George-Icaros Babassakis

Good morning Mr. Babassakis.

Good morning.

We’re delighted to be having this interview with you. Shall we begin?

Yes, yes.

Let’s start with a few questions about how translation came into your life. How did it come about?

It was sort of random. In the late ’70s my friends and I started translating books, because we couldn’t find the ones that fascinated us in Greek. The beat generation: Jack Kerouac, Burroughs, Gregory Corso, Allen Ginsberg et al. So we started translating with our meager English and we’d exchange the texts and discuss them and down the line we even got competitive. So that’s how it started, for lack of books that we were interested in.

And then how did it go?

As the great Manos Hadjidakis once said, “everything in Greece happens in cafés” so I got together with Evgenios Aranitsis and Manolis Manousakis at a café on Solonos str. and we launched a publishing house called Erato. I’d been translating Nabokov’s short stories for personal use, anyway, so that came up and as the publishing house started, those translations of Nabokov’s stories were “bought”, so to speak – A Russian Beauty and Other Stories was the title – and they were published, which captivated me. And then one thing led to another.

You have many years of experience in the field. What would you say ‘translating’ means to you?

‘Translating’, in practice means working from home. The work is done from your home office as we used to call it, your home and your work space are one and the same, which I personally find very convenient. But essentially it’s giving people something that you found compelling but they wouldn’t have been able to read because they don’t speak English, French German, Japanese, or whatever. So the translator is a sweet intermediary who helps people dip into a culture, a mentality, a philosophy from another country, another language, which is almost charitable, I’d say.

Regarding the process of translation and types of text is there a literary genre or type of text that you enjoy translating the most?

I like to translate novels that toe the line between literature and theory. There are writers who aren’t storytellers, they don’t just narrate a story but touch on a heap of other issues and I love that. But I’ve also translated pure essays and philosophy and the like, and that’s how I go about it. Like right now I’m translating Jonathan Franzen and then I’m going to translate David Foster Wallace, both writers who touch on many other things beyond the typical boy-loves-girl story.

On that note, do you choose what you translate yourself?

That’s how it was at first. And mostly through conversations within my own group of friends. We would pitch books to various publishers. At the time things were healthily amateurish. Books weren’t as industrialized neither here nor abroad, so it was almost conspiratory. We’d put ideas forward while drinking wine or ouzo and pitch the authors who appealed to us or the books we personally found fabulous and the publishers would usually agree. That’s how I ended up translating a book by Charles Jackson, The Lost Weekend, which was out of print abroad as well. I found it at a thrift shop in London and suggested it to Erato Publications. They printed it and it’s now circulating again.

Amazing. And what problems have you encountered in the process of translation, is there something that you’ve found especially hard? And how do you deal with it? Let’s open the translator’s treasure chest.

A friend of mine who’s an aspiring translator asked me what he needed to do and I told him to get the equipment. He said, “But I have a computer”, and I said, “No, you need slippers, good ones and some comfy housewear because you need to feel comfortable at home to move around with ease”. But the main difficulty is entering the writer’s universe, to not misrepresent their thoughts and lifestyle. So here’s what I do. I do some detective work at first, which is easier nowadays with Google and all that. It used to be more difficult because I had to visit libraries albeit more interesting, perhaps. But anyway I’d look up information on the author about his relationships, his way of life his love affairs, and all that. I would enter his world to be able to convey the atmosphere, the melody and the rhythm of his writing.

Is there a text that you’ve translated that you found the most difficult or something particularly hard?

Many. Nabokov’s Lolita was very difficult because on the surface it’s a love story but essentially it’s Nabokov’s flirtation with literature. And there was a lot concealed beneath the surface. Fortunately it’s been published, edited in English by Alfred Appel Jr., which functioned as a guide. And it’s a book that I’ve translated twice. Like Jenny Mastoraki did The Catcher in the Rye twice. I translated it in the mid ’80s and then again in the late ’90s with the help of Alfred Appel Jr. David Foster Wallace busts my chops because he’s got his own literature, his own universe. And Jonathan Franzen is also a little tough until you… And Henry Miller. There’s a lot. Each writer expresses themselves in their own way, so, it’s necessary to… The greatest difficulty but also the most interesting thing is to grasp their exact mindset, to get into the mind of John Malkovich and wander around in there, into how they carried, or carry themselves because some of them are still living, and figure them out.

Let’s move on to some questions about translation as a profession. If we look at it as a profession…

I only answer these through a lawyer. Just kidding.

Are you personally satisfied with your financial rewards?

No. No one is ever satisfied with any amount. Even the richest man in the world believes they should be making more. But in any case, I can do it from home and it’s also a benevolent act any which way you see it. I mean, friends and strangers alike are grateful to translators, like the late Efi Kallifatidi, Claire Papamichail, or myself, or Papagiorgis for having acted as a bridge. It gives you a mental satisfaction which overrides any money issues and you think okay, at least I’m doing something I like with all its difficulties instead of something that would wear me out or tire me, socially. Another very good thing about translation for a writer is that it’s like doing mini PhDs on some writers, you learn the ropes. Because you’ll read a book four or five times.

