | The Catcher in the Rye |
| SR | Sieppari ruispellossa |
| RN | Räddaren i nöden |
| HTS | Hven Tar Sin — Så Får Vi Andre Ingen |
| FR | Der Fänger im Roggen |
| NPR | Nad propastyu vo rzhi |
| CCELD | Collins Cobuild English Language Dictionary. Ed. in chief John Sinclair. London; Glasgow: William Collins Sons & Co LTD. 1987. |
| NDAS | New Dictionary of American Slang. Ed. by Robert L. Chapman. New York: Harper & Row. 1986. |
| OEDII | The Oxford English Dictionary. Volume II. Prepared by J.A. Simpson and E.S.C. Weiner. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 1989. |
| OEDXI | The Oxford English Dictionary. Volume XI. Prepared by J.A. Simpson and E.S.C. Weiner. Oxford: Clarendon Press. 1989. |
| ODCE | The Oxford Dictionary of Current English. Edited by R.E. Allen. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 1989. |
| WNED | Webster’s New Encyclopedic Dictionary. Cologne: Könemann. 1994. |
I would like to take this opportunity to thank my international friends Claudia Pereyra, Gunnar Andreas Welle and Bernd Wahlbrinck for their kind assistance with this project.
Special thanks to Reeta Reppuli.
Translating literature is a task that requires rigorous discipline and a keen eye for detail. However, as literature is used as a higher form of communication, to convey ideas and thoughts, one has to recognize that it may take a special type of translator to help the reader fully understand the author’s true meaning. Once or twice in a generation a book comes along that has the potential to reach people beyond social, cultural and geographical barriers, and there is a dire need for translators who can accurately relay the message.
J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye was such a book. Pentti Saarikoski was the translator faced with the task of bringing this innovative new expression into Finnish language. This paper is an assessment of Saarikoski’s work. The goal here is to offer balanced criticism; to discuss the creative, progressive elements of Saarikoski’s translation as well as to expose the obvious and the not-so-obvious shortcomings of his translation.
In analyzing Saarikoski’s translation, I have created a theory concerning the quality and severity of his mistakes. I call my theory the translational sedimentation theory. I have used Wilss’ idea of the translator’s brain as a sort of a "black box" as my starting point; in forming a category for error analysis I have adapted culturally-linked phenomenon from Newmark. My theory has to do with different levels of comprehension and production. On the surface level, there are mistakes that are not due to comprehension problems at all, but are over-sights due to carelessness. As one dives deeper into layers of the text, one encounters problems with the vocabulary, both sophisticated and crude; every-day American idioms as well as classical allusions; references ranging from Harvard undergraduates to bell boy pimps.
At deeper levels, there are various issues concerning the state of American culture and society, and the surrounding time period, the 1940’s, all unflinchingly narrated in the unique campus lingo of preparatory school students. Questions of style arise; different nuances of dialogue in different social situations; ambiguity in certain terms and actions.
And, at the deepest level, there is the theme of the novel, the very message the author has set out to communicate. The first and foremost duty of a translator is to protect this message, to sustain it with as little alteration as possible. In my analysis, Saarikoski fails to communicate some of the key ideas of the novel due to his unprofessional approach towards the thematic structure of the book.
[1: The biographical information in this chapter was compiled from the following sources: Salinger by Paul Alexander, J.D. Salinger by Warren French and In Search of J.D. Salinger by Ian Hamilton.]
"He says he doesn’t want a lot of fools looking at his tattoo."
"He doesn’t have any tattoo! Did he get one in the Army?"
"No, Mother. No, dear," said the girl and stood up.— J.D. Salinger: A Perfect Day for Bananafish (1948)
J.D. Salinger is an intensely private, somewhat mysterious author. Jerome David Salinger was born and grew up in a fashionable district of Manhattan, New York. After restless preparatory school studies he attented and graduated Valley Forge Military Academy in 1936. Salinger studied very briefly at Columbia University, Ursinus College and New York University. He was drafted into the infantry during World War II and participated in the invasion of Normandy as well as the liberation of Paris.
After serving in the Army Signal Corps and Counter-Intelligence Corps (1942—1946), Salinger devoted himself to writing. A steady flow of short stories came pouring in over the years. Story, Collier’s and Saturday Evening Post were among the publications that featured Salinger’s stories, but New Yorker is the magazine that has been mostly associated with him. While writing his short stories, Salinger was engaged in writing a novel, a book that would take almost ten years to complete.
The Catcher in the Rye (1951) was Salinger’s first, and, as it seems at the moment, last, published novel. However, certain incidents in the novel had already appeared in a different form in two short stories published in Collier’s and New Yorker, respectively. These short stories introduced the main character and narrator of The Catcher, a 16-year-old prep school student by the name of Holden Caulfield. The Catcher in the Rye is Holden’s story, narrated in his own words: it is a story about a bright and sensitive teenager who runs away to New York just prior to Christmas break to experience an adventure that is both banal and bizarre.
Salinger’s gift to combine the miraculous with the mundane and to offer heartfelt little observations about the world rang true for many readers. The novel quickly achieved enormous international success and to date, has sold over 60 million copies. The novel still continues to sell some 250 000 copies annually.
Reviews of the work were mixed, although many critics considered the novel brilliant. Salinger received praise especially for his bold attempt to communicate the issues concerning the youth of the post-war America.
Salinger did not help to publicize the book, however, and asked that his photograph not be used in connection with the book by the third printing of the novel. After The Catcher, Salinger has published the short story collections Nine Stories (1953), Franny and Zooey (1961), Raise High the Roof Beam, Carpenters and Seymour: An Introduction (1963). Salinger’s last published work to date is the short story Hapworth 16, 1924 which appeared in New Yorker in 1965.
Since the late 60’s Salinger has successfully avoided publicity. Salinger, a legendary recluse, told a New York Times correspondent in 1974 that he loves writing but writes only for himself and for his own pleasure. Perhaps no other writer of so few works has been the subject of so many scholarly analyses. Rumors circulate that he continues to write but nobody is allowed to see the work.
Since the publication of The Catcher in the Rye, every literary project Salinger has undertaken has had the uncanny knack of turning into pure gold. An ardent student of Zen-Buddhism, Salinger is sure to be familiar with the old Zen koan ’if a tree falls in the forest and there is no one to hear it, does it make a sound?’
Perhaps silence IS gold. In any case, Salinger is not talking.
[2: The biographical information in this chapter was compiled from the following sources: Pentti Saarikoski — vuodet 1937—1963 by Pekka Tarkka, Euroopan reunalla, kosken korvalla by Yrjö Hosiaisluoma, Pentti Saarikoski — legenda jo eläessään by Hannu Salama and Linnasta Saarikoskeen by Juhani Salokoski.]
Hipponaksille leipä, hanhenmuna ja vene!
Muuta ei näin pieni mies noin suurelta jumalalta tahdo,syötyäni soudan joelle, muistan
ja odotan vertaisiani tänne.— Pentti Saarikoski: Runot ja Hipponaksin runot (1959)
Pentti Saarikoski was simply an overwhelming figure in the Finnish literature and cultural life in the 1960’s and 1970’s. A revolutionary poet with a flair for social commentary and mysticism, Saarikoski gained fame and notoriety also for his bohemian lifestyle and unconventional opinions. Saarikoski’s language was simple and straightforward, yet brimming with allusions: he was well-versed in Classic literature in general and Greek and Roman mythology in particular. His stints as a columnist (under the pseudonym Nenä) for the student paper Ylioppilaslehti and the conservative newspaper Uusi Suomi served to enhance his powers of observation. Saarikoski’s break-through poetry volume Mitä tapahtuu todella? was published in 1962, and was applauded for its honest, aphoristic style. He continued with several acclaimed collections of poems, radio plays and novels. Saarikoski’s most notable literary works include Laulu laululta pois (1966), Aika Prahassa (1967), Kirje vaimolleni (1968), Katselen Stalinin pään yli ulos (1969), Tanssilattia vuorella (1977), Tanssiinkutsu (1980), Euroopan reuna (1982) and Hämärän tanssit (1983).
Saarikoski had studied literature and Greek in the 1950’s in the University of Helsinki. While never receiving a degree, he remained quite fascinated with world literature and translated many works of great significance into Finnish. He started translating in the late 1950’s, and during the following three decades he completed over 70 translations. Saarikoski was certainly ambitious in his chosen projects, translating works from such high-profile authors as Homer, Aristotle, Heracleitos, James Joyce, Henry Miller, Allen Ginsberg and J.D. Salinger. Having several languages at his disposal, Saarikoski translated a wide range of literature from Homer’s Odyssey to St. Matthew’s Gospel, and his translations quite frequently received critical acclaim as well as initiated debate in society.
Saarikoski died of hepatic cirrhosis in 1983. During his life he had been married four times, been a member of the Finnish Communist Party, and even run for Parliament. He traveled extensively, as well as wrote, drank and lived extensively.
His excesses with alcohol snuffed out an awesome literary genius much too soon. It was as one fellow author[3: Väinö Kirstinä wrote a poem called Saarikosken mainos in 1963 after Saarikoski had likened both Kirstinä’s poetry and his face to graham flour (Hosiaisluoma 1998: 109).] remarked: "if one reads Saarikoski for 10 minutes, one’s breath starts to reek of booze."
The publication of Salinger’s novel in July 1951 ignited a firestorm of controversy and debate that has not died down since. Critics have argued the moral issues raised by the book and the context in which they were represented. To this day, some American schools still include The Catcher in the Rye on their listings of banned books. However, the purpose of this paper is not to discuss the themes, the story line, the characters or the symbolism featured in The Catcher; rather, in the present context, Salinger’s book serves as a point of origin, a ground zero of sorts for translation and cultural analysis.
In analyzing the literary style of The Catcher, one finds it is not very easy to categorize. However, several comparisons have been made between Holden Caulfield and Huckleberry Finn. Noted Salinger scholars Joseph L. Blotner and Frederick L. Gwynn (1958: 29) see distinct similarities between the two: the comic irony, the colloquial language, the picaresque structure, and the theme of anti-phoniness.
"Like Mark Twain in Huckleberry Finn, Salinger appears to have hit upon the perfect way of telling the tale - or of letting the tale tell itself," writes James E. Miller, Jr. (1965: 11), a professor of English at the University of Chicago. "Holden speaks out in his own idiom, and although his clichés belong to us all, the intonation and gesture are his own - and they strike home."
The book in its entirety is a first person account of Holden Caulfied. According to Nord (1991: 40), we can regard Holden Caulfied as a "secondary sender". Nord suggests that the characteristics of a person speaking in a fictional text do not belong to the dimension of the sender, but have to be regarded as an intratextual factor which is analyzed in connection with the internal dimension of "content". According to Nord (ibid.), it is the author of the text that has to be regarded as the "producer" of the fictitious utterance. Whether Salinger would agree with this statement or not, is certainly debatable.
Salinger’s style in the book is quite similar to prose, and it is further enhanced by the teenage slang of the post-war period. Holden Caulfied begins his personal narrative from a medical institution somewhere on the West Coast — perhaps he is in a doctor’s office, perhaps he is lying in a hospital bed, simply playing the recent events of his life over in his head. The reader is left in the dark as to the specifics. But the sheer intimacy of the story-telling process is quick to mesmerize, as many critics have observed.
"There is a hard, almost classical structure underneath Holden’s rambling narrative," Alastair Best remarked (Davis 1989: 318). "The style, too appears effortless; yet one wonders how much labour went into those artfully rough-hewn sentences."
Salinger’s idiomatic style brought a new colloquial flavor into the American literature, and was widely imitated. Nobody could quite rival Salinger, however, and his formidable style always supported the message, never eclipsing it. Time likened Holden’s "forthright and gamy" lingo to a soldier’s dialect; New York Times reviewer Nash K. Burger thought that Salinger’s rendering of teenage speech was simply remarkable: "the unconscious humour, the repetitions, the slang and profanity, the emphasis, all are just right." The most penetrating analysis of the language of Holden Caulfied was probably delivered by Donald Costello (1962: 266-276), who identified the specific ingredients of the type of informal, colloquial teenage American speech used in the novel. Costello also catalogued and provided specific examples of the devices Salinger used to characterize Holden individually: Holden was in the habit of ending his sentences with "and all", "I really did", or "if you want to know the truth". According to Costello, there are also other devices that Holden uses which link him to his peer group: for example, crude language, slang, trite figures of speech and use of nouns as adjectives.
Sieppari ruispellossa — published in Finland for the first time in 1961 - has served as a center for controversy as well. While published ten years after Salinger’s original work, in (arguably) more liberal climate and society, the so-called profanity and sexual subject matter featured in the book were no longer seen as threatening.[4: Whereas even some rather conservative publications such as Savon Sanomat and Kirkko ja Kaupunki were sympathetic to Saarikoski’s translation, Suomalainen Suomi, Veikkaaja and Nuori Oikeisto were appalled by Sieppari ruispellossa. Jaakko Korjus of Nuori Oikeisto condemned Saarikoski’s translation as "pornographic" and Veikkaaja’s Kauko Kare called the effort "an irresponsible literary work". (Tarkka 1996a: 355.)] Salinger’s ideas about the individual and society — ideas perceived as anti-American in some circles — were welcomed in Finland, and the book became a literary juggernaut. Saarikoski’s decision to replace Holden’s East Coast prep school slang with "Stadin slangi", an urban, "street" dialect of Helsinki, was celebrated by students and younger audiences while some members of the literary establishment saw the introduction of "street talk" as degrading not only to the novel but to Finnish culture as well.
Saarikoski had never embraced the role of a conservative, behind-the-scenes translator but instead brought the full force of his personality and talent into the project. While at times Saarikoski’s command of the Finnish language fascinates, his flagrant tendency to add or omit things in the original text infuriated many critics. Equally frustrating was the realization that Saarikoski’s skills of comprehending English were evidently quite feeble at times. However, the translation of The Catcher into Finnish was a true landmark in Finnish society, and Saarikoski — despite his faults — was widely commended for his trail-blazing spirit.
Reviewer Charles Kegel (1963: 53) commented that The Catcher can be read as Holden Caulfield’s "quest for communicability with his fellow man." Saarikoski echoed similar visions about a quest: he evoked even loftier images by presenting Holden’s desperate joust in New York as a sort of a modern-day Odyssey, where a young, distressed hero faces sirens and monsters alike. According to Saarikoski, the colloquial language of both Odyssey and The Catcher feature broad structures and repetitive patterns, set epithets and word groups.
"It is my understanding that Holden does not write his story but speaks it; Salinger is his secretary, if you will," Saarikoski (1961: 177) compared the two in his famous Polytropos essay.
"The Catcher in the Rye is speech that has been written down. Odyssey is literature that is spoken."
Saarikoski finds many similarities between Odyssey and The Catcher[5: In true Saarikoski fashion, he later on slightly backed away from such grand comparisons and admitted that he was merely trying to place "Salinger’s little rebel" in the long line of world literature Ulysses’ — even forcibly (Saarikoski 1978: 356).] in his essay, but more importantly offers us the rare opportunity to observe how a translator saw his work as a whole:
Ulysses, as a hero, differs greatly from the braves of Iliad. Ulysses is a man who can — if need be — use his brains and tongue instead of his hands; it is something Salinger’s Holden is learning as well. Holden is smart and he is unconventional enough to come up with new solutions to get out of unexpected trouble when old tricks are of no use, he is Ulysses. He has an incurable urge and an unsurpassable ability to embellish the truth and tell imaginary tales. Did Salinger mean for Holden’s stories to be believable? And did Homer mean that we should believe Ulysses’ stories as well?
(Saarikoski 1961: 179)
Saarikoski claims that Ulysses was different from the heroes that came before him. Holden Caulfield was braving unknown waters as well: Andrew Calcutt and Richard Shephard (1998: 245) go as far as to argue that before Holden the state of adolescence did not really exist in print and it has still rarely been bettered.
"In retrospect, the book’s greatest achievement is its mimicking of the teen vernacular, making Holden a kind of Cold War Huckleberry Finn," Calcutt and Shephard add.[6: Cf. CR 141: "Anyway, I’m sort of glad they’ve got the atomic bomb invented. If there’s ever another war, I’m going to sit right the hell on top of it. I’ll volunteer for it, I swear to God I will." It is also notable that the possession of a copy of The Catcher in the Rye became a status symbol for Russian teenagers in the 60’s (French 1963: 31). Furthermore, a Russian literary critic writing for Inostrannaya Literatura in 1960 denounced Holden as a "stilyaga" (Russian beatnik) with many unacceptable traits, yet found him ultimately sympathetic because he is a victim of a heartless capitalistic society (French 1963: 177).]
"Kenestäpä ei voitaisi sanoa, että hän on melko avuton haaveilija tämän maailman markkinoilla."
— Nenä (column in Ylioppilaslehti, 10 February, 1961)
In October 1959, publishing house Tammi commissioned Saarikoski to produce a full translation of The Catcher in the Rye. According to the initial agreement, the final draft was due by June 1960. As Saarikoski was working with many other projects at the time,[7: Saarikoski was also translating Italo Calvino, Anders Cleve and Roald Dahl (Tarkka 1996a: 316). Especially Cleve influenced Saarikoski’s own style of writing and he smuggled some Helsinki street slang into his translation. "In one year, my Finnish has changed, that is to say developed, into something completely new," Saarikoski wrote in a letter to Tuomas Anhava in August, 1960 (Tarkka 1996a: 315). In addition, Saarikoski was peaking as columnist at the same time: in the fall of 1960 he wrote 15 columns for Ylioppilaslehti. Tarkka remarks that writing Ylioppilaslehti’s witty columns helped Saarikoski endure the lonely task of translating The Catcher in the Rye (Saarikoski 1993: 226). Furthermore, Saarikoski was occupied with writing literature reviews for Parnasso and reports on international prose for Otava, along with his own poetry (Tarkka 1996a: 321).] The Catcher translation did not quite make the deadline. In fact, in the summer of 1960 there were doubts whether the project would ever be completed, and Saarikoski was deeply frustrated with the "old-fashioned" Finnish language. A rather annoyed Saarikoski (1960a: 226) wrote in Parnasso that the Finnish language was so rural and out-dated that Salinger’s modern expression could not survive the translation into such an archaic language.
"As I’ve been translating J.D. Salinger’s famous novel The Catcher in the Rye, I have been faced with obstacles that at this point seem insurmountable: I fear that all my work has been for naught," an overwhelmed Saarikoski (1960a: 225) bemoaned his troubles.
While Saarikoski had an intense dislike of American society, he deeply admired American literature. Saarikoski — perhaps recognizing a kindred spirit in Salinger — applauded the American writer for his efforts and also praised Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac for turning the spoken word of the streets into a new literary language.
Saarikoski took it upon himself to create a new code that would bring this exciting, modern expression into Finland. Saarikoski wanted to renew Finnish literary conventions by introducing linguistic elements borrowed from English and Swedish: this meant more simple sentence structures and shorter words.
The new Finnish literary expression had its roots in Helsinki. Saarikoski sat in Helsinki cafés and bars listening to students’ dialect as well as gathered information about the slang used by young shipyard workers. This venture was made easier by the fact that Saarikoski was not much older than his subjects (Saarikoski turned 23 in September): he was young enough to gain the trust of the Helsinki youth. Saarikoski even befriended three teenage girls (7th grade students from Munkkiniemi junior high school) and attented their parties in order to be able to write convincing urban slang. Saarikoski remarked that he had a task similar to Mikael Agricola: he had to dig to the very core of the language surrounding him and commit the mercurial verbal codes into written word (Tarkka 1996a: 318-319).
In his translation, Saarikoski did not repeat the slang of the Helsinki youth as such: he strove to find his own expression while remaining loyal to the conventions of slang. Saarikoski worked intensively with the translation in the autumn of 1960 having been helped out of the creative dead-lock by the realization that Holden Caulfield was, first and foremost, a master verbalist who came up with his own phrases when conventionality failed him. Seeing Holden as a rebel in the classic James Dean mode, Saarikoski gave himself an absolution of sorts and took certain liberties to introduce a new progressive, creative element into his translations that had been absent before. A triumphant Saarikoski (1960c: 362) concluded his three-part series of essays about the Finnish literature in Parnasso by noting that the "urban language" will emerge when need be.
