Before I left my old job I wrote a guide to editing other people's translations.
I argued five translations were taking place.
In other words, by the time the original meaning is transformed into what the editor actually writes, it's already undergone a roomful of Chinese whispers.
In fact, as early as when the original writer writes the initial words, it's already been translated once.
The original message is not the initial words used but the intended meaning that preceded them. Do the words accurately reflect that meaning? Not always. Not even often. Rarely if ever do we say exactly what we mean.
I said the discerning translation editor must go to the roots. In other words, cut out the middle man (the translator) and translate the intended meaning of the original writer.
Yes, it's a risk. We can't know that intended meaning for sure. All we have to guide us are the words he/she used. But discerning this intended, unwritten meaning and making the translation even more indicative of it than the original writer managed is the beauty of the game.
Some would say arrogance underpins this philosophy. Why presume to be able to express another's thoughts better than that person him/herself?
On the other hand, most people aren't professional writers. A person paying a car mechanic to fix a car would think nothing of the mechanic presuming to know more about the car, regardless of who owned it. Likewise, a professional writer should presume to be able to use words to express thoughts better than a non-professional, regardless of who owns the thoughts.
That's what translation or editing is: expressing another person's thoughts in your own words.
Translation is not being faithful to the words used. It's being faithful to the meaning they attempted to express.
And that means expressing it better than the original words.
Don't laugh. In all seriousness, the Eagles wrote some good lyrics. Have you heard the Johnny Cash version? It's been stuck in my head for days.
As part of the marathon training and also because I don't want to continue my family tradition of grumpiness, I've been reading behavioural psychology stuff lately. It's fascinating, especially the experiments, and I like its pragmatic, clinical, non-judgmental approach to human behaviour. If behavioural psychology was a person, it would be cold-hearted, but it wouldn't want anything from you.
Here are the ideas. They may seem like evangelical self-help book cliches for the modern urban self-absorbed, but to adopt and live them is not easy:
You are responsible for your own happiness. Nobody else.
You can choose to see yourself as in control of your life. Or you can decide to view things as beyond your control.
Anger is a choice, not an inevitability.
It is a myth that ventilating anger is good for you. Ventilating in fact makes you angrier still, and more likely to act on your anger trigger next time.
Anger is a reaction to pain, but it is not a good way of relieving it. Like alcohol or drugs, it may provide short-lived benefit but it is ultimately destructive. There are many better ways.
Anger is often illegitimate, based on judging and blaming others and perceiving yourself as victim, rather than truly appraising the situation and working to try to change it.
Blaming others means refusing to be responsible for your own life.
All people are doing the best they can in the current circumstances to achieve their own happiness. Therefore they can't be expected to change. Change and compromise must come from you.
The basic principle is "adapt or let go." If you can't adapt, you should let go. And if don't let go, it is because you perceive the costs of letting go to be too great. But if you don't let go, that too is your choice.
You can use "self-talk" or cognitive reframing to influence your attitude, behaviour, and perception of the world.
Life situations can be changed.
And it's all down to your perception and actions.
(Next time maybe I'll link these ideas to my changing views on politics and indignation.)
Along the Kanda River. Click to enlarge.
Junior Soprano and his Chinese granddaughter having their sangers on the Great Wall.
Downstairs a giant bouquet of flowers lies in a makeshift vase. I took them home by taxi. They were too big to carry on the train. I consciously kept things light when I left them on the street. "See you soon," I said in English. They knew. I felt as close to them as I ever have. Tomorrow morning when I go downstairs I'll see flowers and wonder what to do.
Beautiful sunny morning here in Tokyo as the nation takes a day off and I interrupt my preparations for the new job to write again about differing expectations in Japan.
I said before that personal expectations about working conditions are lower in Japan than the west, and I stand by that. For whatever reason, be it economic or cultural, many people here accept conditions I would refuse. That fact shows indisputably their expectations are lower than mine. I respect their lifestyle but refuse to do the same.
