On the Impossible Problem of Translation

An exchange between two TAs, overheard at an ASU English Department mixer circa 2013:

“Translation is so hard ‘cause, like, how do you—y’know—”

“Balance on the razor’s edge between accuracy and artistry?”

“Yeah.”

我的朋友都没有我高

Literal: my friend all no have me tall

Accurate: My friends all lack my height.

Faithful: None of my friends are as tall as me.

To translate words alone is a fool’s errand. Words are, to quote Le Guin, “little black marks on wood pulp” that merely represent the real payload: meaning.

The practice of written communication functions (more or less) like so:

Language, then, serves as an instruction manual for a mind to conjure specific ideas. The limitations of language itself make this a murky and imperfect endeavor for even the most effective writers, and translation only introduces additional wrinkles:

A burdensome diagram befitting a burdensome task.

Readers and writers engage in an unspoken contract; give me your attention and I'll give you meaning. Translated works introduce a middle-mind to negotiate that relationship. The TAs I overheard rightly bemoaned the friction between underlined Steps 2 and 6 because style isn't transferrable between languages. When artistry and accuracy are irreconcilable, which sacrifice erodes meaning the least?