"And I have also translated Salinger’s novel: I succeeded only as I realized that modern prose (of which Salinger is one representative) cannot be translated like the prose of old. When words are elements of art, expression instead of being tools of expression, ‘translating’ novels becomes more creative than ever before," Saarikoski (ibid.) claimed. According to Tarkka (1996a: 423), wrestling with The Catcher in the Rye proved to be a watershed moment in Saarikoski’s translating career. Salinger’s book showed Saarikoski that translating was about more than just earning money.
By December 1960, Saarikoski had completed his translation, having worked at a very rapid pace.
However, Saarikoski did not quite appreciate the nuances of American slang and in his artistic fervor rarely consulted a dictionary. Ironically, Saarikoski could not grasp the delicacies of Helsinki slang, either.
"I couldn’t even speak it, I’m a civilized person!" he noted (Tarkka 1996a: 339). The translation of The Catcher was therefore to include elements of two very distinct worlds — separated by time, geography, culture and custom — and Saarikoski was not a native to either of those worlds.
A professional translator, on the other hand, is ideally more than just bi-lingual, he is bi-cultural. According to Nord (1991: 11), this means that the translator has "a perfect command of both the source and target culture (including language), and he possesses a transfer competence." Nord (ibid.) defines transfer competence to comprise the skills of text reception, text production and research as well as the ability to synchronize source text (ST) reception and target text (TT) production.
Saarikoski did not think that he would be very much appreciated for his efforts to modernize Finnish literary traditions regarding translation. For the most part, he was right. Language purists charged him with the corruption of the true Finnish language. Toini Havu wrote about a "magician without a trick" in Helsingin Sanomat:
"I myself refuse to read a book translated by Pentti Saarikoski, if assurances are not made that the stylistic mistakes that are due to his lack of stylistic sense — and the grammar mistakes that are due to his lack of grammatical knowledge — have been removed from the text and that Saarikoski has been taught the difference between spoken Finnish and pseudo-Finnish."
Matti Salo called Saarikoski’s work "an adaptation" and assessed that a quarter or one third of Sieppari ruispellossa consists of Saarikoski’s input, not Salinger’s (Tarkka 1996a: 339).
The linguistic experts, responding to Saarikoski’s hard-hitting essays in Parnasso, were quick to point out that Saarikoski failed to see the distinction between the spoken word and the written word. He was, in effect, trying to cut corners in order to escape the Finnish literary traditions that were young and rather limited by some standards. Matti Sadeniemi (1961: 68), the head of the Finnish Language Office, criticized Saarikoski for using colloquial personal pronouns and made a remark about Saarikoski seeking controversy through paradox simply to uphold his image as a literary street punk. Sadeniemi (ibid.) argued that languages have a tendency to influence each other to a constantly more significant degree as international contact is becoming more and more common. Sadeniemi denied the allegation that language scholars resisted this phenomenon: the "civilized" languages shared a bond too obvious for anyone to ignore. Yet Sadeniemi could not stomach the way Saarikoski wanted to smuggle American and Swedish idioms into Finnish.
Columnist Yrjö Kivimies (1961: 64) thought it was quite grotesque that the new Finnish envisioned by Saarikoski would be taught by the street-wise "jannut" and "myssymissit." Kivimies (ibid.) argued that Salinger’s novel was hardly proof that American English was more advanced than Finnish.
"Salinger is a New Yorker man, and New Yorker is a high brow magazine which has its fun on the expense of the low brow," Kivimies claimed. "Salinger makes Holden use the language of the low brows, since such boys use it; Mark Twain did the same when he had Huckleberry Finn using the colloquial language of his time." Kivimies (ibid.) acknowledged that Saarikoski could well be infuriated by the conservative nature of Finnish, and issued a challenge to Saarikoski to try and root his innovations. According to Kivimies, language would quickly decide for itself whether the newly introduced elements were fit to survive or not. Kivimies visioned that this sort of linguistic Darwinism could serve to enhance spoken expression of a more literary inclination, as well.
Another language purist out to predict the future was Paavo Pulkkinen (1961: 66-67) who argued that the novels of the "traditional" Väinö Linna would be read long after the (American) prose so dear to Saarikoski’s heart had been totally forgotten. With the aid of hindsight, one can point out that slang has, indeed, survived, and has been subject also to academic interest for quite some time. And whereas Linna’s novels continue to be popular, it would be ridiculous to insist that novels such as The Catcher in the Rye or Kerouac’s On the Road have vanished from the collective memory. Pulkkinen (1961: 66) did have a valid point, however, as he argued that it is illogical to turn to Helsinki slang when one cannot find satisfactory equivalence in "normal" Finnish. According to Pulkkinen, the Finnish language contains more diversity in expression than "Stadin slangi", and Saarikoski had overstated the value of slang as means of communication.
However, Saarikoski (1960b: 322) had his own ideas about the direction that Finnish literature should take. He had issued his manifesto in Parnasso in order to rattle the cages of language scholars even before Sieppari ruispellossa came out. "Correctness in language" for him just meant that a single group of people had been appointed to be the guardians of language, nothing more. Relinquishing the purity of Finnish language was a form of "snobby nationalism", Saarikoski claimed. Saarikoski (ibid.) wanted to embrace a democratic, global language and saw the youth and their dialects as the banner-bearers of this expression.
Päivi Rintala (1996: 6) offers a more recent view as she suggests that Saarikoski’s three-part-manifesto was closely linked to some personal phase the artist was going through at the time. In addition, Saarikoski was quite frustrated by a formidable translation task and vented his anger in a vicious diatribe. Saarikoski’s stance softened over the years,[8: In his 1980 book Asiaa tai ei, Saarikoski re-evaluated very critically some of his previous views. Saarikoski (1980: 18) argued that languages such as Finnish, Russian and German were conservative in nature and changed slowly, while languages such as English and Swedish were "always on the move". Saarikoski tried to turn spoken language into accepted written language, but did not get many supporters (ibid.). — "In the beginning of the sixties, I, too, was of the opinion that ’language scholars’ tongues should be cut out’, but I have had to back down in many respects," an apologetic Saarikoski (1980: 145) wrote. Saarikoski (1980: 146 and 1980: 49, respectively) almost sounds like one of the language purists he so despised as a young man as he argues: "written language must be quite stable, in order for society and culture to function" and: "of course, I’m against a language discipline that is upheld by some academy, but not even a democracy of language will work without some agreed-upon rules."] so there remains precious little to quarrel over. One way to look at the situation is to simply acknowledge that the complexities and intricacies referred to here were inherently present in Salinger’ novel as well: Holden Caulfield excelled in writing school compositions yet claimed he had "a lousy vocabulary"!
In translating The Catcher in the Rye, young Saarikoski had little difficulty in connecting with Holden Caulfied, but finding a Finnish expression for the American teenager proved more problematic. As noted earlier on, Saarikoski searched a special type of language for The Catcher in coffee shops and other places frequented by youth, but the published translation was still deemed "outdated" in some circles (Salama 1975: 102). Looking back, what Saarikoski thought to be quite amusing was the fact that the novel became so popular[9: It took less than a week for Sieppari ruispellossa to make it to second edition; by the end of the year there had been six editions (Tarkka 1996a: 355).] that in a couple of years its slang expression took root in the streets (ibid.). Instead of being outdated or old-fashioned, Saarikoski was suddenly a visionary ahead of his time: his translation created slang rather than reflected it. Saarikoski himself thought that the most important element of slang was that it was counter-culture, it was "against something."[10: Siiroinen (2000: 8) apparently agrees with Saarikoski — she notes that slang is a vehicle for creating a spirit of togetherness and marking one’s territory; thus creating a division between those who understand these secret codes and those who do not.] Saarikoski saw slang as a way for a community to secure itself against outsiders (Salama 1975: 102). As Saarikoski (1960a: 226) introduced his translation to the reading public, he claimed that because literature had moved to the city, modern literature should be able to use modern language. Kaarina Karttunen (1979: 11), the author of Nykyslangin sanakirja, gives Saarikoski due credit:
"In Finland, slang broke into literature in the 1960’s and its use has only spread in the 70’s. Slang was introduced into literature by Pentti Saarikoski." Karttunen (ibid.) describes that the introduction of slang into printed media was such a strange occurrance that Saarikoski had to compile a little dictionary of Helsinki slang for the benefit of the unhip population. Heikki Paunonen (2000: 40), the author of Stadin slangin suursanakirja, agrees that slang assumed permanent residence in Finnish literature with the advent of Sieppari ruispellossa. Paunonen argues that slang had, however, been used earlier on several occasions: as early as 1915 (in G.B. Shaw’s Pygmalion, no less!) the stage dialogue of the play included Helsinki slang in lieu of cockney. Paunonen (ibid.) credits contemporaries Olli Malmberg and Toivo Tarvas for introducing slang into Finnish literature in earnest. Malmberg’s Katupoikia (1915) featured genuine and lively slang dialogue; Tarvas’ numerous novels and short story collections likewise combined slang with "proper" Finnish. Later on, such novels for the younger audiences as Eero Salola’s Ilman fritsaria (1929) and Salme Setälä’s Suuri partioretki (1933) included mild slang expressions. Slang — if extremely upper-class, polished and watered-down — was also heard all through the 1940’s in the popular Suomisen perhe -motion pictures, courtesy of Olli and Pipsa Suominen.
In the 1950’s, a new kind of youth culture was born in Helsinki. Especially towards the end of the decade, the Finnish youth had adapted rather American tastes and role models — regarding music, magazines, movies and (later on) television. This youth culture was coherent and unified enough to launch a whole new era in the Helsinki slang: pärinäpojat, surinasussut, lättähatut and villamyssymissit, with their jeans and sweat-shirts, were searching for something outside the immediate boundaries of family and community. What they found was a common bond in the form of a common language - and, eventually, a rich source of inspiration and panache for a writer of Saarikoski’s talents to tap into.
Paunonen (2000: 17) suggests the following distinction in the separate eras of slang:
The publication of Sieppari ruispellossa in 1961 served to enhance slang’s appeal, as the whole nation became acquainted with Saarikoski’s concoction. Paunonen (2000: 41) notes that whereas Väinö Linna had brought regional dialects into Finnish literature a few years earlier, Saarikoski made it possible for credible authors to now use urban slang in their work.[11: The interest in "Stadin slangi" has not declined over the years. Sami Garam, Saarikoski’s nephew, recently translated Donald Duck into Helsinki slang (Lappalainen 2000: 19). Garam’s translation, Rotsi on mut byysat puuttuu, was published by Helsinki Media in 2000.] Paunonen (ibid.) points out, however, that Linna’s use of dialect was approved by the professors of Finnish at the University of Helsinki — Paunonen is doubtful whether Saarikoski had any such advisors. However, there are several instances where Paunonen credits Saarikoski for contributing to the evolution of slang in his book. Presented here is a brief comparison between selected vocabulary from Saarikoski’s supplementary four-page slang dictionary and the corresponding items in Stadin slangin suursanakirja:
absoluuttinen verraton, täydellinen
absoluuttinen erinomainen, verraton, täydellinen, ehdoton. 1950-60-l. Se ei ole hyvä ostamaan luistimia tai mitään sellaista, mutta vaatteita se on absoluuttinen. (P. Saarikoski) / Pikkutyttöjen muistikirjat ovat absoluuttisia. (P. Saarikoski).
depis masennustila, depressio
depis — olla depiksessä olla masentunut. 1950-(P. Saarikoski). Jökö on ihan depiksessä ku sil meni välit bänks sen sutturan kanssa. (Hgin uusi yk.).
eijo ei ole
eijo ei ole. Puhek. (K. Linna, P. Saarikoski)
haamu haamun kaltainen, esim. kummallinen, vanha, kammottava
haamu kummallinen, kammottava. 1950-l. (P. Saarikoski).
himo himottava
himo 1. himottava. 1950-l. (P. Saarikoski).
hinta raha
hinta 2. tehdä hintaa ansaita rahaa. 1950-(P. Saarikoski). Legurit tekee hyvin hintaa. (A. Tajanen).
hohdokas loistava, mainio
hohdokas hieno, loistava, mainio. 1950-80-l. (P. Saarikoski, E. Kauhanen). Sulla on aika hohdokas auto. (C. Westerholm).
inho inhottava
inho inhottava, vastenmielinen, epämiellyttävä. 1950-70-l. (P. Saarikoski, K. Sjögren). Ai et siin on inho jätkä. (P. Valtonen) / Inho kraga (rumasta solmiosta). (A. Rinne).
jumppa voimistelusali
jumppa 3. voimistelusali. 1950-l. Mun tarttee mennä jumpalta hakeen varusteet. (P. Saarikoski).
jyvänpiilottaja, jyväjemmari hölmö, alk. maalainen
jyvänpiilottaja 1. maalainen, maanviljelijä. 1950-l. Useimmat varmaan menee naimisiin jonkun jyvänpiilottajan kanssa. (P. Saarikoski). 2. tyhmä, hölmö, yksinkertainen. 1950-l. Mä tiesin Sallyn, se oli oikea jyvänpiilottajien kuningatar. (P. Saarikoski).
kasvo tyyppi, henkilö
kasvo 2. ihminen, olento, tyyppi. 1940-1960-l. (P. Saarikoski, H. Könönen). Ootsä eri kasvo! (ihmettelevänä tai ihailevana ilmauksena). (L. Sohlberg) / Oot sä uus kasvo täällä? (M. Roinu).
kaukalo laiva
1. kaukalo 1.(soutu)vene. 1940-70-l. (P. Saarikoski, T. Koskiala, Hgin uusi yk.). Fatsi blisas kaukalot veg ja tsöpas modarin. (ESO) / Tsiikaa mikä kaukalo. (L. Kiianlinna).
kuvio, ale, "meininki"
kuviot 1. aikeet, suunnitelmat, tavat, jutut, "meiningit". 1950-(P. Saarikoski, P. Valtonen). Meill oli diskossakin ihan omat kuviot. (J. Ranta-Knuuttila) / Meil oli rajut kuviot päällä. (J. Ranta-Knuuttila) / Millaset on tän illan kuviot? (E. Kauhanen) / Ei kukaan meistä oo jämähtäny niihin peruskuvioihin. (T. Räsänen).
kytkin; nostaa kytkintä lähteä pois
kytkin 1. nostaa kytkintä lähteä pois. 1950-70-l. (P. Saarikoski, Y. Qvarnberg). Mä nostan kytkintä. (K. Toiviainen) / Se nosti heti kytkintä ku mä tulin. Mixköhä? (T. Sokka).
not bad, boy sehän meni hyvin, poika
not: not bad, boy sehän meni hyvin, poika. (P. Saarikoski).
oma omalaatuinen
1. oma 1. omalaatuinen, omituinen, kummallinen, outo. 1950-70-l. (P. Saarikoski, I. Tainio). Sä oot ihan oma kundi. (Y. Qvarnberg) / Mun broidi on ihan oma. (S. Kukkavuori) / Sillon ihan omat jutut. (P. Valtonen).
orpo ikävä, surullinen
orpo 1. ikävä, surullinen. 1950-80-l. (P. Saarikoski). Must tuntu niin orvolta, kun se gimma sano bänks. (H. Könönen) / Kai sitä oli jotenki orpo fiilis yksin. (N. Pitkäsilta).
party kutsut
party 1. juhlat, kutsut. 1950-60-l, 1980-(Hgin 2. Nk. 1989) Ne oli varmaan tavannu toisensa jossain ihme partyssa. (P. Saarikoski).
peipata leikitellä pallolla
1. peippaa 3. pelata pallopeliä (joskus myös muusta pelaamisesta). 1950-70-l. (P. Saarikoski, M. Saverikko). Lähetsä peippaamaan fudista? (K. Holmström) / Peipataaks baskettii? (K. Toiviainen) / Kundit peippas bändii. (K. Toiviainen) / Kundit peippas vaa jassoo koko ajan. (K. Toiviainen) / Me peipattii korista tollai lungisti. (J-i Mäkelä).
pingviini tylsimys, alk. pelle
pingviini 1. tyhmä, typerys, tylsimys, pelle. 1950-l. Sit se heittäyty ihan pingviiniks. (P. Saarikoski).
roikkua viivytellä roikkua 2. viivytellä tai norkoilla. 1930-70-l. (P. Saarikoski). Ei tyttöjä mukaan sakkiin. Joku, pari kolme roikku mukana. (A. Granström / Mä hyppään valmiiseen pöytään missä mulla ei oo mitään jakoa, ja jäisin roikkuu siihen. (Remu).
shut up suu kiinni
shut up (käskynä:) suu kiinni, ole hiljaa! 1950-70-l. (P. Saarikoski, Heka).
sorry anteeksi
sorry anteeksipyyntönä, pahoitteluna. 1950- (P. Saarikoski, P-l Periviita). Sorry, en mä voi tulla, mä oon ihan auki. (P. Salmela). / Sorry, mut mä en snaijaa sun juttui. (S. Mäyränen). Vrt. sori, tsori.
sönkkö synkkä
1. sönkkö synkkä. 1950-70-l. (P. Saarikoski). Sä oot ihan sönkkö jätkä (synkkä poika). (Hgin uusi yk.).
tajuton omituinen
tajuton 1. outo, omituinen, kumma, hassu. 1950-70-l. (P. Saarikoski, P. Valtonen). Sä puhut ihan tajuttomasti. (Y. Qvarnberg).
viehko viehättävä
viehko viehättävä. 1950-70-l. (P. Saarikoski). Aika viehko mimmi! (K. Toiviainen) / Sä olet aika viehko kimma. (C. Westerholm).
In addition, Saarikoski’s translation of The Catcher in the Rye is used in connection with several verbs (including ampua, heittää veivi, hiffata, hikeentyä, jeesata, ottaa koppaan) as examples. Nouns such as kroppa, kupoli and suhari are also used for this purpose in Paunonen’s dictionary.
In 1975, fifteen years after completing the translation for The Catcher, Saarikoski was not entirely convinced that his decision to translate Holden’s speech into Helsinki slang was the right one:
A person’s inner world is such that it is perhaps best described by an impressionistic painting, or an abstract painting, but the act of speaking in itself, it is a form of categorizing and arranging and sorting out, and to write on top of that...For example, in the beginning of the 60’s, I tried when I was translating The Catcher in the Rye, and after that I was stuck with the idea that one should write as one speaks. But more and more I noticed that these are different things. You can not write "mä", except in dialogue, monologue or so on, but when it has all been settled that it is "minä", then one should write "minä". (Saarikoski in Salama 1975: 101)
Gone is the young Saarikoski who bragged about having committed "very fruitful violence" to the Finnish language and thus given life to "his own" Holden Caulfied (Hosiaisluoma 1998: 115).
Se puhuu.
Mitä se sanoo?
Se sanoo että se ei ole tyhmä.
Miten niin?
Kun se osasi mennä meidän katiskaan.
Mikä sen nimi on?
Chomsky.— Pentti Saarikoski: Alue (1973)
In order to properly analyze The Catcher in the Rye and to form a working model or a theory for the purposes of scientific assessment, one has to be familiar with certain devices and concepts of the field. Therefore, we must first consider the role of the writer, J.D. Salinger. Nord (1991: 71) defines the writer as an individual author who has produced the text himself and is the sender of the text. His intention is not to describe reality as such, but to motivate personal insights about reality by describing an (alternative) fictitious world. A fictional text, in this context, is a text in which a world is created which the text producer intends the reader to recognize as a possible world other than the real world (cf. Schmidt 1972: 69). According to Beaugrande and Drexler (1981: 185), the world we know is mimetically reproduced in works of fiction: the mimetic reproduction is supplemented further by an element of expressivity. To paraphrase studies conducted by Bühler and Jakobson, respectively, one can appreciate both the referential function (the world as we know it) and the expressive function (the world as the writer wants us to experience it) in works of fiction. Jakobson argues that the referential function is sub-ordinant to expressive function; for the purposes of this paper we will take this information at face value.
Also, one has to address the question of language — an instrument used by the author to describe a world, and, at the same time, a purpose all in itself.