Compounding the lower personal expectations, their demands on others and others' demands on them are greater. Ironically, this comes from the group bond and the vital importance in Japanese society of not causing meiwaku, or bother, to others. It's a Catch 22, the strong social bond. Regardless of awareness of and dissatisfaction with crap salaries and terrible working conditions, Japanese employees will stay late in the office and not take holidays because they don't want to inconvenience their colleagues, not necessarily because of fear of or desire to please their bosses. (Of course, this plays nicely into the hands of the savvy boss exploiting his/her own culture's traditional bonds.)
And then there is another category: the gaijin. Traditional Japanese expect little or nothing of gaijin. Actually that's not quite true. Gaijin are expected to be unreliable, whingey, scary, and mendokusai. I'd argue this perception stems from a mix of ingrained xenophobia and sense of racial specialness passed on from generation to generation and all other "locked away in a room" effects traceable to the sakoku period of recent Japanese history when Japan closed out the world, combined with a lack of awareness or tolerance on both sides of different cultural attitudes.
So what does this mean for the gaijin? Well, it means Yeats proved wrong. In this most constricting of societies, gaijin conversely experience great freedom coming with little or no responsibility. For a while carte blanche can be fun, but most people eventually want job satisfaction. To get fulfillment in a traditional Japanese company you must battle. Not only do you have to take on the whole system, you have to learn how to do it. If you have the stomach, it's a process that can really harden you. I know because, at whatever small level, I've done it.
Or you can accept your cosmetic and peripheral role and enjoy the lovely freedom for a while. Until you work out why you're getting it and what you're being made to sacrifice in return.
Battling is stressful and isn't the only choice. I know many who've worked it out and gone home, which is understandable (until they get home, develop amnesia, and start going on about how great Japan is). I know many who live elite old colonial expat lives within the walls of the foreign community (expat compounds look the same all over the world). That too has its own attractions and rewards. I know people who've worked it out, exploited it, and had a conscience-clear ball until they realized the opportunity costs. I know those who didn't notice or stay long enough to see. And I also know those who worked it out, accepted it, and still stayed long term.
File Boumsong's mistakes yesterday in the "Did that really happen?" category. Criminally, laughably bad defending. It's out of order: I felt sorry for him when I should have been celebrating.
Saving the Sun by cultural anthropologist and former Financial Times Tokyo Bureau Chief Gillian Tett is the best Japan book I've read since Dower's Embracing Defeat.
Ostensibly the story of the collapse of the Long Term Credit Bank and its rebirth as Shinsei, Saving the Sun is also a history of the Japanese economy from the excesses of the bubble to the crises of the bad loans.
A comprehensive yet understandable insight into how the Japanese economy works, how it is controlled by the bureacrats, misunderstood by the politicians, and set up to favour stagnation and procrastination, it's also a tale of American capitalist opportunism and vicious cross cultural friction.
And it's a page-turner of a story. A thriller. When "This is Japan" meets the God of market logic, there are always unexpected new twists in the tale.
A great book on what needs to be done in Japan and how to--and how not to--get it done.
I've seen two films lately about the early years of musical legends.
Scorcese's No Direction Home is a documentary about Dylan's early folk period.
It paints Dylan as a simple man with a great gift being worn down by constant labeling and heckling by the pretentious, the idiotic, the closed-minded, and the politically manipulative. It is the story of a young man confronted by a world of fools, harassed to the point where he stops touring.
Interesting and well-made film if you're a Dylan fan; you'll fall asleep if you're not.
Walk the Line is a biopic of the early years of Johnny Cash.
Fittingly, the man in black's life would make for the perfect country song. Young man from poor background with sorrows in his past somehow finds fame and then descends the familiar spiral of drugs, alcohol, lawbreaking and promiscuity before the love of a good woman makes him repent and find the right path.
Walk the Line starts and ends with the rehabilitated Cash performing in that seminal gig for the lifers in Folsom Prison, June Carter Cash by his side.
I'm a big Johnny Cash fan so I loved this film. Like a good country song, it's simple, solid, and has everything that matters.
If it's photos of ducks you're after, you've come to the right place.
If my mother looked at this one, she'd say "But you left his head out."
And if Confucius didn't say "Even a swan can look bucklegged and ugly from the right angle", he should have.