"When we study human language, we are approaching what some might call the ‘human essence’, the distinctive qualities of mind that are, so far as we know, unique to man and that are inseparable from any critical phase of human existence, personal or social," argues Chomsky (1972: 100). Chomsky takes the core problem of human language to be this:
Having mastered a language, one is able to understand an indefinite number of expressions that are new to one’s experience, that bear no simple physical resemblance and are in no simple way analogous to the expressions that constitute one’s linguistic experience; and one is able, with greater or less facility, to produce such expressions on an appropriate occasion, despite their novelty and independently of detectable stimulus configurations, and to be understood by others who share this still mysterious ability. The normal use of language is, in this sense, a creative activity. (Chomsky 1972: 100)
Writers’ and translators’ approach to language goes even beyond this: the approach is one of enhanced and sustained creative activity.
Literary texts are primarily addressed to recipients who have specific expectations about the text itself. The recipient expectation is determined by literary experience and a certain command of the literary code. For readers of fiction, even a reader with very limited literary experience can understand the concept of make-believe story-telling. He knows the story he is reading is not true as such; but a reader with prior knowledge of conventions and codes of fiction will appreciate the possibility that something very relevant and worthwhile is being passed on to him — directly from the author — in a form of fictional characters and events. This line of communication also defines the role of the translator: he must stand his ground quite in between the writer and the recipient. In the process, somehow, a good translator will learn how to make himself invisible (cf. Venuti 1995). The message in a fictional text — entrusted to the translator for brief safekeeping before he passes it on — is text-contained, which gives the text its independent value; the message "presupposes no wider connection so that everything necessary for its interpretation is to be found within the message itself" (Widdowson 1974: 203).
In considering the writer’s world, there are several points-of-no-return for the translator to negotiate. I call such points Rubicon points. Upon reaching a Rubicon point, the translator must irreversibly commit himself to a certain action and follow through consistently.[12: The concept is quite similar to "choice point", or "moment of choice" used by Wilss (1994: 138).] Saarikoski’s decision to transform Holden Caulfield’s campus lingo into Helsinki slang was one such Rubicon point: Sieppari ruispellossa had to feature consistent language throughout the novel. In those instances where Saarikoski brought in influences foreign to his chosen medium, the result does not ring quite true (see Section 10.10, Example 45b). Cultural considerations often force the translator’s hand in these cases: in order to make the message meaningful for the TT recipient, sometimes even drastic alterations of the ST are called for. Saarikoski was faced with the fact that Finland does not have private schools, at least not in the sense Anglo-American countries have such institutions. For example, Great Britain and United States have a long tradition of private preparatory schools, where the upper class families send their offspring before the youth enter universities. As evidenced by recollections of many such persons who attented private schools, the students of these institutions form their own culture, their own home away from home. This world is complete with customs, conventions and codes — and a certain type of language. This form of private school slang serves to enhance the feeling of togetherness — hegemony, even — in adolescent youth; in addition, it helps guard against loneliness and home-sickness.
"It is difficult to imagine, on the one hand, how one might assign meanings to lexical, grammatical, phonological, and discursive structures without an understanding of the social situations which those structures depict," Ochs (1996: 407) argues. "On the other hand, it is difficult to imagine how one might engage in social interactions, social institutions, social relationships and other societal phenomena without the use of language." Ochs insists that the acquisition of language and the acquisition of social and cultural competence are elaborately intertwined; seen against this background, one can make the argument that Holden’s social surroundings were elemental to the development of his expression.
J.D. Salinger knew his subject matter intimately: having attented Valley Forge Military Academy in Pennsylvania he drew from those experiences to create Pencey Preparatory School. Saarikoski was a member of the educational elite, as well. But despite having spend three years in Normaalilyseo, a prestigious Helsinki high school, he was not in a position to fully appreciate Holden’s dialect. The Finnish language simply did not include a private school sub-language: Finnish society and culture had developed very differently from their Anglo-American counterparts. In recognizing this, Saarikoski had to find another medium for Salinger’s message.
The importance of intercultural awareness prompted Holz-Mänttäri (1984: 17) not to use the term "translation" at all in her work: Holz-Mänttäri’s theory and method is called "intercultural cooperation". Her method describes the process of producing a message transmitter of sorts, which is utilized in superordinate configurations of activities in order to coordinate cooperation related to action and communication. Holz-Mänttäri sees the translator primarily as a cultural mediator and a text-designer. Different types of boundaries are crossed in all communicative acts, yet crossing cultures requires more focus and skill than conceivably any other form of communication. Nord (1991: 159) also discusses the problems involved with translating from one particular culture into another:
"These problems are a result of the differences in culture-specific (verbal) habits, expectations, norms and conventions concerning verbal and other behaviour."
Nord laments that to give an exhaustive list of these kinds of translation problems one would need to invent a totally new science: comparative culturology (cf. Göhring 1976: kontrastive Kulturkunde). This new school of science would be needed for the purpose of recognizing and cataloguing cultural-specific phenomenon in a more detailed, organized manner than has been done previously in other sciences. So far in translation, one has had little choice but to submit to a rather eclectic procedure of "collecting" cultural translation problems as one encounters them — a process bearing some similarity to the activities of our hunter/gatherer ancestors who had to forage their environment for sustenance.
However, scholars such as Nida and Newmark have attempted to ategorize culture-bound material. Newmark (1988: 94) defines culture as the way of life and its manifestations that are peculiar to a community that uses a particular language as its means of expression. More specifically, Newmark also distinguishes ’cultural’ from ’universal’ and ’personal’. Operationally, Newmark (1988: 95) does not regard language to be a component or feature of culture. If this were indeed the case, translation would be impossible.[13: Saarikoski (1960d: 286) had himself pondered the same issues. Apparently adapting from de Saussure, he writes as a response to Uki Kemppi in Parnasso: "In my mind, between grapheme language (la langue) and phoneme language (la parole) there is no significant difference: when one speaks, one writes on air instead of paper. Letters are signs for certain sounds. Is a word not a symbol, signum, or better yet: imago? A word in itself has no stylistic value, it only has meaning. Synonymes do not exist; even the meaning of two words from two different languages is never the same. Therefore, translation is impossible."]
Newmark (ibid.) adapts Nida in presenting the following framework for cultural categories:
I have modified some elements of Newmark’s list for my own category (cf Section 10. Translational Sedimentation Theory: Analyzing Sieppari ruispellossa). However, my method concerns cultural aspects mainly as they relate to error analysis.
Iser (1995: 32) comments on the nature of translatability by arguing that it "makes us focus on the space between cultures". This void in-between would be the primary research field for comparative culturology. According to Iser, this intercultural space allows cultures to define themselves, to mirror themselves, and thus to self-reflect. This space between also "opens up the experience of otherness". Chesterman (1997a) points out that if translation is possible, languages and their meanings cannot be isolated, self-contained systems: there must be over-laps between them.
We are not billiard balls; we are permeable and touching sponges. Clearly, we have difference, we have "otherness"; but this difference is not total. The same of course applies to communication within a given language: we all speak different idiolects, but we can nevertheless communicate to some extent because these idiolects overlap: something (albeit approximately) "common", and communication is precisely "making common", making something communal. (Chesterman 1997a: 56)
Any theory of translation and intercultural communication must assume that some overlap is possible between languages and cultures. In recognizing that there are areas that overlap and areas that do not, there are also areas I like to call fringes, pockets of information that contain meanings that can be conveyed further to the TT recipient but only in part. Saarikoski’s greatest errors were due to his misreading of these fringes: in balancing between two great continents, two cultures rich with meaning and vigor, he often fails to see Atlantis, glittering under the waves. And not having seen it, how could he tell of its existence?
One way to approach Saarikoski’s work is to consider his errors. This approach can be deemed somewhat one-sided: should not the positive as well as the negative aspects of the translation be taken into account — in equal measures — in order to achieve an objective assessment? However, if a translator is proficient enough to totally conceal himself in the translation, he leaves precious few tracks. At most, he projects an aura, or a presence, in the work, but no corporal evidence of his involvement can be collected. But in order to familiarize oneself with the translation process, one must first find out what is going on in the translator’s head. Wilss (1994: 139) likens the translator’s mind to the famous "black box" that collects all the relevant flight data in airplanes. There is no little irony in the comparison. As the black box of an airplane assumes critical importance especially if the plane crashes, similarly, the black box of a translator becomes the center of attention when there is something amiss with the translator’s work. The errors committed along the way can bring out the positive by exposing the negative, and thus give a feel for the different thought processes, mannerisms and blind spots that all translators have. Error analysis in translation studies, however, has been a rather neglected science. Kupsch-Losereit and Wilss, respectively, are among the few that have researched the matter more closely. Kupsch-Losereit (1986: 16) defines a translation error as an offence against TT function, textual coherence, text-type norms, linguistic conventions and culture-specific as well as situational constraints. Wilss (1982: 201) defines a translation error as an offense against a norm in a linguistic contact situation, which may be the result of deficient linguistic competence or of a lack of comprehension due to deficient factual knowledge. Nord (1991: 169) suggests that these are two completely different types of error. A "lack of comprehension" type of error is part linguistic, part pragmatic error which is linked to the phase of text reception. An "offence against norms of usage" error, on the other hand, is an error that may occur either in the phase of transfer, due to deficient transfer competence, or in the phase of TT production, due to deficient TL competence. To contrast Wilss’ work, Nord introduces a functionalist view: a particular expression or utterance does not in itself have the quality of being incorrect, but it is assigned that quality by recipient in the light of a particular norm or standard. According to Nord (1991: 169—170), translation errors "show up against the overriding criterion of translation skopos" and further high-light the need for a clearly defined translation skopos in each individual translation task. Nord defines a translation error as "a failure to carry out any one of the translating instructions" and she makes a clear distinction between a translation error from a view point of the translator and that of the recipient. Nord paraphrases Sitta (1980: 233) in stating that from the translator’s standpoint, a translation error is a deviation from the selected (or rather, prescribed) model of action. Recipient, on the other hand, perceives a translation error as a "frustration of expectations" concerning a certain action (cf. Keller 1980: 40). The recipient is misled, confused; Atlantis remains hidden.
The name I have chosen for this paper — Diver Down — alludes to a metaphor of the translator as a cultural diver. Divers are required to post a ‘diver down’ (or ’diver below’) flag or plate on their vessel before entering the depths. Translators give no such notice: however, the translator’s work parallels the diver’s descent in many respects.
Consider the diver for an instant. Close to the surface, the water is warmer and the light is better — but as the diver braves the unknown depths below, he finds himself in an alien world: dark, cold, unforgiving. Yet the diver must endure — otherwise, the pearl, the pirate’s treasure and Atlantis will have to wait another day.
Saarikoski has many virtues as a cultural diver: he is courageous, resourceful and ambitious. However, there are many times when the young diver is simply overwhelmed by the pressures of the deep: while immersed in culture, he makes grave errors of judgement. In the end, Saarikoski fails to find Atlantis — i.e., to uncover the true message of the novel. He never quite reaches his destination, as he misses many of the clues sprinkled on his path.
The American law enforcement community uses an expression with passing likeness to ‘diver down’. However, the signaling of ‘officer down’ on a police department radio wave length is quite possibly the most terrifying thing law enforcement professionals ever have to hear: it signifies that one of their comrades has been injured or killed in the line of duty. In regards to translation, ‘diver down’ can be taken to connotate similar circumstances: instead of risking their lives, translators risk losing sight of the original message. This is precisely the case with Saarikoski’s Sieppari.
At the risk of over-extending this particular metaphor, there is one more parallel I would like draw. Elsewhere in this paper the "Saarikoski syndrome" is discussed in some detail. Divers have to combat a different malaise: the diver’s sickness which may occur when a diver tries to rise to the surface too fast. Also the translator, over-anxious to distribute whatever pearls of wisdom he may have found, may come to regret his haste. The translator must take his time in the deep, learn whatever he can from his surroundings and only then, very carefully, plot his reentry into his native world.
In 1963, Saarikoski was asked what The Catcher in the Rye meant to him personally.
Saarikoski answered that it was simply one book which he had translated. "It’s like meeting some person, maybe it will leave some marks, but still one does not become a different person" (Seilonen 1963: 12).
So the search for Atlantis goes on.
Einstein
Sanat puuttuvat aina,
on kuoltava noutamaan niitä joka päivä.
Mitä apua on Teoriasta tässä kylmyydessä,
voiko sen kiskoa korviin asti
jatkaen unta, juna liikkuu siinä
kuin esimerkki. Jokapäiväinen
kuolema: luopua Teoriasta, mitä nähdään
tarkkaan katsoen, ääni kuin taakka
putoaisi alas- ja ääni kuin lintu
lentäisi koko ajan ylöspäin— Pentti Saarikoski: Runoja (1958)
Saarikoski’s status as a genre-crossing celebrity and a media figure ensured that his colorful life was well documented. It is fortunate for the purposes of this paper that a fair share of that documentation concerns translating. But as with all things relating to Saarikoski, it is sometimes difficult to distinguish the fact from the fiction, and the myth from the man. Saarikoski himself was eager to participate in this "myth-building" and often manufactured false statements about his life. At other times, his memory simply failed him. His biographers Tarkka and Hosiaisluoma (and to lesser degree, Salama) came to know a conflicted figure who, at times, could not himself tell the truth from the lies anymore.[14: "There could be no novel written about my life; perhaps this is because my life is a novel: a figment of imagination, a lie," Saarikoski wrote in his diary (Tarkka 1996a: 13). Later on, Saarikoski assessed his role in creating and distributing his own legend in an interview: "I make fiction out of my life so it would be true." (Tarkka 1996a: 15.)] Therefore one has to be sceptical of any unsubstantiated information provided by Saarikoski. Nevertheless, Saarikoski’s public appearances, interviews and writings (both private and public) offer a unique perspective into a translator’s mind.
Saarikoski displayed a rare passion for translating at a very young age: he made his first translation at the age of fourteen. Some inclination of his enthusiasm can be perceived in the fact that the teenage Saarikoski wrote his translation on toilet paper as he was out of proper writing paper (Hosiaisluoma 1998: 111). Saarikoski possessed a deep affection for languages and dabbled[15: According to Tarkka (1996b: 3), in contrast to the myth that Saarikoski was a marvelously gifted "citizen of the world" who mastered several languages, Saarikoski spoke no foreign language well at all. It seems that Latin and Greek were his strongest foreign languages (ibid.).] in several: he has translated works from English, Greek, Swedish, Norwegian, Italian and German. Saarikoski was twenty years old — and already a published poet — when he stated that making translations was "the core" he was now trying to find in himself (Tarkka 1996a: 250). He learned to work fast, partly because translating did not pay very well. He was hesitant to make corrections in his translations, even though he sometimes wished he could make some. He deemed it to be "burdensome and financially unprofitable". (Salama 1975: 94). Saarikoski was often infuriated at having to work so fast that the quality of work suffered. He believed he could maintain a pace of 4—5 pages a day and produce high-quality translations, but pressed for time he was forced to translate over 10 pages a day. Later on in his career, Saarikoski believed he had developed a sufficient routine that helped him produce over-all decent material, but Saarikoski remained unsatisfied with the translations himself. He tried to convince himself that the work he was doing (as a translator) was valuable, but being so modestly compensated for his translation efforts certainly did not help. Saarikoski viewed in 1975 that translators — as all users of language — had a significant role to play in the fight against the imperialism of major languages (Salama 1975: 156). Saarikoski was disappointed that publishers seemed to think it was a losing battle. This is clearly an older, wiser Saarikoski than the brash 23-year-old who wanted to borrow heavily from English and Swedish and cut the tongues off language scholars (Saarikoski 1960a: 226).[16: Appearing in Jyväskylä, Saarikoski assessed, a little tongue-in-cheek perhaps, that the situation of Finnish culture and language — located as it is between the East and the West — was simply hopeless. Saarikoski claimed that significant literature was only written in world languages. According to Saarikoski, Soviet Union had the worst writers but the best readership whereas the United States produced the best books and the worst reading public (Tarkka 1996a: 362).]
Saarikoski’s translation strategy consisted of doing a first draft and then simply "reading it through" for mistakes (Salama 1975: 94). However, certain works which Saarikoski assessed to have some greater cultural value received preferential treatment: for example, Saarikoski took 20 months to translate Joyce’s Ulysses, while fully utilizing five existing translations from other languages as well as several dictionaries and reference books on Joyce.[17: Saarikoski was also apparently very proud of what many critics consider to be his crowning achievement in the field of translating. When Juhani Jaskari criticized the way Saarikoski had translated Ulysses’ very first sentence, Saarikoski gave a pain-stakingly detailed, precise answer to justify his choices, pointing out the exacting deliberation that went into the work (Hosiaisluoma 1998: 117-118).] Saarikoski was in the habit of bragging that he made his translations directly, without first reading through the text, without unnecessary textual analysis, without consulting dictionaries or even cleaning up after himself once he was done. However, Tarkka (1996: 422) argues that Saarikoski approached important translations as studiously he would his own books. Robinson (1987: 145) remarks that Saarikoski probably made such claims in order to torture the academic translation purists. Robinson even goes as far as to try to portray Saarikoski as a translation theorist, as he quotes some observations from Saarikoski’s book Asiaa tai ei (1980). Robinson makes a valiant effort, yet is forced to acknowledge the inconsistencies in Saarikoski’s "theories". Saarikoski (1980: 12), for example, instructs translators not to modernize the past (for fear of severing the link between today and yesterday), and, at the same time, he (1980: 121) encourages all artists to break down monuments because "all creative work destroys the framework of law and order". Saarikoski’s observations were just that — observations — yet credible in the sense that at this point Saarikoski had been translating books for over 20 years.[18: Saarikoski (1980: 92) admitted himself that he had never read a single text that dealt with translation theory; neither had he ever formulated any theories of his own.] But more than theories in the academic sense, they represent new ways of looking at things — in fact, Saarikoski translated the Greek word theoria as "what is seen exactly" or "what is seen when one looks very keenly" in his very first published poetry volume. Later on, while visiting in Greece, Saarikoski climbed up the hill to Akropolis and noticed a street sign Hodos theorias: the road of theory, in one sense, and the road of seeing, in another.
"Theoria is in fact "that which is seen", meditation in the abstract sense, and this is the meaning I clung to in Athens, for Hodos theorias is a real sight-seeing place," Saarikoski (1979: 323) assessed in a Studia Generalia lecture at the University of Helsinki. Taken in this context, Saarikoski’s theories can be viewed as means of perceiving, glimpses of reality not altogether different from striking matches in the dark.
Saarikoski’s unorthodox translation solutions and the apparent inconsistency in the quality of his projects caused many to wonder whether alcohol played a key role in Saarikoski’s translation strategy. Hosiaisluoma (1998: 338) argues that Saarikoski often enjoyed a bottle of wine (or two) while doing his translations, but that he was not intoxicated to a significant degree. Especially as Saarikoski grew older, his ability to withstand alcohol improved. Saarikoski himself claimed that he used alcohol as a technical stimulant which removed some of the inhibitions of imagination, especially when writing his own books. At the same time, he admitted that the over-all usefulness of this approach was quitelimited because the ability to self-assess and critique one’s work declined (Salama 1975: 96).
It is not easy to determine how significant a "stimulant" alcohol was in translating The Catcher. Hosiaisluoma (1998: 337) claims that in the 1960’s Saarikoski drank heavily and suffered of alcoholism. Saarikoski confided into fellow author Arto Paasilinna in a 1972 interview that he had two drinking phases behind him: the first one took place in the beginning of the 60’s, and the other one occurred after 1965 as his marriages failed. "It was a deliberate attempt to shatter my image: a game, intoxication for commercial purposes," Saarikoski admitted (Hosiaisluoma 1998: 337).
Saarikoski considered himself to be a translator by profession in the sense that the bulk of his income came from making translations. "Writing poetry — my real work — is not an occupation for salary," Saarikoski remarked (Salama 1975: 94). Saarikoski received national acclaim for his achievements in the field, as well: he was awarded the National Translator’s Award in 1970, 1973 and 1982. In addition, he received the National Prize for Odysseus in 1966.[19: In comparison, Saarikoski received two National Prizes for his own poetry volumes, for Mitä tapahtuu todella? in 1963 and for Tanssiinkutsu in 1981.]
Besides powerful talents of expression and a well-developed routine to work fast, Saarikoski had one special asset as a translator. He had the ability to "get in character"; to identify with the people and events in the novels he was translating. Saarikoski himself said that upon reading a novel a couple of times, the book would gain a certain hold in him that would continue to possess his whole persona for months (Tarkka 1996a: 422—423). When Saarikoski encountered authors whose work intrigued him (Salinger, Miller, Joyce etc.), this process of merging oneself into the novel and the style of writing was further amplified. Saarikoski himself believed that he succeeded as a translator because — as his friend and biographer Tarkka had remarked — he had this ability that was akin to an actor’s talents: a gift for identification, an ability to assume someone else’s style and to speak in his voice (Salama 1975: 98). Another friend of Saarikoski’s, professor Anto Leikola (1990: 174), assessed that arranging the world and the experience into language was perhaps Saarikoski the Poet’s first and last aim, and also, something quite essential to his translations.
"In this sense, his work as a translator was attached to his work as an author in a very relevant way: in both fields, he had to search his own language in order to express something that could not be expressed without a remnant," Leikola claims.
In retrospect, one can not help feeling that Saarikoski the Poet must have been a brother (if not a twin) to Saarikoski the Translator.
In translating The Catcher, one is given to wonder just how much was Saarikoski forced to improvize because he simply did not understand the original text? What was the actual state of his English skills at the time? A rather revealing event occurred as America Center hosted a small seminar to celebrate the arrival of The Catcher in the Rye in Finland. Saarikoski introduced the topic — in Finnish — and could not participate in the discussion because he could not speak English. Saarikoski’s wife, Tuula Saarikoski, functioned as his interpreter (Tarkka 1996a: 355). Much later, Saarikoski himself described his English skills as "quite modest" and was hesitant to admit to this, especially having translated an extremely demanding piece of literature such as Ulysses (Salama 1975: 97).
Another curious incident took place in 1962, as Saarikoski was trying to enter Southampton, England. Saarikoski was in-country to translate Ulysses, yet he could not communicate with the British immigration officers. Leena Larjanko appeared as a secretary to Saarikoski on the trip. Immigration officers denied access to England since Saarikoski did not have a work permit or any funds to speak of. Officers enjoyed a good laugh on Saarikoski’s expense: here was a supposed Joyce scholar in accompany of a secretary no less, yet penniless and lacking in English skills as well (Tarkka 1996a: 482).
Looking at Saarikoski’s school records from Normaalilyseo, it is unusual that he had an over-all grade of laudatur in the matricular examination, yet he failed in English. Tarkka (1996a: 103) contributes this mishap to a competition Saarikoski had with his friends: he was in a rush to finish the exam and beat his friends to a certain café where a bottle of wine waited for the young scholars. In his enthusiasm, Saarikoski neglected to translate the last paragraph of the exam — thus receiving a failing grade. As anecdotes go, this one is as telling as any about Saarikoski as a person, as an artist and as a translator.
poliisiputkassa puhuin sörkkaa
nunnan kanssa serbiaa
kumpaakaan kieltä en osaa— Pentti Saarikoski: Tanssiinkutsu (1980)
According to Tarkka (1996a: 316), early on in his career Saarikoski did not believe in the possibilities of translating as such. As translating became more and more significant to him — both economically and artistically speaking — Saarikoski gave more thought to translating, as is apparent in his 1963 Parnasso essay ‘Is translating impossible?’ Saarikoski (1963: 351) contemplates "the art of translating" and its role in literature. He compares a translator to a writer: writer uses words to express his views and experiences about the world. According to Saarikoski, the writer is convinced that any given thing can be put to words in only one way. Translator, however, does not use words to express hisview and experience of the world, but he uses words to portray aview and experience of the world (ibid.). In order to be able to do this, the translator must first understand the writer’s expression: he must comprehend the world view which is presented in the book; to speak the same language as the author, in a greater sense. When a translator has understood the expression which is presented, he must be able to present it with his native tongue, i.e. he must be able to use his own language well — to possess the skills of a writer, even. Saarikoski argues that this is due to the nature of the language itself:
Words of language are developing and changing as living beings are; every word forms a semantic field which expands every time the word is used; and contracts every timethe word is not used. It is precisely for this reason that translating is said to be ’impossible’; it is impossible to construct an electric brain that really would have the ability to translate.
(Saarikoski 1963: 351)
The translator can only express his own view of the writer’s view. He is open to criticism just as the writer is; one can criticize the translator’s portrayal of the writer’s message or the writer’s message itself, in equal measure (Saarikoski 1963: 352). However, in doing this, there are no aspirations cast on either the translator or the writer: the critic is simply expressing his own, competing view of the world. There is an infinite number of world views, but any one of those views can only be expressed by using certain words.
"If a single word is changed in a sentence, the meaning of the sentence changes, and the new sentence presents a different view than the original sentence," Saarikoski (ibid.) argues.
Saarikoski remarks that the discussion over translating keeps recycling the same arguments over and over again: that there is no way to attain "a totally satisfactory" result; the translation is never "the exact image" of the original, etc.
Saarikoski asks, what is a satisfactory result? Should the translation be the perfect image of the original work?
"When the translation is ready, printed and published, it does not matter whether it is ‘an exact image of the original work’ or not; it has separated from the original to form its own device which either works or not, either survives or not," Saarikoski (1963: 352—353) claims.
As Saarikoski aged and matured, he continued to develop his views on translation. Saarikoski (1980: 10) remarked once, while translating Catullus, that the translator must swim across the river if he can not build a bridge (or borrow a boat). Always striving for total equivalence, the translator is often times humbled by his inability to accomplish just this. Chesterman (1997b: 114) argues that the overriding motivation of the translator must be "what I think is the best possible translation (in the circumstances)", not how to achieve equivalence or maximum equivalence. Chesterman (1997b: 113) argues that Saarikoski’s translation of The Catcher "helped to loosen the dominant poetic constraints and open up other choices for subsequent translators." Robinson (1987: 160) paraphrases Saarikoski’s "swimming-in-lieu-of-a-bridge" metaphor as he argues that what made The Catcher translation so enjoyable was the very fact that Saarikoski had neither a bridge or a boat: he had to dare the tide, to chance the occasional rapid, to swim across the stream using powerful, dynamic strokes. Robinson (ibid.) believed that the Ulysses translation had little of this adventuresome spirit: he called it a brilliant, yet routine, output. Saarikoski seemed to be using a bridge, advancing steadily, one step after another. The Catcher, however, presented a tantalizing sink-or-swim scenario. Robinson (1987: 149) argues that while Saarikoski may be guilty of committing hundreds of minute mistakes, he remained, for the most part, faithful to his own vision. According to Robinson, that vision arose from the original text, and was given life and spirit by it, yet was presented in a form (body) that was of Saarikoski’s choosing.
"Saarikoski used Salinger’s novel as a tool of sorts to create a new language for the modern Finnish literature, he turned away from Holden Caulfield’s world towards Helsinki, Helsinki of Saarikoski’s youth, a kind of visionary slang-Helsinki which did not exist before Saarikoski created it," Robinson (ibid.) argues.
Going back to the analogy of the swimmer-translator, this writer feels compelled to offer two points. First, to paraphrase Heracleitos, no translator can step into the same river twice. Saarikoski’s river of 1960 is — my apologies for being unable to resist the idiom — so much water under the bridge. Second of all, while the bridge is predictable and even boring at times, it is also a matter of record. The bridge is a solid building block, a foundation for new thinking. The river, however, remains as elusive as ever. The river covers all tracks; little can be read from its changing surface.
And what, in the end, was Saarikoski’s own legacy as a translator? Klaus Taubert, the Grand Old Man of translating literature at the Finnish publishing house WSOY, spoke often about "the Saarikoski syndrome", a tendency of the translator to re-create and re-write the novel in Finnish. Re-creative translation is a procedure which some authorities regard as the very heart of translation in the sense that it addresses the thoughts behind the words — or beyond them. However, Newmark (1988: 76) argues that the truth of the matter is exactly the opposite: ‘interpret the sense, not the words’ is only to be the translator’s last resource. An important resource to be sure, a touchstone for the translator’s linguistic sensitivity and creativity (not to mention his alertness and perspicacity) — but a last resource nevertheless.
However, it is noteworthy that Taubert — later on in his career — found justification for the Saarikoski school of translation. Having once even hosted a seminar to attack the Saarikoski syndrome, Taubert eventually came to re-assess his own position (Herranen 1993: 9).
"If there is to be any translating of the so-called art prose in this country, a few saarikoskis will fit in there nicely," Taubert argues. According to Taubert, the new anti-Saarikoski approach is not without its risks, either. There is the risk of being too orthodox, and also the danger of producing texts that are too tight and polished.
"One must not be led astray by a Saarikoskian translation, however. One should recognize that the translation exists two feet above the original, and that it is a work of a creative person. And at the same time you must remember that it is not the only form of creativity, that a quiet, reserved, stable translation is equally creative."
The sale of translation rights for publication in foreign countries is one criteria that can be used in determining a novel’s quality, appeal and endurance on a wider scale. However, The Catcher in the Rye is a unique book in the sense that, on the one hand, it describes adolescence, an unavoidable transition period in every person’s life, and thus familiar to us all. On the other hand, The Catcher undauntedly dives into the very skin of a New York prep school student, speaks his words and conveys his world, in a manner which may or may not be quite alien to a foreign reader.
"There never has been a more ‘American’ novel than The Catcher in the Rye; that is, a novel that in the publishing trade’s opinion is so colloquial it will not translate easily or well and whose surface, values, interpretations and meanings are so right, unique and hidden that foreigners will find the book ultimately inscrutable," argues Robert Gutwillig, a critic for the New York Times Book Review (Gutwillig 1961: 38). Similarly, Nida and Taber (1969: 4) maintain that "anything that can be said in one language can be said in another, unless the form is an essential element of the message." In translating The Catcher, the most formidable task lie in solving the question of form; i.e. how to relay Holden’s distinctive idiom accurately to a foreign reader. French (1963: 125—126) notes that in many countries the name of the book itself has been changed, for various reasons. The Italian translation by Jacopo Darca was called Vita da Uomo (A Man’s Life); the Japanese translation by Fuoko Hashimoto, Kikenna Nenrei (Dangerous Time of Life); the French translation by Jean Baptiste Rossi, L’Attrape-couers (The Catcher of Hearts) to name but a few. It is also notable that Holden managed to penetrate even the Iron Curtain: the Russian translation by Rita Wright-Kovaleva — Nad propastyu vo rzhi (Above the Cliff in the Ryefield ) — first appeared in a magazine in 1960. Perhaps a mark of even greater distinction, argues Gutwillig (1961: 38), is that the book was banned on moral grounds for short periods in Australia and South Africa.
Gutwillig (ibid.) selected a rather curious example to demonstrate the translator’s futile task in wrestling with The Catcher: he muses what would happen to the "rhythms of Holden’s opening salvo if translated into Finnish." For the purposes of this paper, it may prove educational to take a peek:
Ex. 1
If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born, and what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I don’t feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. (CR 1)Jos teitä tosissaan huvittaa kuulla niin ensimmäinen juttu minkä te varmaan haluatte tietää on, että missä mä synnyin ja millanen oli mun surullinen lapsuuteni, ja mitä mun vanhemmat teki ja sillailla ennen kun mä synnyin, ja muuta paskaa ala David Copperfield, mut siihen mä en ihan totta rupee. (SR 5)
Saarikoski’s Holden comes on a tad stronger than the original: whereas the original quite politely declines going into the details of his childhood, Saarikoski’s Holden is more aggressive ("siihen mä en ihan totta rupee"). In my mind, the real "Trojan horse" of the opening sentence, however, is the reference to "David Copperfield kind of crap." It appears that, at least on one level, Salinger is commenting on Dickensian storytelling where the past of the characters is elaborated on in great detail, often describing great hardship and toil. On another level, the phrase verges into the realm of the sub-text: Salinger himself believed on assessing literary works on their own merits. He took stories as stories, no more, no less. The family life of the author or his current living arrangements should be of no concern, for they distract the reader from the work itself. This is the reason why Salinger often criticized contributors’ notes in magazines: a writer who likes contributors’ notes, Salinger rather acidly wrote in a letter to Harper’s, is very likely "to have his picture taken wearing an open-collared shirt...looking three-quarter-profile and tragic." (Alexander 1999: 133.)
This is precisely the kind of "phony" behavior Holden Caulfield rails against; but what makes it all the more poignant is that here the criticism is coming straight from the horse’s mouth, so to speak.
Saarikoski’s translation "muuta paskaa ala David Copperfield" manages to carry these deeper considerations rather well, if one excuses the misleading use of the French "à la". A different matter entirely is whether Saarikoski himself paused to ponder the sub-textual elements in the opening sentence or not.
The opening "salvo" of The Catcher in The Rye was also used by Dr. Hans Ulherr (French 1963: 128) who comments on Irene Muehlon’s German translation, Der Mann im Roggen (The Man in the Rye). For example, German translation replaces the word crap with the German Zeug — meaning ‘stuff’. Saarikoski, on the other hand, seems to have done an adequate job with the sentence, preserving its rhythm, tempo and tone rather well. Staying true to his chosen strategy, Saarikoski ignores the dictates of grammar and correct vocabulary (inserting millanen instead of ‘millainen’, sillaillain lieu of ‘sillä lailla’) in an ambitious attempt to breathe life into a Finnish Holden. French (1963: 128) notes that "no translator, of course, can be blamed for failing to re-create as colloquial a style as Holden’s in another language." French argues that the translator, unlike the author, is not in a strong enough position to insist upon the integrity of the translation and, therefore, must make concessions to public taste. However, Saarikoski did attempt to "re-create as colloquial a style as Holden’s" and he did succeed. It seems obvious that Saarikoski’s status as the rising new talent of the Finnish literary scene allowed him additional leverage in the making of the translation. It was also high time to finally produce a Finnish translation of the novel, so the publisher Tammi may have been hesitant to do anything that could hinder the creative process. In addition, the Finnish public was not as easily shocked as the American reading audience: later on, one of Saarikoski’s translations was, indeed, subject to censorship on grounds of being obscene, but that book was the sexually extravagant Tropic of Cancer by Henry Miller, not the mild and kind Catcher.[20: Gummerus, the publisher of Tropic of Cancer, received a heavy fine in Jyväskylä City Court. Saarikoski, present at the trial, clapped his hands upon hearing the verdict. Saarikoski was promptly fined for contempt of the court (Hosiaisluoma 1998: 117).]
Ulherr argues that the German edition "completely fails to convey the hero’s language to the German reader" and is therefore not suited "to inspire any enthusiasm among the younger generation." (French 1963: 128.) I, on the other hand, fail to see the cause-effect relationship Ulherr refers to: it is not Holden’s language that is in the heart of Salinger’s message. It is not the language that inspires and makes people feel kinship with Holden. The dialect is clearly secondary to the theme of the novel; in this particular case, it is a seaworthy vessel, to be sure, but just a vessel nevertheless. However, shortly after Muehlon’s translation another edition of The Catcher was published (Der Fänger im Roggen) in Germany, this time translated by the distinguished German novelist, Heinrich Böll.[21: Bernd Wahlbrinck, a German teacher appearing on a Salinger mailing list, insists that Böll, too, fails to hit Holden’s slang level adequately and uses a form of language that is too restrictive. On the other hand, Wahlbrinck (1999) admits that "it would be a hell of a job to try and translate this novel." The same attitude is reflected in Ulherr’s vow not to read the translation of a book whose original language he can understand — a decision brought about by Muehlon’s translation (French 1963: 129).] French (1963: 177) argues that the employment of an artist of such stature to revise the translation suggests "the increasing importance that is being attached to Salinger’s novel in Europe." French was not familiar with the Finnish edition of The Catcher, but it seems likely he would have approved the use of a renowned author, if not the translation itself. French (1963: 129) expresses regret when discussing some less-than-satisfactory translations[22: French mentions that the novel was a flop when first published in France, alluding that this was, in part, due to a poor translation. In comparison, Åke Fen’s Norwegian translation of The Catcher earned Fen the national Translators’ Society award (French 1963: 177).] of The Catcher, but remains optimistic that at least young Europeans should have sufficient language skills to familiarize themselves with Holden in the original dialect. French (ibid.) notes — in a rather peculiar manner — that Holden’s style of speaking "may even flavor their own English."
"My wish is for all of you to someday read The Catcher in the Rye. All of my efforts will now be devoted toward this goal, for this extraordinary book holds many answers."
— Mark Chapman (official statement to New York Times after Chapman was charged with the murder of John Lennon and placed under custody)
From 1951 to 1997, The Catcher in the Rye sold approximately fifteen million copies in the United States, and more than four times that amount worldwide. The question remains, what is it exactly that makes this story of a hapless teenager so very appealing to so many? Obviously, The Catcher seduces the reader into identifying with young Holden and beckons him to join Holden’s crusade against the forces of all that is evil and phony in the world. Some, like Mark Chapman, took this invitation to a literal — and deadly — degree. Chapman claimed in his trial that he had killed Lennon because he believed Lennon had become a phony, as insincere and contemptible as the ones in The Catcher (Alexander 1999: 271). In addition to Chapman, two other high-profile crimes have surfaced with connection to the book. John Hinckley, Jr., who tried to assassinate President Ronald Reagan in 1981, had a tattered copy of The Catcher among his personal effects in his suitcase; Robert Bardo who shot and killed the young actress Rebecca Schaeffer in 1989 hid the murder weapon, along with a copy of The Catcher in Rye, near the murder scene. These three cases are but a few — if extremely dramatic — examples of the search for some kind of hidden agenda in the pages of The Catcher. This quest for a sub-text has occupied scholars and Salinger enthusiasts alike. Newmark and Meyer, respectively, have studied the phenomenon of the sub-text as it relates to translating.
"The concept of the sub-text is a useful variant term for the function or the invention of a text, the thin thread which the translator must pursue through-out his work," Newmark (1988: 78) argues. Newmark (1988: 77) quotes a play by Ibsen — a true master of the sub-text — to demonstrate: as the Mayor in the Norwegian playwrite’s An Enemy of The People says ‘We have our splendid new Baths. Mark my words! The prosperity of the town will come to depend more and more on the Baths. No doubt about it’, he is expressing his strong belief in progress and established order, rather than just showering praise upon the new Baths. In this example, a sense of "intuitive truth" is established. However, if the sub-text starts to obtrude on the text it can be severely misleading. Saarikoski put a different spin on the sub-text altogether; neglecting Salinger’s astutely crafted words and sentences, he peeled a layer of skin after another off Holden Caulfield until a Finnish hoodlum surfaced, thus providing a sub-text himself. Saarikoski (1960a: 225) claimed that the American dialect of The Catcher was "extremely clear and understandable" and that the sole dilemma consisted of shaping Holden’s modern speech into much more provincial Finnish. If so, why had Saarikoski misunderstood so many aspects of the book? Or was he simply "reacting against a stiff and literary style" — which, according to Newmark, is customary of many a modern literary translator. Newmark (1988: 77) argues that these translators are neglecting "the intolerable wrestle with words and meanings" to pursue a style of translation that is more natural, more colloquial, more easy and more relaxed than the original. Although Newmark has his eye primarily on translators who work from French to English, the parallel to Saarikoski’s translation is clear.
"The signal importance of the translation of some novels has been the introduction of a new vision injecting a different literary style into another language culture," Newmark (1986: 171—172) argues. "When one looks at Weltliteratur translations in this sense — I think of Proust, Camus, Kafka, Mann, Pavese — it is clear that the translators have often not been bold, which means not literal, enough: these are the million cases where a literal translation is aesthetically not inferior to a free translation, fashionably justified as ‘sub-text’."
While Saarikoski had his problems, other translators have run into difficulties while trying to keep up with Holden, as well. Vainio (1995: 68), for example, criticized Saarikoski’s translation in one erroneous instance and offered a translation of his own. (Bold letters added for emphasis.)