They come in from the televisions and the magazines and wash powerfully over the land--the latest hayari, or fad. A new type of strawberries, a particular marsh in Tochigi, a new omoshiroi talento, the season's colour, a revolutionary means of weightloss, a proven way to improve your English while you sleep. They sweep through carrying all in front of them and die as abruptly as they appeared. The next one arrives.
The expat has immunity. For him it's optional. At first he can't understand the media; later he chooses to shut it out. The only tangible benefit in knowing the latest fad is being forewarned. Fads signal soaring price rises and the guaranteed presence of throngs of imbeciles desperate not to miss out.
But immunity comes at a cost. By exercising it he isolates himself even further. He has chosen not to know what others are talking about, not to have a frame of reference, not to be able to converse.
At home he would not have that choice. He would be immersed while others watched from the sides. But as an expat he does. The expat experience, wherever in the world, heightens individual awareness at the expense of belonging. Expatriatism is a zero sum game.
And so in the world's most lauded group-oriented society the relentless generation of new fads at once reaffirms individualism and excludes belonging. (Some choose to be cultural fetishists, apologists, denunciators, nativists or reporters of the weird, but they are all at best temporary callings.)
He makes no judgment on the people on the waves. He knows their participation is inevitable. As inevitable as his choice of isolation, with its non-negotiable benefits and side effects.
I filed my income tax return yesterday.
It's not difficult. Like many things, the perception of difficulty is a cognitive choice made before you act. Once you get off your backside and start doing it, it's just primary school maths.
It is, however, an imperial pain in the balls. Going through all that red tape just to give the government money.
I'm proofing an English textbook for primary students. The stories are not the best. Until this:
I'm Eito.
I wake up at six.
I go to school at eight.
I have a lot of balls.
This is my kind of blog post. JH from In The Foothills describes his neighbour.
In the Foothills: Old Man Sato and the lug nut wrench mugging: a tale of neighbourly love
Butuki from Laughing Knees (taken out of context) on different expectations in Japan:
"There is a whole alternative expectation out of life here [in Japan] that, I think, puts less pressure on individuals and in many, many ways is much more realistic about life....People here expect life to be hard and full of sadness."
So true.
Take work. By Western standards I am a hard-working person. But in work I expect reward for effort. I believe in incentives. I expect work to facilitate happiness. I expect the work itself to be rewarding and satisfying. I expect to develop professionally, to be evaluated and guided in the course of "my career". I expect holidays (that I can take). I expect systems and efficiency. In short, I expect a lot from my workplace in my pursuit of happiness. And when those expectations aren't met, I complain.
I am often unhappy in work.
My colleagues give effort unconditionally. Many don't take holidays. Those that do take three to five days in summer. They work late all the time. They work weekends. They laugh wryly and acceptingly when a job arrives late on Friday evening. They don't expect training or growth. They don't expect performance evaluation. They don't believe in job titles or descriptions. They accept lower salaries. They don't complain about workload. They do the work they are given. They fit in to the hierarchy and persevere.
They never seem disappointed in work.
I can't concentrate at all today. I really feel like a vegetable.
Which one?
Latest wanderings in the world of books:
Mountains:
I'll Call You in Katmandu: The Elizabeth Hawley Story:
The Mountaineers Books publishes such obscurities as the biography of Elizabeth Hawley, Katmandu-based American and self-appointed archivist of Himalaya climbing.
Before and after an expedition goes to climb its leaders meet in Katmandu with Hawley. She is at once their auditor and publicist, her files a record of Himalayan mountaineering. Surprisingly Hawley is not a mountaineer.
I'll Call You in Katmandu: The Elizabeth Hawley Story is a fawning but enjoyable biography. Ms. Hawley lived life on her own terms.
Nanga Parbat Pilgrimage: The Lonely Challenge:
Austrian Herman Buhl made the first ascent of Nanga Parbat in 1953 (and later Broad Peak in 1957) before dying young in the mountains.
Buhl's pioneering climb of Nanga Parbat was not only a great feat in its own right but also facilitated Messner and others later.