Ex. 2
He had this big château and all on the Riviera, in Europe, and all he did in his spare time was beat women off with a club. (CR 93)Sillä oli sellanen linna Rivieralla, Euroopassa, eikä se tehny vapaa-aikana mitään muuta kun vietteli donnia. (SR 92)
Vainio (ibid.) claims that Saarikoski’s translation uses an expression that is more common and banal than the original as he proposes "panna lihaa piiloon" as a better alternative. However, it would seem that "beating women off with a club" is not a crude reference to sexual intercourse at all, but serves to demonstrate the fact that the château owner had plenty — perhaps too many — women swarming all over him (thus the need for a club to fend them off). While the phrase ’beat off’ can connotate a sexual meaning (s.v. NDAS), I think the connotation here is "to drive away from by blows, attacks, volleys" the Oxford English Dictionary refers to (s.v. OEDII).
Such mistakes are easy to make, given the fact that the American idioms used in the book are half-a-century old, and may not be that common anymore. A quick look at the Swedish, Norwegian, German and Russian translations, respectively, tells us that the meaning of this particular sentence is quite vague. The Norwegian and Swedish translators speak simply of beating the women with a club or a stick: Rita Wright-Kovaleva, the Russian translator, goes one step further and insists that Blanchard pummels his ladies into unconciousness! (NPR 100) Heinrich Böll is quite likely closest to Holden’s original intention: the German translation has Blanchard chasing women away with a stick. (FR 121)
The first step in any translation is comprehension; understanding on (desirably) all levels. However, standing almost five decades removed from the publication of Salinger’s novel, this can prove problematic. As means of discussing the sub-text and to offer a vehicle for speculation, I have selected an example that — to my mind — contains very multi-faceted information.
In Chapter 24 of The Catcher in The Rye, the articulate and intelligent Mr. Antolini, Holden’s favorite teacher, warns Holden that he is heading for a "terrible, terrible fall." Slightly intoxicated, Mr. Antolini gathers his thoughts and continues:
Ex. 3
"It may be the kind where, at the age of thirty, you sit in some bar hating everybody who comes in looking like they played football in college." (CR 186)— Tämä voi olla se tapaus missä poika kolmikymmenvuotiaana istuu jossain baarissa ja vihaa jokaista joka tulee sisään ja on sen näkönen että on pelannu jalkapalloa collegen joukkueessa. (SR 177)
I take no issue with Saarikoski’s translation of the sentence as of now; my purpose here is only to consider for a moment the meaning of Mr. Antolini’s cryptic words. My view is that Mr. Antolini is afraid that Holden might become an underachiever who fails to apply himself in school and to get a good education. Later on in life, however, Holden is likely to regret such a decision. University education is not everything: but it does serve to open some doors that may otherwise stay closed. This is the reason why the thirty-year-old Holden would find a former college jock offensive. The American universities may "draft" student athletes that are students only in name, but after four years of college they still get a degree. Holden is intelligent enough to see this and to reject the unfairness of the system, but the fact remains that doors and opportunities will remain closed to him that are open to the football player.
Salinger himself never received a degree from a university: is it possible that he is trying to tell us something here? Or perhaps, as difficult as it may be, one would do well to try and separate Salinger’s own voice from Mr. Antolini’s. There is no way of knowing what Salinger really thinks of the situation. But it is an intriguing piece of the sub-text, and, at least in my view, translators should walk on egg shells every time when one is encountered.
This piece proved problematic for many translators, as well. One problem was the game, football. In United States, there is a clear distinction between soccer and football: soccer is what Europeans call ‘football’ and football is what Europeans have designated ‘American football’. American football, of course, is an American institution that ranks right up there with Mom and apple pie: a modern gladiator contest where helmet-wearing massive specimen crash into each other like angry waves. However, the translators have opted to speak of ‘football’ instead of ‘American football’: while this may confuse some readers, those with proper cultural knowledge will associate the reference with American football.
More importantly, according to my analysis of the ST, the mentioning of college is vital for the correct treatment of the sub-text. However, Östergren leaves out this important information (RN 177). Böll and Fen do a more accurate job; Wright-Kovaleva, however, has included "college football stars" into her translation which is somewhat diverting to the original focus of the text (NPR 176). The football player does not have to be a star in order for Holden to dislike him.
Another example used here concerns Mr. Hayes, Sally Hayes’ father. This is how Holden describes him:
Ex. 4
Her father was one of those big silent bastards, and he wasn’t too crazy about me anyhow. (CR 134)Sallyn isä oli tollanen hiljanen hämähäkki, eikä se muutenkaan ollu erityisemmin ihastunnu muhun. (SR 129)
[Sally’s father was a kind of a silent spider, and he wasn’t particularly smitten with me.]
According to Holden, Mr. Hayes was of the opinion that Holden "was too goddam noisy". Obviously the two had come into some contact during Holden’s courtship of young Sally. Sally Hayes is a very attractive girl by anyone’s standards: both Holden and Mr. Antolini testify to this effect. It is not unusual, then, that Mr. Hayes would loom threatening over the shoulder of any prospective suitor — at least in the mind of these very same adolescent boys. Perhaps taking his cue from Salinger himself, Mr. Hayes’ silence speaks louder than his words.
All that is presented here is pure speculation — yet the sense of sub-text is quite strong in this example. Reference to Mr. Hayes’ size could contain a hint of bodily harm and physical violence; the ominous silence is equally foreboding.
Saarikoski, however, replaces the descriptive "big silent bastard" with a metaphor that is quite open to various interpretations. Metaphors operate under the principle of association: certain qualities are transferred from one semantic level to another (Fiske 1994: 130). In the case of "hiljanen hämähäkki", one can not be certain just which qualities of a silent spider one should transfer and align with Mr. Hayes.
There are at least two ways of addressing the association:
The reader is left with the task of assigning associative attributes to Mr. Hayes — a very open-ended imaginative exercise, at that. Or those reluctant to dwell on the characteristics of Mr. Hayes can simply excuse Saarikoski’s spider as some form of verbal gymnastics: "hiljanen hämähäkki" does have a phonetically pleasing ring to it.
One final example to demonstrate the perils of sub-text: as Holden takes the train to New York, he has a conversation with a woman who turns out to be a mother of a (rather annoying) classmate. Holden is quite taken with the lady (Mrs. Morrow), especially as she does not treat him as a child. Holden even asks Mrs. Morrow, if she would join him for a cocktail. However, Mrs. Morrow turns him down very politely. Yet Holden insists:
Ex. 5
"C’mon, join me, why don’t you?" I said. I’d’ve enjoyed having her. (CR 57)— Tulkaa mennään, mä sanoin. Mä olisin halunnu makaa sen kanssa. (SR 60)
[— C’mon let’s go, I said. I would have wanted to sleep with her.]
There is ample evidence that Holden does find Mrs. Morrow attractive: Holden thinks that Mrs. Morrow has "a lot of charm" and "quite a lot of sex appeal, too, if you really want to know." But does that mean that Holden wanted to have sex with her?
The original text contains a great deal of ambiguity. The translator has to make up his mind based on what he has learned of Holden Caulfield’s personality. However, Holden shows considerable inconsistency in his actions: he invites a prostitute into his hotel room at one point; yet he is is extremely shocked when he later on encounters an obscene word scrippled on a wall in school. He is both fascinated and horrified by the physicality sex.
The Norwegian translator Åke Fen uses an expression similar to the original in his translation (Henne skulle jeg gjerne hatt, HTS 65) and thus manages to maintain the ambiguity of the ST. The Swedish, Russian and German translations fully commit themselves, however, on this particular Rubicon. Östergren, Wright-Kovaleva and Böll, respectively, all come to the conclusion that Holden would not mind having her — accompany him for cocktails.
Robinson (1987: 159) argues that Saarikoski’s translation of The Catcher in the Rye was made famous by the "grotesque metamorphoses" that imprint the work so strongly. This section of this paper consists of analyzing and cataloguing such transformations. At this time, I make a distinction between translation strategy and translation tactics. The two areas mostly linked with formulating strategy are text comprehension and text production: text comprehension deals with the analysis of ST; text production concerns the manipulation of linguistic material in order to produce an appropriate TT (cf. Chesterman 1997b: 92). Saarikoski’s over-all strategy for translating The Catcher in the Rye — at least in my mind — was to create a Holden Caulfied with a real, flesh-and-blood connection to the target culture. All devices in Saarikoski’s disposal were sub-ordinate to this main strategy. These devices form the crust of Saarikoski’s tactics: they deal with operative dilemmas in operative situations with varying degrees of success.
Earlier on, I introduced the metaphor of the translator as a cultural diver. Another one of some use to us could be that of the translator as an archeologist, carefully unearthing lost treasures. This is precisely what I refer to by translational sedimentation: information coded into a work of literature is arranged in layers, embedded in different levels of cultural knowledge.
If Saarikoski is, indeed, seen in this context of a culture/communication/transla-tion archeologist, he bears a striking resemblance to one Indiana Jones.
Saarikoski quite regularly used English words in his translation, presumably to liven up the text and to add some cultural color. The most frequent English phrase present in the Finnish translation is ‘all right’ (SR 13, 39, 58, 63, 68, 72, 83, 98, 100, 109, 139, 141, 162, 164, 178, 179, 181). However, Saarikoski was not consistent in its use:
Ex. 6
"How’s Sally?" He knew old Sally Hayes. I introduced him once.
"She’s all right. I had a date with her this afternoon. "Boy, it seemed like twenty years ago! "We don’t have too much in common any more."
"Helluva pretty girl. What about that other girl? The one you told me about, in Maine?
"Oh, Jane Gallagher. She’s all right. I’m probably gonna give her a buzz tomorrow. (CR 190-191)— Mitä Sallylle kuuluu? — Se tuns Sallyn. Mä esittelin kerta.
— Mitä Sally. Mulla oli treffit sen kanssa tänään iltapäivällä. — Jukra, siitä oli kun kakskyt vuotta! — Meillä ei ole paljon tekemistä enää.
Hiton nätti tyttö. Entäs se toinen tyttö? Se mistä sinä kerroit, se siellä Mainessa?
— Jaa Jane Gallagher. Se on all right. Mä ehkä soitan sille huomenna. (SR 181)
Also, for one reason or the other, English words such as ‘drug store’ (CR 116, 135: SR 114, 131), ‘sight-seeing’ (CR 123: SR 120) and ‘dance music’ (CR 174: SR 166) survived into the translation. In some instances, whole sentences were left untranslated:
Ex. 7a
"Well. Take it easy," he said. (CR 149)
— Well. Take it easy, se sano. (SR 143)Ex. 7b
Not bad, boy. It’s funny. (CR 157)
Not bad, boy. Koomillinen juttu. (SR 151)
From time to time, Saarikoski also appropriated some English words in order to develop a rather curious amalgam of English and Finnish:
Ex. 8a
So who do they get to take his place? (CR 29)
Kuka ottaa sen pleisin? (SR 32)Ex. 8b
"He ain’t my friend. He’s my brudda." (CR 203)
- Ei se ole mun kaveri. Se on mun brotheri. (SR 192)Ex. 8c
Then when he does bang them, he does it so nice and sweet, with this nervous expression on his face. (CR 138)
Kun se soittaa, se tekee sen stylesti ja hienosti, sellanen jännä ilme kasvoilla. (SR 133)Ex. 8d
I only met him once, at a goddam stupid party. (CR 64)
Mä tapasin sen vaan kerran, jossain typerissä keimeissä. (SR 67)
As the latter two examples demonstrate, Saarikoski does not require that the English word the Finnish translation is referring to is actually present in the original text. "Stylesti" seems to be an adaptation of ’stylishly’ and the origin of "keimeissä" can be traced to "games" — both words glaringly absent from the original.
Salinger uses italics as a stylistic device to emphasize certain words or syllables. Especially the use of italics in syllables gives the reader a quite accurate and lifelike reading of the dialogue, as emphasis is very important in the English language. Thus Salinger manages to create a rhythm, a flow, that will add to the immensely articulate realism of his work.
Ex. 9
"The fish don’t go no place. They stay right where they are, the fish. Right in the goddam lake."
"The fish-that’s different. The fish is different. I’m talking about the ducks," I said.
"What’s different about it? Nothin’s different about it," Horwitz said. (CR 82)— Ei kalatkaan minnekään me. Nekin pysyy paikallaan, kalat. Siinä järvessä.
— Kalat — se on eri juttu. Kalat on eri juttu. Mä puhun ankoista, mä sanoin.
— Mitä eroa siinä on? Ei siinä ole mitään eroa, Horwitz sano. (SR 83)
Salinger’s use of italics in this example injects the dialogue with a dynamic quality that is one of his trademarks. Especially the emphasis on the first syllable of ‘different’ helps paint a very vivid picture of the New York City cabdriver Holden is talking to. However, Saarikoski’s translation does not allow the Finnish reader to get into the flow of this rather heated argument, as he has neglected to show emphasis in his translation.
As the conversation in the cab goes on, however, Saarikoski does an adequate job in his use of italics to convey the nuances of the dialogue:
Ex. 10
"Yeah? What do they eat, then? I mean if they’re frozen solid, they can’t swim around looking for food and all."
"Their bodies, for Chrissake-what’sa matter with you? Their bodies take in nutrition and all, right through the goddam seaweed and crap that’s in the ice. They got their pores open the whole time. That’s their nature, for Chrissake. See what I mean?" (CR 82—83)— Ää. Mitä ne sit syö? Mä tarkotan, että jos ne on jäätynny kiinni, niin ne ei voi uida ympäri ja etsiä muonaa.
— Niiden ruumiit, saatana — mikä sua oikeen vaivaa? Niiden ruumiit ottaa sisään ravintoa siitä ruohosta ja paskasta kun on siinä jäässä. Niillä on huokoset auki koko ajan. Se on niiden luonto, saatana. Kässääks? (SR 83)
Saarikoski’s translation would certainly have benefited from a thorough proofreading. A skilled literary editor could have easily limited the number of mistakes in the translation, some of which are quite misleading and puzzling. In Saarikoski’s translation basketball coach becomes a baseball coach (CR 43: SR 45), a pair of black-and-white shoes become black-and-white gloves (CR 14: SR 17), and a closet becomes a bathroom (CR 88: SR 88). Even some names have gone through a mysterious metamorphosis: Louis Shaney emerges as "Louis Gorman" (CR 112: SR 110) ; Charlene, the Caulfield family maid, obviously goes through even more profound a transformation as she becomes "Charles" (CR 206: SR 195).
Some of the more disturbing lapses are presented in the following examples. (Bold letters used for emphasis; a rudimentary back-translation from Finnish to English included in parentheses.)
Ex. 11
I said I wasn’t blaming Jesus or anything. (CR 100)Se sano että mä pilkkasin Jeesusta. (SR 99)
[He said that I was mocking Jesus.]
In this example, Saarikoski mistakes the identity of the speaker, thus producing a faulty translation.
Ex. 12
It was a very old, terrific record that this colored girl singer, Estelle Fletcher, made about twenty years ago. (CR 114)Se oli kamalan vanha ja ihan surkea levy jonka yks neekerilaulajatar, Estelle Fletcher, oli tehny vähintään kakskyt vuotta sitten. (SR 113)
[It was a terribly old and a totally lousy record that one negro songtress, Estelle Fletcher, had made at least twenty years ago.]
Perhaps in this example Saarikoski has misread the word "terrific" for "terrible", and then ignored the logical connection (why would Holden bad-mouth a record he so enjoyed). It would seem that Saarikoski does know the correct meaning of ’terrific’ since he translated the word appropriately earlier and later on. Since the word ’terrific’ is very much part of Holden’s vocabulary, it keeps surfacing (cf. CR 16, 17, 21, 124, 184).
Ex. 13
A lot of schools were home for vacation already, and there were about a million girls sitting and standing around waiting for their dates to show up. (CR 123)Melko monilla kouluilla oli loma jo alkannu, ja siellä oli vähintään miljoona tyttöä, niitä istu ja seiso ja ne tuijotti jannujaan. (SR 120)
[Many schools had started their vacations already, and there were at least million girls there, they were sitting and standing and they were staring at their boyfriends.]
In Example 13 we are at a loss to explain the workings of Saarikoski’s "black box". Obviously, the translation has strayed quite far from the original. As these mistakes demonstrate, even small lapses in concentration can totally change the meaning and focus of the original text. It is quite impossible to offer any meaningful insight into the state of mind of the translator at the time of the translation. There can be only speculation as to the cause of these mistakes.
There are several instances where Saarikoski — quite conceivably inspired by the flair and dynamic qualities of the original text — proceeds to out-do Salinger. He overstates the issue. In some cases, this translation tactic may also be due to the fact that Saarikoski is not absolutely clear on the original meaning of the text.
Ex. 14a
That kind of stuff. The old bull. (CR 13)Tollasta skeidaa. Aaria oopperasta Caulfied skeidalla. (SR 17)
[Crap like that. An aria from the opera Caulfield taking a dump.]Ex. 14b
He was a skinny little weak-looking guy, with wrists about as big as pencils. (CR 170)Se oli sellanen pikkanen jätkä että se olis mahtunnu isänsä housunlahkeeseen vaikka, ja sen ranteet oli suunnilleen yhtä paksut kuin joku kynä. (SR 162)
[He was that kind of little guy who could have fit in one leg of his father’s pants even, and his wrists were about as thick as some pen.]Ex. 14c
I started to take off my coat and hang it up in the foyer closet, but that closet’s full of hangers that rattle like madmen when you open the door, so I left it on. (CR 158)Mä meinasin ottaa drotsin pois ja pistää sen eteisen kaappiin mut se kaappi on täynnä hengareita jotka kalisee kun luurangot kun avaa oven, joten mä jätin sen aikeen siihen. (SR 152)
[I was about to take off my jacket and put it in the foyer closet, but the closet was full of hangers that rattle like skeletons when you open the door, so I just dropped the whole thing.]
In these examples, Saarikoski seems eager to up the ante a little bit. His expression is certainly more colorful than Salinger’s — and not altogether unfaithful to Holden’s rebellious spirit, either.
Ex. 15
I sat down in my chair again and he started cutting his big horny-looking nails. "How ’bout using the table or something? I said. "Cut ’em over the table, willya? I don’t feel like walking on your crumby nails in my bare feet tonight." (CR 23)Mä istuin takaisin tuoliin ja se alko leikkaan isoja kynsiään jotka oli kun jollain saatana korppikotkalla. — Mitä jos käyttäisit pöytää tai jotain, mä sanoin. — Leikkaa ne pöydän päällä, viittiks. Mua ei erityisemmin huvittas kävellä paljain jaloin sun kynsies päällä niinkun joku fakiiri. (SR 27)
[I sat back down in the chair and he started cutting his big nails which were like a damn vulture’s. — How about using a table or something, I said. — Cut them over a table, will you. I don’t particularly feel like walking bare foot on your nails like some fakir.]
"Fakiiri" of this example also conveys the verbal dexterity (demonstrated so often by Holden) quite admirably. This approach, however, is highly unconventional and several critics commented on Saarikoski’s tendency to "improve" upon the original text. Saarikoski was developing an intuitive style of translating that lacked many aspects of traditional literary translation.
Ex. 16 The cab I had was a real old one that smelled like someone’d just tossed his cookies in it. (CR 81)
Se mun taksini oli sellanen kamalan vanha ja hais niinkun joku olis just pompottannu siinä persettään. (SR 82)
[My cab was one very terribly old cab that smelled like someone had just been bouncing his ass in it.]
In this example, Saarikoski seems unsure of the meaning of the idiom in question and provides his own take on the situation.
Both Examples 15 and 16 feature language that Saarikoski may not have entirely comprehended. Especially the "big horny-looking nails" of the original text present quite a dilemma. Elsewhere in the book Salinger uses "horny" in its sexual, slang connotation (lecherous) so he may be doing that in this instance as well. "Horny" may also contain the meaning ‘of or like horn; hard like horn, callous’ (s.v. ODCE). There is no way to tell for sure. When the meaning is decidedly unclear the translator is left in a bind: he faces yet another Rubicon. Saarikoski’s translation reflects the fact that his guesses were normally more instinctive and creative than educated. [As the word "horny" re-surfaces in the book in a very sexual setting (CR 63), Saarikoski translates it as "orpo" (SR 66).]
However, the meaning of the idiom "to toss one’s cookies" is easier to grasp. It seems clear that this idiom is a reference to vomiting or feeling sick (s.v. New Dictionary of American Slang). Quite obviously Saarikoski, unfamiliar with the expression, has taken cookies to mean buttocks, and created an idiom of his own.
Nord (1991: 11) remarks that not unlike the literary critic or the linguist, the professional translator will never read a text he is going to translate in a naive or intuitive manner, but will aim for a critical, comprehensive, translation-oriented analysis. In Saarikoski’s case, it can be argued that his reading of The Catcher in the Rye was far removed from a balanced, objective analysis.
Yet Saarikoski’s style was not entirely without sympathizers or even admirers. Klaus Taubert wrote in Uudenmaan Sanomat about an "extremely amusing forgery" and regarded Saarikoski’s translation as alert, funny and witty (Tarkka 1996a: 340). Kai Laitinen (1961: 210) critiqued in Parnasso that the atmosphere in Saarikoski’s translation is genuine, and while there can be disagreement over details, Saarikoski was successful in his work.
"The first epic of Finnish slang is born," Laitinen (ibid.) wrote," a creative translation that competes with the original text and refuses to make it commonplace."
Saarikoski did not always go out of his way to "improve" the ST. In the following examples, he has used more moderate means of expression: while still demonstrating his creative prowess, Saarikoski stays well within the perimeter of desired equivalence.
Ex. 17a
Anyway, it was December and all, and it was cold as witch’s teat, especially on top of that stupid hill. (CR 4)Joo, oli joulukuu ja kaikki, ja oli kylmää kun jääkarhun perseessä, varsinkin sen älyttömän kukkulan päällä. (SR 7)
[Yeah, it was December and all, and it was cold like in polar bear’s ass, especially on top of that senseless hill.]Ex. 17b
But it was just that we were too much on opposite sides of the pole, that’s all. (CR 14—15)Se oli vaan siinä kun me oltiin eri kaliiperia. (SR 18)
[It was just that we were different caliber.]Ex. 17c
I was knocking myself out. (CR 29)Mä painoin kaasun pohjaan. (SR 32)
[I slammed on the gas.]
All of these examples draw on well-known American idioms, but do not have direct equivalent in the Finnish language. However, Saarikoski has produced very credible alternatives that fit well into the TT culture.
Overstatement or desired equivalence are very frequently found in Sieppari. It is far more difficult to find instances where Saarikoski has opted for a more subtle expression: to tone it down instead of engaging in a game of one-upmanship. Perhaps Saarikoski’s tendency to get carried away with this particular translation prevented him for using his more dead-pan, Nenä wit. But when he does choose understatement instead of overstatement, the results do justice to Holden’s intelligence and sly sense of humor (if not to the full letter of the original text).
Ex. 18a
Then I went down in the elevator and checked out. I didn’t see old Maurice around any where. I didn’t break my neck looking for him, naturally, the bastard. (CR 106)Sit mä menin hissillä alas ja maksoin. Mä en nähny Mauricea missään. En mä kyllä erityisemmin sitä etsinny myöskään. (SR 105)
[Then I took the elevator down and paid. I didn’t see Maurice anywhere. I wasn’t particularly looking either.]Ex. 18b
I started giving the three witches at the next table the eye again. That is, the blonde one. The other two were strictly from hunger. (CR 70)Mä alon taas silmäileen niitä kolmea kimmaa siinä viereisessä pöydässä. Tahtoo sanoa sitä blondiinia. Ne kaks muuta tuli vaan niin kun kaupan päälle. (SR 72)
[I started to check out the three girls in the next table. That’s to say the blonde. The other two were an added bonus.]Ex. 18c
Did you give her my regards?" I asked him.
"Yeah."
The hell he did, the bastard. (CR 42)— Kerroit sä sille multa terveisiä? mä kysyin.
— Je.
Kyllä kait juu. (SR 45)
[— Did you give her my regards? I asked.
— Yea.
Yeah right.]
Additional benefit for the use of understatement is that it serves to enhance the sense of irony. Ironic utterances have an "extra degree" of expressivity which derives from the contrast between certain linguistic qualities and the pragmatic conditions of the situation (Nord 1991: 203). In ironic speech, the sender pretends to be sincere while signaling he is not. Sometimes, however, the ironic contrast between what is said and what is meant is not clear from the situation. According to Nord, in such cases the sender has to use certain signals or "markers" of irony (so-called "interference" factors) which are intented to prevent a "literal" interpretation of the utterance. Nord lists several of these irony markers: repetition of words, extravagant metaphors, overlong sentences, wink of an eye, a particular intonation, quotation marks or use of italics. A fictional text such as The Catcher in the Rye creates its own (if fictional) situation, a whole separate framework of notions and conventions. If the reader is to understand irony in a fictional text, he has to be familiar with the author’s world. According to Nord, this familiarity is often established by the text itself. Familiarity increases as the reader learns more about Holden — it grows with each passing page and paragraph. It is the responsibility of the translator to make sure that the information TT reader receives is genuine. In the case of irony, the greater the distance between the text and its pragmatic surroundings, the greater the translator’s obligation to use irony markers (cf. Nord 1991: 203).
In the following example, the sense of irony present in the ST does not quite materialize in the TT:
Ex. 19
"Where you girls from?" I asked her.
She didn’t answer me, though. She was busy looking around for old Peter Lorre to show up, I guess.
"Where you girls from?" I asked her again.
"What?" she said.
"Where you girls from? Don’t answer if you don’t feel like it. I don’t want you to strain yourself." (CR 72)— Mistä te tytöt olette? mä kysyin.
Se ei vastannu. Se katteli koko aika jos näkis sen Peter Lorren, mä luulen.
— Mistä päin te olette? mä kysyin.
— Hä? se sano.
— Mistä päin te olette? Ei teidän tartte vastaa jos te ette halua. Älkää pingottako. (SR 74)
Holden’s dance partner keeps ignoring Holden’s question, truly giving out the impression that answering the question is a gargantuan feat requiring great effort and energy. Holden is quick to make fun of the girl’s ’holier-than-thou’ attitude: Saarikoski’s wit doesn’t quite match Holden’s.
There are some instances where the ST contains information that diverges completely from the immediate norms of the TT (word-plays, puns etc.). I found two instances where Saarikoski quite simply had to break away from the ST:
Ex. 20a
You could tell he was very ashamed of his parents and all, because they said "he don’t" and "she don’t" and stuff like that and they weren’t very wealthy. (CR 136)Se häpes selvästikin vanhempiaan kun ne sano ’presitentti’ ja sillailla eikä niillä ollu rahaa. (SR 132)
[He was clearly ashamed of his parents cause they say ‘the presitent’ and that way and they didn’t have money.]
Holden’s classmate’s parents did not use the correct grammatical "he/she does not" structure — instead they used a more colloquial, rural expression. However, Finnish language does not allow for this kind of form. Saarikoski has found an adequate replacement in ‘presitentti’.
Ex. 20b
"You know. The mummies — them dead guys. That get buried in them toons and all."
Toons. That killed me. He meant tombs. (CR 203)— Kyllä sä tiedät. Muumiot — ne kuolleet kaverit. Ne mitkä pistetään haatoihin.
Haatoihin. Jumalauta. Se tarkotti hautoihin. (SR 191—192)
[— You know. Mummies — them dead guys. Those who are stuck in gaves.
Gaves. Goddam. He meant graves.]
"Toon" could understood as a shortened form of "cartoon." Toon is also the English name of a plant, Cedrela toona, but Holden may not be that avid student of biology. In this context, toon can simply be nonsensical. Saarikoski’s "haatoihin" is not a real word, either: it conveys rather well the limited vocabulary of a small boy.
There are times when the ST culture and the TT culture "share" an idiom, making it unnecessary to make drastic alterations. However, Saarikoski has sometimes tinkered even with such cases. Saarikoski has a tendency to invent Rubicons which do not exist. Even when the operational situation does not require for an extraordinary translation, he still opts to use one. I call these instances staged Rubicons.
Ex. 21a
Boy, his bed was like a rock. (CR 8)Jukra, se sänky oli kova kun leipä. (SR 11)
[Boy, that bed was hard as bread.]
The Finnish language uses the same idiom; "kova kuin kivi" or even "kivikova". Bread, however, is not associated with hard qualities at all and this translation serves only to puzzle the reader.
Another example concerning ’rock’:
Ex. 21b
He slept like a rock. (CR 50)Se nukku kun kuollu kala. (SR 52)
[He slept like a dead fish.]
The ‘dead fish’ certainly adds flavor, but Holden uses a very common idiom and the translation should reflect this. The Finnish equivalent could be ‘nukkui kuin tukki’.
Ex. 22
His mother’s blind as a bat. (CR 139)Sen mutsi on sokea kun joku olmi. (SR 134)
[His mom was blind as some olm.]
Direct equivalence could be established with ‘sokea kuin lepakko’, a quite acceptable Finnish expression. The use of ‘olmi’ (olm, Proteus anguinus) is confusing and completely out of context.
Saarikoski has a tendency to omit things from Salinger’s original text. Sometimes he omits a single word, sometimes several, and quite frequently entire sentences are left out. At some instances, one has to wonder if Saarikoski merely did not avoid a problematic phrase or an idiom by letting it slip by. Based on the research material, however, it seems that there is plain carelessness behind most omissions.
Ex. 23
If I think there isn’t anything underneath my hand — no can, no legs, no feet, no anything — then the girl’s a really terrific dancer. (CR 71)Jos musta tuntuu että käden alla ei ole mitään — ei mitään selkää eikä jalkoja eikä mitään — sillon tyttö on hyvä tanssimaan. (SR 73)
[If I feel that there is nothing under the hand — no back or legs or nothing — then the girl’s a good dancer.]
The "no can" omit of the Example 23 may lead one to suspect that Saarikoski was unfamiliar with the expression, but when used elsewhere in the book he does include it and correctly so (cf. CR 101: SR 100).
Ex. 24a
Sometimes you get tired of riding in taxi cabs the same way you get tired of riding in elevators. All of a sudden you have to walk, no matter how far or how high up. When I was a kid, I used to walk all the way up to our apartment very frequently. Twelve stories.
You wouldn’t even had known it had snown at all. (CR 88)Joskus sitä kyllästyy ajaan taksissa niinkun sitä kyllästyy ajaan hissillä. Kesken kaiken sitä tartteekin kävellä vaikka menis miten pitkälle tai vaikka menis miten korkealle. Ei näkynny melkeen ollenkaan että oli satannu. (SR 88)
[Sometimes you get tired of riding a cab just like you get tired of riding an elevator. In the middle of everything you have to walk no matter how far or how high you’re going. It barely showed that it had snowed.]Ex. 24b
If she’d been a big old prostitute, with a lot of make up on her face and all, she wouldn’t have been half as spooky. (CR 98)Jos se olis ollu iso vanha huora niin se ei olis ollu puolikskaan niin pelottava. (SR 97)
[If she had been a big old hooker then she wouldn’t have been half as scary.]Ex. 24c
"You’re goddam right they don’t," Horwitz said, and drove off like a bat out of hell. He was about the touchiest guy I ever met. Everything you said made him sore.
Even though it was so late, old Ernie’s was jam-packed. (CR 83)— Ei ne kuolekaan, Horwitz sano ja painu helvettiin. Vaikka olikin niin myöhästä niin Ernien kapakka oli kun sillipytty. (SR 84)
[— They don’t die, Horwitz said and beat off to hell. Even though it was late Ernie’s bar was like a can of herring.]
These examples seem to be plain over-sights, but quite tenuous over-sights, especially in Examples 24a and 24c. Nord (1991: 170) argues that if translation skopos requires "the reproduction of the whole content", then the smallest omission, as long as it is not due to a TT recipient-specific presupposition, is a translation error. On the other hand, if the translation skopos requires only a rough summary or an outline of the relevant information in the text, the omission is not an error. The cases presented here do not include material that could conceivably prove problematic for the translator, and there should be no obstacles in reproducing the whole content of the material. However, in other parts of the novel, Saarikoski uses omissions in order to avoid having to deal with culture-specific material (cf. Examples 42b & c), clearly adopting the position that only a rough summary is called for.
Saarikoski’s command of the English language clearly had some serious flaws. American expressions were quite alien to him, and due to this many of Holden’s idioms have been translated into very peculiar Finnish forms.
Ex. 25
She made me so nervous, I just kept on lying my head off. (CR 97)Tyttö hermostutti mua melko kamalasti, mä käänsin koko aika päätä poispäin.(SR 95)
[The girl made me awfully nervous, the whole time I was turning my head away.]
Instead of lying his head off, Saarikoski’s Holden turns his head away. In this example, one can speculate that Saarikoski took "lying" to mean being in or assuming "horizontal position on supporting surface" (s.v. lie Oxford Dictionary of Current English) instead of intentionally making false statements, i.e. lies. Since the written form of these two verbs is identical, one can easily make such an error.
Ex. 26
I kept holding onto the phone, sort of, so I wouldn’t pass out. (CR 151)Mä pidin jotenkin kiinni siitä puhelimesta, joten mä en voinnu poistua. (SR 146)
[I hung on to the phone somehow, so I couldn’t leave.]
Again, Saarikoski may have been misled by a word he knows from a different context. Verb "pass" can be taken to mean "move onward or past something, proceed" (s.v. ODCE). Thus Saarikoski envisions that Holden is trying to get out of the phone booth, but can not. Holden was, after all, intoxicated at the time, so it would seem understandable he would experience some problems (getting tangled in the phone wire, etc.). However, the "passing out" Holden refers to more than likely deals with losing consciousness, also associated with large consumption of alcohol.
Ex. 27
She was nice, though. I showed her my goddam red hunting hat, and she liked it. She made me put it on before I went out, because my hair was still pretty wet. She was all right. (CR 153)Se suhtautu kuitenkin mukavasti. Mä näytin sille punasta kotsaani, ja se piti siitä. Se käski mua panemaan sen päähän, kun mun tukka oli märkä vielä. Se oli ihan oikeessa. (SR 147)
[She had a nice attitude. I showed her my red hat, and she liked it. She told me to wear it, because my hair was still wet. She was quite right.]
As ‘all right’ is one of Holden’s trademark phrases, Saarikoski was surely familiar with it by now. Saarikoski may simply not have noticed the word "all" in the original.
Ex. 28
"He’s got a yella streak a mile wide," the other one said.(CR 204)Se on jo kilometrin päässä, toinen sano. (SR 192)
[He’s already a kilometer away, the other one said.]
In this example, Saarikoski was tricked by "yella streak" — actually a yellow (like chicken) streak — that a person with cowardly qualities is often attributed to have (cf. Holden discusses being yellow: CR 89). Ignoring the idiom, Saarikoski guesses and misses the meaning of the sentence.
Also vocabulary, ranging from sophisticated to slang, caused Saarikoski to err on several occasions. Sometimes Holden would show off his "ace composition writer" knowledge with some prep school vocabulary (and Saarikoski’s refusal to consult a dictionary would cost him):
Ex. 29
Some of the faculty are pretty conscientious.(CR 55)Toiset opettajat on melko ankaria. (SR 58)
[Some teachers are pretty strict.]
Webster’s New Encyclopedic Dictionary defines ‘conscientious’ as: ‘"governed by or in accordance with one’s conscience: scrupulous" and "marked by or done with exactness and thought: careful." (s.v. WNED). In fact, Holden does not think much of his teachers, but is willing — at least in this one instance — to praise them to please Mrs. Morrow.
Ex. 30
I was getting more and more nonchalant as it went along.(CR 94)Mua rupes tympäseen koko juttu. (SR 93)
[I was getting tired of the whole thing.]
Nonchalant, on the other hand, is a French loan word signaling "easy unconcern or indifference" (s.v. WNED). In the novel, Holden was trying as best he could to play a cool, casual man-about-town in order to impress a young prostitute. Saarikoski missed the point entirely. In other instance, Saarikoski translates ‘nonchalant’ as "arrogant" or "braggart" (leuhki SR 90).
Ex. 31
I have this one stupid aunt with halitosis that kept saying how peaceful he looked lying there, D.B. told me. (CR 155)Mulla oli yks vajaaälynen täti joka koko aika selosti että voi miten rauhalliselta hän näytti siinä levätessään, kerto D.B. (SR 148) [I had a retard aunt who was explaining all the time how peaceful he looked lying there, said D.B.]
Halitosis, however, is not a condition concerning diminished mental capacity, but something quite more memorable. Webster’s defines halitosis as "a condition of having breath with an offensive odor" (s.v. WNED). This knowledge certainly adds some flavor to the funeral description.
The more youthful, sometimes slang-tinged vocabulary proved to pose another comprehension problem for Saarikoski. For example, Saarikoski has translated the verb "bawling" as shouting or screaming (huusin SR 46; kiljuin SR 48; kiljuin SR 200) when it more likely refers to crying.
The following example reveals Saarikoski’s inconsistency in translating even the most elementary slang expressions:
Ex. 32a
Mostly with prep school jerks and college jerks. (CR 83)Enimmäkseen siellä oli koululaisia. (SR 85)
[There were mostly school kids there.]Ex. 32b
I was surrounded by jerks. (CR 85)Mun ympärillä oli koululaisia. (SR 85)
[I was surrounded by school kids.]Ex. 32c
I started picturing millions of jerks coming to my funeral and all. (CR 154)Mä rupesin kuvitteleen kun miljoonia vesipäitä kerääntys mun hautajaisiin. (SR 148)
[I started picturing millions of waterheads coming to my funeral.]
New Dictionary of American Slang gives eight definition variations for "jerk", among these "a tedious and ineffectual person" and "a contemptible and obnoxious person" (s.v. NDAS), and offers synonyms such as ’boob’, ’turkey’, ’asshole’ and ’bastard’. Saarikoski’s ’vesipäät’ seems to reflect these connotations - but how does one account for Examples 32a & b?
Ex. 33
All she had on was jeans and about twenty sweaters. You could tell her mother made them for her, because they were lumpy as hell. (CR 118)Sillä ei ollu mitään muuta päällä kun dongarit ja suunnilleen parikyt villapaitaa. Varmaan ne oli sen mutsin tekemiä kun ne oli sellasia helvetin lumppuja. (SR 116)
[She had nothing on except jeans and about twenty sweaters. They were probably made by her mom because they were such damn rags.]
Collins Cobuild English Language Dictionary notes that "something that is lumpy contains lumps or is covered with lumps" (s.v. CCELD). It seems that the sweaters in question were not of inferior quality or in bad shape as Saarikoski’s translation suggests, merely quite spacious.
Ex. 34
You’d have thought they’d taken baths in the same bathtub or something when they were little kids. Old buddyroos. It was nauseating. (CR 127)Se oli niinkun ne olis kylpenny pikkukakarana samassa ammeessa tai jotain. Siat. Se oli inhottavaa. (SR 124)
[It was like they had shared bathtubs when they were kids or something. Pigs. It was disgusting.]
NDAS gives the following definition of ’buddyroo’:
buddyroo n =BUDDY, PAL: You should’ve seen the way they said hello...Old buddyroos—J.D. Salinger
Saarikoski, however, somehow assessed that ’buddyroos’ had a negative connotation, when, in fact, it is merely a bulked-up version of ’buddy.’