It spends far too long setting the scene, but Nanga Parbat Pilgrimage: The Lonely Challenge is still worth reading.
Last Climb: The Legendary Everest Expedition of Mallory and Irvine:
After mentioning how bored I've become with anyone who ever writes a book on Everest including an obligatory chapter on the Mallory expeditions, I go buy a book on them.
Written by David Breashears and Audrey Salkeld and published by National Geographic as a big glossy hardback bonanza with loads of great photos, Last Climb is a pleasure. Well researched, it really recreates the 1920s world of those underprepared and underprotected Everest pioneers.
Running:
The Non-Runner's Marathon Trainer:
Inspiration for the new blog, this book is a combined approach to mental and physical training and health.
ChiRunning: A Revolutionary Approach to Effortless, Injury-Free Running:
Ultramarathoner Danny Dreyer's tai-chi infused approach to proper running form, written as an antithesis to power running. The Kenyans, Dreyer says, don't have muscular calves because they don't need them. They run from their centre and their form is efficient.
Economics:
I've decided to get my head around this economics stuff.
Naked Economics: Undressing the Dismal Science:
Former midwest correspondent for the Economist Charles Wheelan's enjoyable introduction to economics. I learned and had fun. Intelligence is explaining difficult concepts simply.
The Accidental Theorist and Other Dispatches from the Dismal Science:
While Wheelan is lucid and entertaining, Accidental Theorist's author Paul Krugman is smug, facetious and up himself. You'd like to hit him with a wrench.
Krugman employs crude stereotypes throughout this myth-breaking polemic. Ironically he reinforces one too: The world of economics and finance is full of small-minded, self-important twats.
Work Related:
The Fall of Advertising and the Rise of PR:
The message of this book is advertising lacks credibility. Moreover, its creativity and shock value don't improve sales. PR on the other hand is not perceived as a sales pitch so it's more effective. I could have told you that without reading this sharply-written book.
Understanding Financial Statements:
To all things a chance but accounting is dull.
My first attempt since I was about six years old to write in poem format. Mind you, I wouldn't call it a poem. Interesting exercise all the same but very tough.
The natural world you hold so highly
is a world of rape,
racial cleansing, cannibalism, baby killing.
A lawless frontier of violence.
A cold haven of fear.
A homeland for murderers.
A sponsor of scavengers.
A supporter of bullies
and oppressor of the weak.
It is a world of blood and soon forgotten corpses.
Those newborn lambs frolicking happily under summer skies
are mostly in your mind.
There is no unspoiled purity or harmony.
There are just potential victims
escaping or being eaten.
While your imagined friend Nature
lives on unmoved
in green hills and polluted cities,
indifferent to your veneration,
unneeding of your protection.
Could you tell me why you rejected our translation?
We decided to reject your trial translation based on our judgement criteria.
Could you be more specific please?
It is not our policy to be more specific about these matters.
But we would like some clarification of our mistakes in order to produce a better document next time.
[Line goes silent for one minute]
Ummm. Ok. It is not our policy, but I will say this. While there were no major problems with your translation, we felt it was not suitable for our ministry.
I see. Could you give me specific examples of why you thought so?
[silence]
Okay. Here is one example. In the third paragraph, fifth line, you use the word "because." We feel that this word is not suitable for a government ministry.
Really? Let me clarify. Are you actually saying it is the official policy of your ministry not to use the word "because"?
[silence]
Yes. That's right.
I'm changing jobs and industries. And for the first time in my adult life I'm going to work for a Western company.
I've accepted a job in a PR consultancy. I'm hoping I can be more creative and interactive there. I'm also hoping to have more control and responsibility. And I really want to work with people who can help me improve my writing.
And so ends (at the end of the month) my five-year plus stretch in a decent, hardworking and often frustrating small Japanese company dealing with the smart and wonderful bureaucrats of the Japanese government. It's not something many a lad from North Dublin will have experienced.
I can't honestly say I'm sorry it's over. It was time for change. But I'll miss the fine-tuned, instinctive working relationships I built over the years with some very brilliant people.
Now it's time to think of the future and I feel ready and equipped for moving on.