Ex. 35a
She was a very nice, polite little kid. God, I love it when a kid’s nice and polite when you tighten their skate for them or something. Most kids are. They really are. I asked her if she’d care to have a hot chocolate or something with me, but she said no, thank you. She said she had to meet her friend. Kids always have to meet their friend. (CR 119)Se oli helvetin mukava ja kohtelias pikkutyttö. Jumalauta, musta on helvetin mukava kun pikkutyttö on mukava ja kohtelias, kun poika laittaa sille luistimen kiinni. Melkeen kaikki pikkutytöt on. Ihan tosissaan. Mä kysyin jos se lähtis mun kanssa juomaan yhden kaakaon tai jotain, mut se sano kiitos ei, ettei se nyt. Se sano että sen piti tavata joku ystävä. Pikkutyttöjen pitää aina tavata joku ystävä. (SR 117)
[She was damn nice and polite little girl. Goddamn I think it’s damn nice when a little girl is nice and polite when a guy tightens her skate. Almost all little girls are. For real. I asked if she would come with me to get hot chocolate or something, but she said no thank you, not right now. She said she had to meet a friend. Little girls always have to meet a friend.]Ex. 35b
I passed by this playground and stopped and watched a couple of very tiny kids on a seesaw. One of them was sort of fat, and I put my hand on the skinny kid’s end, to sort of even up the weight, but you could tell they didn’t want me around, so I let them alone. (CR 122)Mä menin jonkun leikkikentän ohi ja katselin kahta pikkusta kakaraa jotka leikki keinulaudalla. Toinen niistä oli pikkasen lihava ja mä painon käden sen laihemman tytön päälle että paino olis tasottunnu vähän, mut näky että mä en ollu erityisemmin haluttu vieras, niin mä menin pois. (SR 119)
[I went past some playground and watched two little kids playing on a seesaw. The other one was a little bit fat and I pressed my hand on the skinnier girl to even up the weight, but it seemed I was not a particularly desired guest, so I went away.]Ex. 35c
It didn’t take me long, and I can read that kind of stuff, some kid’s notebook, Phoebe’s or anybody’s, all day and all night long. Kid’s notebooks kill me. (CR 161)Se ei vienny paljon aikaa, ja mä voin lukea sellasia juttuja yötä päivää, niinkun jonkun tytön muistikirjaa, Phoeben tai jonkun. Pikkutyttöjen muistikirjat on absoluuttisia. (SR 154)
[It didn’t take a lot of time, and I can read that stuff day and night, like some girl’s note book, Phoebe’s or somebody’s. Little girls’ notebooks are absolute.]
Webster’s gives various definitions for ’kid’: the most common connotation in use today (or in the 1960’s, for that matter) is, in all likelyhood, "child, youngster" (s.v. WNED). This word does not reveal the sex of the child, as Saarikoski’s translations do. It is notable, however, that Saarikoski does use a gender-anonymous term in one occasion (35b). Assuming that these children were girls creates an undercurrent in the translations that I find slightly disturbing.
Treatment of words with sexual connotations can be very difficult, since even the most ordinary words can assume ambiguous meanings. The context is often vague, as some previous examples have demonstrated. However, there are times when the implication is quite clear, yet Saarikoski’s translation is lacking:
Ex. 36
What he was doing, he was giving her a feel under the table, and at the same time telling her all about some guy in his dorm that had eaten a whole bottle of aspirin and nearly committed suicide. (CR 86)Se kaveri, se potki kimmaa koko ajan pöydän alta ja sit se kerto koko ajan jostain jätkästä sen asuntolassa, joka oli syönny koko pullon aspiriinia ja meinannu kuolla. (SR 86)
[That guy, he was kicking the girl all the time from under the table and then he was telling the whole time about some guy in his dorm who had eaten a whole bottle of aspirin and almost died.]
"Giving her a feel" more likely refers to fondling or touching by hand. However, the implication is not far off. In the following examples Saarikoski clearly misfired:
Ex. 37
On my right there was this very Joe Yale-looking guy, in a grey flannel suit and one of those flitty-looking Tattersall vests. (CR 85)Mun oikeella puolella istu yksi Yalen jätkä, sillä oli harmaa flanellipuku ja sellaset täinsyömät humoristiset liivit. (SR 85-86)
[On my right side sat one Yale guy, he had a grey flannel suit and those moth-eaten humoristic vests.]
"Flitty" is a slang term for a homosexual person (s.v. NDAS). When the word resurfaces (CR 143, 194: SR 138, 184), Saarikoski translates it correctly.
Context, of course, is extremely important in dealing with ambiguous words. One such word is ’dirty’ which appears from time to time (cf. CR 44, 103, 142, 170, 184, 201). At least one of these cases has a sexual connotation that Saarikoski fails to address:
Ex. 38 One of them played the piano — strictly lousy — and the other one sang, and most of the songs were either pretty dirty or in French. (CR 142)
Toinen soitti pianoa — helvetin heikosti — ja toinen laulo, ja useimmat laulut oli tylsiä tai ranskankielellä. (SR 137)
[The other one played the piano — weak as hell — and the other one sang, and most songs were boring or in French.]
Many facets of American culture were unclear to Saarikoski at the time of his translation.[23: Saarikoski (1980: 140-141) admitted that Europe was his main forte: other cultures "intimidated" him.] When Holden wants "to go back downtown" (CR 60), Saarikoski takes the meaning literally and translates "mä menisin alas takasin kaupunkiin" (SR 63). A more subtle error can be seen in association with Maurice, "the pimpy elevator guy", who Saarikoski misunderstands to suffer from acne (CR 101: SR 100).
As sports are a vital part of the cultural make-up of the U.S., sports terminology pops up from time to time in Salinger’s original work, too. Noticeably absent, however, is the sports metaphor as such. Salinger uses sports terms in their most basic connotations. The sports related terms presented here are therefore easy to grasp if one is familiar with sports lingo. Saarikoski, as clearly shown below, was not.
Ex. 39
He’d even pick up your jock strap or something. (CR 22)Se kopeloi toisen kalsaritkin jos niikseen tuli. (SR 25)
[He would grope the other guy’s underpants if it came to that.]
NDAS defines ’jockstrap’ as "athletic supporter", a kind of protective gear against injury used in various American sports (s.v. NDAS).
Ex. 40
Old Stradlater was one of his pets, because he was the center of the team, and Ed Banky always let him borrow his car when he wanted it. (CR 43)Stradlater oli Bankyn lellipoika, se oli paras pelaaja koko jengissä ja Ed Banky anto sille autoaan lainaks kun se halus. (SR 45)
[Stradlater was Banky’s favorite boy, he was the best player in the whole gang and Ed Banky loaned him his car whenever he wanted.]
As "center" is one of the five positions in the game of basketball, it is more likely that Holden was refering to Stradlater’s position in the starting line-up rather than his status as a star player. In this example, however, it is possible that Saarikoski is right in his interpretation and that Stradlater is, indeed, the central figure, a star, in the basketball team.
One more sports example concerns golf — a rather rare sport in Finland during the 60’s. According to Saarikoski, Jane Gallagher’s mother went around in about a hundred and seventy, for one hole (actually, nine holes) (CR 32: SR 35).
Another area that caused problems for Saarikoski was the American education system, especially at college level. As the American education system and the Finnish education system are very different, Saarikoski’s confusion is understandable. However, Holden Caulfield’s world view as a preparatory school student was widely influenced by the academia, and therefore terms related to education contain information that is quite relevant. In this light, Saarikoski’s omissions take something away from the original work.
Ex. 41
First she told me about some Harvard guy — it probably was a freshman, but she didn’t say, naturally — that was rushing the hell out of her. (CR 106)Ensin se kerto jostain Harvardin jätkästä — se oli tietysti joku nuori jätkä, mut sitä se ei tietenkään sanonnu — ja se juoksi Sallyn perässä kuin mielipuoli. (SR 105)
[First she told me about some Harvard dude — of course, it was some young guy but naturally she didn’t say that — and he was running after Sally like a maniac.]
"Freshman" is a first-year-student in a four-year American university; Saarikoski’s translation manages to convey this information only partially.
Saarikoski also had trouble with "Ivy League":
Ex. 42a
All those Ivy League bastards look alike. My father wants me to go to Yale, or maybe Princeton, but I swear, I wouldn’t go to one of those Ivy League colleges, if I was dying, for God’s sake. (CR 85)Kaikki noi Ivy League -jätkät on samanlaisia. Faija haluais että mä menisin Yaleen, tai Princetoniin ehkä, mut jumalauta mä vaikka kuolen ennenkun meen johkin Ivy League -collegeen. (SR 86)
[All those Ivy League guys are the same. Dad wants me to go to Yale, or Princeton maybe, but Goddam I’d die before I go to a Ivy League college.]Ex. 42b
Some guy in one of those very dark gray flannel suits and one of those checkered vests. Strictly Ivy League. Big deal. (CR 127)Joku jätkä jolla oli sellaset kauheen tummat flanellihousut ja ruudulliset liivit. Kova kasvo. (SR 123)
[Some guy who had one of those awfully dark flannel pants and a checkered vest. Tough guy.]Ex. 42c
The worst part was, the jerk had one of those very phony, Ivy League voices, one of those very tired, snobby voices. (CR 128)Pahin oli että se jätkä puhu sellasella nirisevällä ja väsyneellä ja leuhkilla äänellä. (SR 124)
[The worst thing was that the guy was talking with a kind of a sniveling, tired, snobby voice.]
"Ivy League" is a common American reference to the elite universities of the East Coast (Harvard, Princeton, Yale etc.), quite similar to the British "Oxbridge". Upon encountering this alien term, Saarikoski left it — quite justifiably — untranslated. In later occasions, he either omitted it (42b) or manufactured something vaguely resembling the original (42c). The camouflage operation of Example 42c is made all the more deceptive by the fact that ’nirisevä’ is not an adjective which is widely know or used: its meaning in this context is equally obscure. Saarikoski had a tendency to manufacture and invent words: for example, he translates the word ’pretty’ as ’melkoperäinen’ (SR 45, 47, 101).
Here is another fixture of American educational terminology:
Ex. 43a
"And I hate to tell you," he said,"but I think that once you have a fair idea where you want to go, your first move will be to apply yourself in school." (CR 188-189)- Inhottavaa sanoa, se sano, - mutta minusta tuntuu että kun sinä kerran huomaat mihin päin sinä aiot suunnistaa, niin sinun ensimmäinen siirtosi tulee olemaan että sinä pyrit takaisin kouluun. (SR 179)
[- I hate to say it, he said, - but I feel that once you notice which way you’re going to aim, then your first move will be to go back to school.]Ex. 43b
A lot of people, especially this one psychoanalyst guy they have here, keeps asking me if I’m going to apply myself when I go back to school in September. (CR 213)Monet ihmiset, varsinkin se psykoanalyytikko mikä niillä on täällä, kysyy multa että aionks mä sopeutua jos mä meen ens syyskuussa takasin kouluun. (SR 201)
[A lot of people, especially the psychoanalyst they have here, are asking me if I’m going to adjust if I go back to school next September.]
"To apply oneself in school" is one of the best circulated mantras in the American education system. It is an euphenism connotating that the student in question has potential but is not making the required effort.
Although The Catcherin the Rye is a narrative spoken by Holden Caulfied, there are times when Holden describes dialogue between himself and various characters. As Holden engages in conversations with students, prostitutes and nuns alike, one can observe how the tone of conversation shifts from one encounter to another. It is quite understandable that an old history teacher and a New York City cab driver would speak differently, and Saarikoski’s translation does show this to a degree.
Yet, there are times when Saarikoski fails to reach the right register. For example, Holden’s conversation with Carl Luce, the preppy Columbia student, is not quite up to par. Luce, fascinated by Eastern philosophies and the sound of his own voice, goes around saying things like:
Ex. 44a
"Must we pursue this terrible trend of thought?" (CR 145)- Pitääks meidän välttämättä puhua tollasta roskaa? (SR 140)
[- Do we have to talk that kinda trash?]Ex. 44b
"Must we go on with this inane conversation?" (CR 146)- Onks meidän pakko jatkaa tätä roskaa? (SR 141)
[- Do we have to go on with this trash?]
Saarikoski has re-made Luce into a street kid who uses very informal dialect. The real Luce, however, "had the largest vocabulary of any boy at Whooton".
Moreover, it is Saarikoski’s failure to understand that also Holden’s speech changes in these conversations that is especially frustrating. As Tarkka (1996a: 339) remarked, the translation does not pick up on the nuances of Holden’s verbal expression, quite often leaving out his tendencies to mimic and make parody. In addition, Saarikoski’s Holden appears to be more uncivilized and one-dimensional than Salinger’s. Holden is quite polite when dealing with most adults, yet Saarikoski has Holden call Mrs. Spencer a "broad" (muija: SR 7)! In the following examples, Holden demonstrates his flair for impromptu drama and his ironical attitude towards literature cliché.
Ex. 45a
"You’re a real prince. You’re a gentleman and a scholar, kid," I said. (CR 47—48)- Sä oot tosi nasta jannu. Sä oot herrasmies ja viisas jätkä, kuule, mä sanoin. (SR 50)
[- You’re a real cool guy. You’re a gentleman and a wise dude, y’hear, I said.]Ex. 45b
I didn’t let go, though. I had a pretty good half nelson on him. "Liberate yourself from my viselike grip," I said. (CR 30)Mut mä en päästänny sitä irti. Se oli mulla helvetin hyvässä puolinelsonissa. - Irrota itses, mä sanoin. (SR 33)
[But I didn’t let him go. I had him in a damn good half nelson. - Release yourself, I said.]
Holden’s use of parody is lost on Saarikoski: the Finnish Holden is, sadly, a lot more limited in the range of expression.
Example 45b also reveals a peculiar device that Saarikoski uses throughout the book, in "päästänny" [see also pelannu (Ex. 3); ihastunnu (Ex. 4); halunnu (Ex. 5); jäätynny (Ex. 10); alkannu (Ex. 13); mahtunnu (Ex. 14b), etsinny (Ex. 18a); vastannu (Ex 19), respectively]. This form of double consonant in perfect tense of certain verbs ("kertonnu", "ostannu", "yrittänny") is rather puzzling, since it is not common in the Helsinki slang. Tarkka (1996a: 339) traces this linguistic anomaly to Saarikoski’s childhood, and therefore to reflect the dialect spoken in Virolahti.
"Se on yks älytön sana."
— Holden Caulfied according to Pentti Saarikoski
phoney, phony a. and sb. orig. U.S. [Of uncertain origin.] A. adj. That has no real existence; fake, sham, counterfeit; false; insincere. ...1951 J. D. Salinger Catcher in Rye [sic] ii. 19 They had this headmaster, Mr. Haas, that was the phoniest bastard I ever met in my life.
— The Oxford English Dictionary, Volume XI
phony or phoney fr late 1800s 1 adj Not real or genuine; false; fake: You phony little fake — Arthur Miller 2 n A fake thing: That window’s a phony, it don’t open 3 v: I ain’t phoneying them woids — Jimmy Durante 4 n A person who affects some identity, role, nature, etc; poseur: some phony calling himself a writer — James M Cain
— New Dictionary of American Slang
In the very core of Salinger’s novel, thematically, is the dual outlook that imprints Holden Caulfield’s narrative in its entirety. Holden feels — in a way that is not too different from many other self-conscious, intelligent 16-year-olds — that the world is full of imposters and charades. Making a conscious effort to combat this malaise, Holden keeps reassuring his audience time and time again that he is being sincere and truthful when giving an account of events.
Ex. 46a
It’s really ironical, because I’m six foot two and a half and I have grey hair. I really do. (CR 9)Se on tosissaan aika koomillista, mä olen metrikahdeksankyt pitkä ja mulla on harmaata tukkaa. Mitä lyödään vetoa. (SR 12)
[It really is pretty comic, I’m six feet tall and I have grey hair. What do you wanna bet.]Ex. 46b
It was very ironical. It really was. (CR 28)Melko pirullinen idea. Mitä lyödään vetoa. (SR 31)
[Pretty devilish idea. What do you wanna bet.]Ex. 46c
Boy, was I excited, though. I really was. (CR 31)Jukra, mä olin ihan sekasin. Mitä lyödään vetoa. (SR 34)
[Boy, I was just nuts. What do you wanna bet.]
Because Holden often uses irony and satire in his expression, he safeguards himself against misunderstandings with the insertion of "I really do." (The sentiment is echoed rather nicely by Saarikoski’s "Mitä lyödään vetoa"). Partially, this expression can be seen as repetition, which is an integral part of anyone’s speech. Nord (1991: 99) notes that one speaks of "redundancy" or rather "situational redundancy" whenever information is verbalized several times in a text. Nord (ibid.) lists explanation, repetition, paraphrase, summary and tautology as some of the typical means to this end. According to Newmark (1981: 77), redundancy is essential in counteracting noise; its function in a text is to assist comprehension in the face of the "noise" of obscurity, irrelevance, or complex thought. Nord and Jakobson — among others — consider the phenomenon of phatic communication that is closely linked to repetition. This form of communication serves "to establish, to prolong, or to discontinue communication between sender and recipient, to check whether the channel works, to attract the attention of the interlocutor or to confirm his confirmed attention" (Jakobson 1960: 355). Nord uses a rather demonstrative example of how different functions of communication relate to each other:
We may ask, for example, whether the sender wants to inform the recipient about a certain issue (referential function) or whether he intends to tell him something about himself and his attitude towards things (expressive intention), whether he plans to adopt a particular opinion or perform a certain activity (operative intention) or whether he just wants to establish or maintain contact with the recipient (phatic intention).
Of course, a sender may well have more than just one intention. Several intentions can be combined in a kind of hierarchy of relevance. For pragmatic reasons, this hierarchy may have to be changed in translation. (Nord 1991: 49)
One can easily see how Holden — in a matter quite representive of many 16-year-olds — uses phatic devices in order to make sure his listener is still interested and paying attention. But there is inherently more at stake here than just that.
This repetition conveys Holden’s burning desire to communicate as truthfully and honestly as he can the things that occupy his mind and — quite often — concern him to great lengths. Holden has declared a war on everything that is "phony" which, at least to him, signifies everything that is insincere, unjust, callous, elitist, pretentious, pompous and fake in the world. The word ’phony’ in its different forms appears in the novel 49 times. In my mind, this polarity of thought and expression — the zealous urge to fight against "phoniness" cast against the need to make sure that oneself remains sincere — is the very key to the novel thematically.[24: French (1963: 38) sees the conflict between "phony" and "nice" to be, thematically, in the core of not only The Catcher but of all Salinger’s major literary efforts. French (1963: 36-46) discusses the matter in some length in his essay ’Phony and Nice Worlds.’ French (1963: 46) concludes: "As we shall see, these basic concepts of the perishability of the ’nice’ world and the ’phoniness’ of the persisting world provide the warp on which Salinger weaves with an increasingly deft hand the intricate, colorful patterns devised by the fancy of a conscientious craftsman."] In this light, it becomes obvious that Saarikoski’s greatest shortcoming with his translation is the failure to convey to the Finnish reader Holden’s plight in its totality.
Newmark (1988: 171) discusses leitmotifs (or dominant recurring themes) as a type of key words that characterize a character or a situation, especially in short stories. When they are repeated, Newmark argues, they should be appropriately foregrounded and repeated in the translation.
"As dialogue becomes more important in fiction, certain phrases become attached to characters (Grev’s billiard remarks in The Cherry Orchard, the numerous tags for Dickens’s characters, Holden Coulfield’s [sic]’phoney’ [sic], Esmé’s ’extremely’ in Salinger (now it is ’totally’ for anyone) and these have to be foregrounded," Newmark (1988: 171) argues.[25: Newmark is not the only one to single out ’phony’. Calcutt and Shephard (1998: 245) argue that Holden "describes everything as ’phoney’ [sic] (his favorite word) and is constantly in search of sincerity and lost innocence."] House (1981: 52) defines foregrounding as a linguistic device for making the reader conscious of a particular linguistic form such that the linguistic form itself attracts attention, and is felt to be unusual or "de-automatized". For key words, translators have to assess their texts critically and decide which lexical units are central and have the more important function, and which are peripheral, so that the relative gains and losses in a translation may correspond to their assessment. Newmark (1988: 171) acknowledges that many translators will claim they do all this intuitively, by instinct or by common sense and therefore hardly profit from translation theory in such instances. It is interesting to note that Saarikoski (1963: 352) himself campaigned against careless translating, and emphazised the need to understand the novel at its deepest level.
According to Saarikoski (ibid.), when a translator is faced with the task of translating a novel, he must first understand this work of art in its totality. This means that the semantic fields[26: The concept of "semantic fields" is one constant in Saarikoski’s translation views for almost two decades (cf. Saarikoski 1980: 78).] of single words must merge in the translator’s mind to form the semantic field for the entire novel. If this process of unification does not occur it is not possible to commence with the translation — the semantic field of the novel and the semantic fields of the single words are intertwined, codependent of each other, constantly expanding each other.
"This co-operation between the semantic field of the novel and the semantic fields of the single words is crucial in regards to the economy of the novel: if it does not take place without friction, the novel will not work, it will disintegrate, die. The same holds true for the translation of the novel," Saarikoski (1963: 352) argues.
In this light, Saarikoski seems to understand the importance of key words in translation: his essay describes a type of micro/macro level involvement and analysis that is essential in translating art prose.
However, in his translation of The Catcher Saarikoski treats the word ’phony’ with stunning recklessness, translating it with inconsistent and ill-fitting words, sometimes omitting it altogether.
According to my calculations, there are 35 instances in the book where the word ’phony’ is used. The plural form, ’phonies’, appears 11 times. I found two cases where ’phoniest’ is used and one case where ’phonier’ is used.
Included here is a complete listing if only to provide a most rudimentary, "barebones" type of presentation of the cases:
| ...what a phony slob...(CR 3) | ...mikä dorka tyyppi...(SR 7) |
| It’s a phony. (CR 9) | Kauheeta lässytystä. (SR 13) |
| ...give them a phony smile...(CR 14) | ...irvisti ohkasesti...(SR 17) |
| I can just see the phony bastard...(CR 17) | Mä voin nähdä kun se kusipää roisto...(SR 21) |
| ...partly a phony kind of friendly...(CR 26) | Vähän se kyllä vinoili...(SR 29) |
| ...gave him a big, phony handshake. (CR 50) | ...puristin Ackleyn kättä reilusti. (SR 53) |
| ...a lot of phony, lean-jawed guys...(CR 53) | ...surkeeta jätkää...(SR 56) |
| ...a lot of phony girls...(CR 53) | ...surkeeta donnaa...(SR 56) |
| ...this long, phony letter...(CR 59) | ...sellasen pitkän idioottimaisen kirjeen...(SR 62) |
| ...necking with a terrible phony...(CR 63) | ...juhlin yhden kaamean välkyn kanssa...(SR 65) |
| ...given her a phony name. (CR 65) | ...pitänny sanoa väärä nimi. (SR 67) |
| ...I’d be a phony if I let...(CR 77) | ...mä olisin aika idiootti jos mä...(SR 79) |
| ...very phony, humble bow. (CR 84) | ...idioottimaisen, [...] kumarruksen. (SR 84) |
| It was very phony...(CR 84) | Se oli aika idioottimaista. (SR 84) |
| Strictly a phony. (CR 86) | Skeidat. (SR 86) |
| ...very phony, innocent look...(CR 88) | ...typerällä viattomalla naamalla...(SR 88) |
| ...sound so phony when they talk. (CR 100) | ...vaikuttaa niin imbesilleiltä kun ne puhuu. (SR 99) |
| ...a phony shirt collar. (CR 102) | ...paskanen kaulus. (SR 101) |
| She was quite a little phony. (CR 106) | Se oli idiootti. (SR 104) |
| It’s so phony. (CR 106) | Se on yks älytön sana. (SR 105) |
| ...something phony every minute. (CR 117) | ...että se tekee jotain dorkaa. (SR 115) |
| ...at some phony party. (CR 127) | ...jossain ihme partyssä. (SR 124) |
| He was the kind of phony...(CR 127) | Se oli sellanen vesipää...(SR 124) |
| ...very phony Ivy League voices...(CR 128) | ...nirisevällä [...] ja leuhkilla äänellä...(SR 124) |
| ...that phony Andover bastard...(CR 128) | ...sen Andoverin jannun...(SR 124) |
| ...being introduced to phony guys...(CR 130) | ...mut esitellään ihme jätkille...(SR 126) |
| ...called him a fat-assed phony. (CR 137) | ...se on yks leveäperseinen möhköfantti. (SR 132) |
| ...over phony stuff in the movies...(CR 140) | ...jossain debiilissä elokuvassa...(SR 135) |
| ...still like a phony like that. (CR 141) | ...piti niin inhottavasta kirjasta. (SR 136) |
| ...like a phony book like that...(CR 141) | ...pitää niin inhottavasta kirjasta...(SR 136) |
| ...and being charming and phony. (CR 151) | ...oli niin helvetin hurmaavia. (SR 146) |
| ...a lot of phony advice...(CR 169) | ...antaa toiselle kaikenlaisia neuvoja...(SR 161) |
| ...weren’t being a phony? (CR 172) | ...ettei se ole täys dorka? (SR 164) |
| ...could do anything phony...(CR 205) | ...tehdä mitään idioottimaista...(SR 194) |
| ...tried to do anything phony...(CR 205) | ...yrittäs tehdä jotain idioottimaista...(SR 194) |
| ...I was surrounded by phonies...(CR 13) | ...siellä oli niin paljon kusipäitä että...(SR 17) |
| ...old Sally, the queen of phonies...(CR 116) | ...se oli oikea jyvänpiilottajien kuningatar...(SR 114) |
| You never saw so many phonies...(CR 126) | Niin monta vesipäätä ei ollu ennen nähty...(SR 123) |
| ...a bunch of phonies for cocktails...(CR 128) | ...jotain idiootteja joiden kanssa se menee...(SR 124) |
| It’s full of phonies...(CR 131) | Ne on täynnä debiilejä...(SR 127) |
| ...and the phonies are coming in...(CR 141) | ...ja perverssejä tyyppejä lappaa...(SR 137) |
| ...all the phonies in the place...(CR 137) | ...kaikki idiootit...(SR 137) |
| ...all the phonies applauding...(CR 142) | ...ne idiootit taputti...(SR 137) |
| Then I watched the phonies...(CR 142) | Sit mä katselin idiootteja...(SR 138) |
| It was full of phonies. (CR 167) | Se on täynnä debiilejä. (SR 160) |
| ...they were phonies, too. (CR 168) | ...mut nekin oli ihan debiilejä. (SR 160) |
| The phonier it got, the more...(CR 139) | Mitä dorkemmaks se muuttu sitä enemmän...(SR 135) |
| ...was the phoniest bastard...(CR 13) | ...se oli kusipäisin roisto...(SR 17) |
| It was the phoniest conversation...(CR 127) | Se oli kyllä kaikkien aikojen keskustelu. (SR 124) |
To analyze these cases in some detail, I have selected some examples that help illustrate Saarikoski’s translations choices. To start off, presented here is a lengthier piece that allows the reader to get better acquiented with Holden’s expression.
Ex. 47
The funny part was, they probably met each other just once, at some phony party. Finally, when they were all done slobbering around, old Sally introduced us. His name was George something - I don’t even remember - and he went to Andover. Big, big deal. You should’ve seen him when old Sally asked how he liked the play. He was the kind of phony that have to give themselves room when they answer somebody’s question. He stepped back, and stepped right on the foot of the lady behind him. He probably broke every toe in her body. He said the play itself was no masterpiece, but the Lunts, of course, were absolute angels. Angels. For Chrissake. Angels. That killed me. Then he and old Sally started talking about a lot of people they both knew. It was the phoniest conversation you ever heard in your life. (CR 127)Koomillista mut ne oli varmaan tavannu toisensa suunnilleen kerran, jossain ihme partyssa. Kun ne lopulta oli lopettannu sen halimisen Sally esitti meidät. Jannun nimi oli George jotain - mä en edes muista - ja se kävi Andoveria. Se oli todellinen suurmies. Teidän olis pitänny nähdä se kun Sally kysy siltä mitä se piti kappaleesta. Se oli sellanen vesipää joka tarttee tilaa kun vastaa kysymyksiin. Se astu taaksepäin ja suoraan yhden naisen varpaille joka seiso sen takana. Mimmiltä meni varmaan kymmenen varvasta poikki. Se sano ettei näytelmä sinänsä ollu mikään varsinainen mestarikappale mutta että Luntit, tietenkin, he olivat kerta kaikkiaan enkeleitä. Enkeleitä. Jumalauta. Enkeleitä. Mä meinasin kuolla. Sit se alko jutteleen Sallyn kanssa niiden yhteisistä tuttavista. Se oli kyllä kaikkien aikojen keskustelu. (SR 124)
[Comic but they had probably met each other about once, in some wonder party. When they finally had stopped that hugging Sally introduced us. The guy’s name was George or something - I don’t even remember - and he went to Andover. He was a real great man. You should have seen him when Sally asked how he liked the piece. He was the kind of waterhead who needs space when answering questions. He stepped back and directly on the toes of one lady who was behind him. The broad must have broken ten toes. He said that the play itself was not a real masterpiece but the Lunts, of course, they were totally angels. Angels. Goddamn. Angels. I almost died. Then he started to talk with Sally about their common acquaintances. It was the conversation of all times.]
As this example demonstrates, Saarikoski uses a translation strategy that relies on intuition and the power of association. I find this approach somewhat suspect. Saarikoski’s translation reflects that has not sufficiently familiarized himself with the ST and thus fails to identify ’phony’ as a key word. However, there is one case where Saarikoski succeeds adequately:
Ex. 48
I should have given her a phony name but I didn’t think of it. (CR 65)Mun olis pitänny sanoa väärä nimi, mut mä en tullu ajatelleeks. (SR 67)
[I should have said a wrong name, but I didn’t think of it.]
While there can be debate over the exact semantics (’phony’ vs. ’väärä’) of this example, at least Saarikoski manages to convey Holden’s intention correctly. In the next example, we find that exactly the opposite holds true here: Saarikoski has totally falsified Salinger’s original text.
Ex. 49
I stopped on the way, though, and picked up Ackley’s hand, and gave him a big, phony handshake. (CR 50)Mut mennessä mä pysähdyin ja puristin Ackleyn kättä reilusti. (SR 53)
[But on the way I stopped and shook Ackley’s hand fairly.]
Ackley’s response to Holden’s theatrical, mock display is to pull his hand away and exclaim: "What’s the idea?" As Saarikoski has translated this sentence incorrectly, Finnish readers — of five different decades by now — have been puzzled by Ackley’s hostile attitude to Holden’s swell gesture.
In my mind, these two cases are the two ends of a spectrum, and the other 47 cases fall somewhere in between. The most popular translation for ’phony’ is ’idioottimainen’ which appears five times. The other popular choices (two appearances or more) are ’dorka’ (3), ’idiootti’ (2), ’surkee’ (2) and ’inhottava’ (2). In translating ’phonies’ the most common choices are ’idiootti’ (4) and ’debiili’ (3).
While, for the most part, Saarikoski is not consistent in his translation of ’phony’, there is a greater chance of consistency if the cases are not far apart from each other:
Ex. 50a
One of those stories with a lot of phony, lean-jawed guys named David in it, and a lot of phony girls named Linda or Marcia that are always lighting all the goddam Davids’ pipes for them. (CR 53)Ne jutut missä esiintyy sata David-nimistä surkeeta jätkää joilla on sileäksi ajettu leuka, ja sata surkeeta donnaa joiden nimi on Linda tai Marcia ja sit ne sytyttää niiden Davidin piippuja. (SR 56)
[Those stories that have a hundred lousy guys called David who have a clean shaven jaw and a hundred lousy girls whose name is Linda or Marcia and then they light up their David’s pipes.]
The cases may even be in seperate sentences:
Ex. 50b
One of the biggest reasons I left Elkton Hills was because I was surrounded by phonies. That’s all. They were coming in the goddam window. For instance, they had this headmaster, Mr. Haas, that was the phoniest bastard I ever met in my life. (CR 13-14)Tärkeimpiä syitä minkä takia mä läksin Elkton Hillsistä oli siinä kun se oli täynnä kusipäitä. Siinä koko juusto. Siellä oli niin paljon kusipäitä että se hais kilometrin päähän. Esimerkiks se rehtori, yks Haas, se oli kusipäisin roisto mitä mä olen millonkaan tavannu. (SR 17)
[One of the most important reasons I left Elkton Hills was that it was full of pissheads. That’s the whole cheese. There was so many pissheads it smelled for a kilometer. For example the headmaster, one Haas, was the most pissheaded crook I have ever met.]
It is notable that Saarikoski inserts an extra ’kusipää’ in his translation. Sometimes, on the other hand, the inconvenient word simply disappears from the translation. There were three cases of omission:
Ex. 51a
I sort of hated old Sally by the time we got in the cab, after listening to that phony Andover bastard for about ten hours. (CR 128)Mä melkeen vihasin Sallya kun me mentiin autoon, kun se oli puhunnu sen Andoverin jannun kanssa vähintään kymmenen tuntia. (SR 124)
[I almost hated Sally when we went in the car, when she had talked with that Andover guy for at least ten hours.]Ex. 51b
All of them swimming around in a goddam pot of tea and saying sophisticated stuff to each other and being charming and phony. (CR 151)Kaikki uiskenteli jossain teepotissa ja puhu henkevästi paskaa ja oli helvetin hurmaavia. (SR 146)
[Everybody was swimming in some teapot and talking elevated shit and were charming as hell.]Ex. 51c
All you have to do to depress somebody is to give them a lot of phony advice while you’re looking for your initials in some can door — that’s all you have to do. (CR 169)Jos tahtoo järjestää että toista rupee rasittaan ei tartte muuta kun antaa toiselle kaikenlaisia neuvoja samalla kun etsii nimikirjaimia vessan ovesta — niin heti rupee toista rasittaan. (SR 161)
[If you want to arrange that the other guy starts getting annoyed all you have to do is give all kinds of advice while you’re looking for initials in a toilet door — so at once the other guy gets annoyed.]
Saarikoski argues that the semantic fields of single words — key words — are elemental to the economy of a novel: there can be no unified whole if the translator fails to address this issue in a proper manner. If one follows Saarikoski’s argument that every word forms a semantic field which expands every time the word is used (and contracts every time the word is not used), it would seem that Saarikoski has used ’phony’ as a laboratory rat of sorts: he is constantly pushing the envelope, expanding the semantic field — the meanings contained in ’phony’ — to outrageous dimensions, as these cases demonstrate:
Ex. 52a
I spent the whole night necking with a terrible phony named Anne Louise Sherman. (CR 63)Multa meni koko yö siihen kun mä juhlin yhden kaamean välkyn kanssa jonka nimi oli Anne Louise Sherman. (SR 65)
[I spent the whole night celebrating with one terrible brainiac whose name was Anne Louise Sherman.]Ex. 52b
I didn’t much want to see it, but I knew old Sally, the queen of the phonies, would start drooling all over the place when I told her I had tickets for that, because the Lunts were in it and all. (CR 116)Mä en mitenkään erityisemmin halunnu nähdä sitä, mut mä tiesin Sallyn, se oli oikea jyvänpiilottajien kuningatar, ja se varmaan kuolis riemusta kun se kuulis että mulla on liput siihen kappaleeseen, kun siinä oli the Lunts ja kaikki. (SR 114)
[I didn’t particularly want to see it, but I knew Sally, she was a regular queen of seed-stashers, and she would probably die of joy when she heard that I have tickets to that piece, when it had the Lunts and all.]Ex. 52c
I once called him a fat-assed phony. (CR 137)Mä sanoin kerran siitä että se on yks leveäperseinen möhköfantti.(SR 132)
[I once said about him that he is one wide-ass fatsophant.]Ex. 52d
It’s one of those places that are supposed to be very sophisticated and all, and the phonies are coming in the window. (CR 141)Se on niitä paikkoja kun pitäs muka olla kamalan hieno, ja perverssejä tyyppejä lappaa ikkunoista. (SR 137)
[It was one those places that are supposed to be terribly fancy, and pervert guys stream in through the window.]
It is remarkable that Saarikoski can go from ’välkky’ (connotation being intelligent, brainy, nerd even) to ’jyvänpiilottaja’ (connotation here is vague to some degree — conceivably a reference to farmers, to country folk who are often viewed by their "city cousins" to be ignorant simpletons). In his slang dictionary supplement, Saarikoski himself defines ’jyvänpiilottaja’ as a stupid person, a fool, originally meaning a rural dweller. Paunonen lists two definitions under ’jyvänpiilottaja’ in Stadin Slangin Suursanakirja:
jyvänpiilottaja 1. maalainen, maanviljelijä. 1950-l. Useimmat varmaan menee naimisiin jonkun jyvänpiilottajan kanssa. (P. Saarikoski). 2. tyhmä, hölmö, yksinkertainen. 1950-l. Mä tiesin Sallyn, se oli oikea jyvänpiilottajien kuningatar. (P. Saarikoski).
In his second definition, Paunonen uses the very same example that I use and it is evident he seems to agree that the connotation here is that Sally is the "queen of fools." It is quite contradictory, then, that ‘phony’ would connotate an intelligent person in one instance and a stupid person in the next. Saarikoski’s ‘möhköfantti’ (a reference to a fat, obese person or being) and ‘perverssit’ (a reference to perverts, sexual deviants) certainly add to the confusion: the semantic field of ‘phony’ is experiencing a stunning diversification. If one word somehow manages to connotate smart, dumb, fat and perverse (not to mention idiot, stupid, lousy, imbesil, disgusting etc.) it suddenly seems as if Holden Caulfield’s entire world has been engulfed by Saarikoski’s construction. More to the point: if any given word can be taken to convey everything, does it not, de facto, cease to mean anything?
Again, we are reminded of the falling tree of the Zen koan. Salinger, a meticulous craftsman of words and sentences, would hardly approve of the use of his dear friend Holden as a human guinea pig for Saarikoski’s translation odyssey. In falsifying Holden’s world, Saarikoski commits grand forgery; in replacing the original Holden with someone more in step with Saarikoski’s attitudes, Saarikoski tries to seduce an entire audience. In this, Saarikoski does the reading audience a great disservice. Saarikoski may believe that audience to be his, but this is incorrect. Nord (1991: 29) uses terms "fidelity" and "loyalty" that may also be helpful in the context of assessing Saarikoski’s work. Whereas "fidelity" describes a rather technical relationship between two texts, loyalty is a "moral principle indispensable in the relationships between human beings, who are partners in a communication project". Nord (ibid.) sees loyalty as an integral part of the translator’s task; she feels that the translator is committed bilaterally to the source text as well as the target text situation. He is responsible to both the ST sender and the TT recipient.
"The translator is expected not to falsify the author’s intention," Nord (ibid.) writes. The intention, in this case, is Salinger’s. The audience is Salinger’s, as well, and perhaps not even his, but Holden Caulfield’s. After all, when approached by the stage and screen director Elia Kazan about the possibility of making a Catcher in the Rye Broadway play, the old author declined to give his consent, saying simply that he feared that "Holden wouldn’t like it."[27: Cf. CR 77: "I almost was once in a movie short, but I changed my mind at the last minute. I figured that anybody that hates the movies as much as I do, I’d be phony if I let them stick me in a movie short."]
"That rare miracle of fiction has again come to pass: a human being has been created out of ink, paper and imagination," Clifton Fadiman of the Book-of-the-Month Club’s board praised Salinger’s book in 1951 (Alexander 1999: 152). For almost fifty years, Holden Caulfied has captured the imagination of millions among them, the young Pentti Saarikoski who set out to translate the novel. Saarikoski’s love of language and his enthusiasm for his role as a bridge-builder between two cultures come through loud and clear in his translation. While Sieppari ruispellossa is lacking in discipline and detail, it helped introduce a brand new literary genre; its expression as creative and ground-breaking in its own way as Seitsemän veljestä or Tuntematon Sotilas.
For a translator of foreign fiction, that is no small feat. However, Saarikoski’s errors remain uncorrected; the thematic structure of the book has been violated, placing the author’s message in jeopardy. My theory of translational sedimentation is a helpful tool for error analysis for it allows us to place Saarikoski’s errors in their proper context.
Saarikoski himself approached the correcting of his translation errors in a very constructive manner. As Odysseus was published, Saarikoski wrote in his translation comments that he will be "grateful to those who after the publication come to point out the errors and defects with their critique." By rectifying these mistakes, Saarikoski claimed, Odysseus could truly stand shoulder to shoulder with Ulysses. However, no alterations were ever made to Odysseus as no alterations have been made to Sieppari ruispellossa, either.
Saarikoski said that he made his translations rather directly, working quite fast. However, Saarikoski prioritized his translations: those receiving special attention were subject to substantial care and consideration. These works were assessed to have some enduring, historic value. Saarikoski reasoned that once properly translated, they "probably won’t be translated again for fifty years" (Salama 1975: 94). Clearly, The Catcher in the Rye was not afforded this kind of special emphasis.
Sieppari ruispellossa was first published in 1961.
The Finnish readership is due another crack at Holden Caulfield.