About that. Do you have some form of interactive relationship with the author you decide to translate?

I don’t understand what you mean.

Do you have a particular preference for the author you choose? Or does the author influence your personal choices?

Yes, definitely. But the interesting thing is when you and the author are on completely different wavelengths. I mean for me Franzen is not my favorite. But he’s such a great writer and I learn so much from him. I might never have chosen to read him, myself. But tinkering with Jonathan Franzen does me a lot more good than when I was translating authors closer to my mindset.

In terms of professional circumstances, what are the biggest difficulties a translator can face?

Again, I don’t follow.

We mean professionally.

You mean financially with publishers and such?

Yes.

There are no difficulties. It’s just that the wages are low to put it crudely, even though okay, it’s… Every person in any profession whatsoever, be it a waiter, or a university professor, believes they should be making more and they have a point. Or a doctor, or lawyer. But the good thing… There’s also a difficulty in being your own boss. You set your own hours and you can’t slack off. You can’t take your time in the bathroom or whatever, because it’s your own loss. So you have to follow the pace that you impose on yourself. You are your biggest tyrant.

We talked before about the authors you translate. Do you choose to have a relationship with them? Do you ever talk to them?

No. Not at all. But because it’s easier for them to travel now, whereas it didn’t use to be an option, I happened to meet Franzen, I happened to meet some of the writers I translate. Now I’m going to meet Saunders who’s coming here, and so on. But I’m not interested in having personal contact. What most of them do is so important and we owe gratitude to writers and musicians and playwrights because what they offer us is spiritual nourishment. I converse with their work and their lives, through readings. I read interviews a lot. I’ve read everything pertaining to Franzen, for example; and that bolsters my work.

In terms of the editing of a translation, what’s your relationship with editors of the works you translate?

Apart from one occasion many years ago, it is the best possible.

Do you feel editing is always necessary?

It is necessary when the translator works with the editor and when the editor loves the author’s work, or is familiar with it, anyway. Say the translator at some point uses “of the sea” instead of “the sea’s”, they do it for good reason. Usually, because it’s become sort of mass produced, a lot of editors use a cookie-cutter system. But when you get an editor with whom you vibe well, and that’s what we usually do, we select our editors in tandem with the publisher so there’s good communication, things are discussed over a cup of coffee and when problems arise, we figure it out together.

Regarding the translator’s relationship with publishers, is it similar to that of editors?

Once more, I don’t understand.

We mean, let’s say how your cooperation with publishers is. Who chooses the title, for example?

There’s no standard procedure. Some translators do the work, deliver it, and don’t give a shit. They’re not interested in sticking with it. It really depends on the book, the author, the publisher and so on. Personally, I make sure I have a congenial relationship with the publisher. There are no confrontations or arguments. We choose the title together. The latest example is George Saunders’ book called Lincoln in the Bardo. “Bardo” is a unique concept in Tibetan theosophy. It’s something like purgatory, or limbo. If we were to use the word “Bardo” in Greek, it would be awkward. They’d think of Brigitte Bardot or something. So by using assonance and alliteration in Greek, I entitled it Lincoln and Oblivion. The publisher accepted it immediately and we went ahead with it. It happens. You throw out an idea and if it’s accepted, it’s okay, we go ahead.

Have there been instances of censorship where a publisher or editor has changed something in your work?

No, never. There was only one case, but we talked it through. It was William Golding’s book that had also won the Nobel Prize. Ιt was unfinished. It had to do with ancient Greece, with Pythia. At some points it was a literal translation but I used verses from poets. So, instead of having Pythia say: “Look how beautiful it is and how the light shines”, it was “Let your eyes milk the light of the world” which is from Ritsos’ Epitaphios. I do that kind of thing but always in agreement with the publisher and editor.

Do you think criticism is essential for a translator?

Absolutely. And fortunately nowadays book critics mention the translator and their work. In the past the translator’s name didn’t even appear on the cover. Now it does, fortunately. And the public knows, and asks for particular translators for each author. And that’s helpful to the reader, as well. They know Claire Papamichail has translated Dickens. Or Papagiorgis has translated Derrida. That creates an atmosphere of trust and the audience is more demanding. They ask for more than a book to kill time with, one to have for keeps, so to say. So there is this improvement in the status, the translator’s position, as an intermediary between the public and publishers.

As we said yesterday, this also helps the emancipation of the reader.

Well, yes. Just like the cover is chosen and even whether to use multiple accents or not. Many publishers now insist on using them, and rightfully so when there’s a reason, not always. It creates a relationship where readers are more demanding. So there’s gentle pressure, and the publisher is forced to be more selective and have a better flow of communication between the people producing the book. At Gutenberg, or Ikaros or Stigmi Publications there’s a harmony between the graphic designer, the publisher, the editor, the translator and the writer. It’s a more hands-on process and that’s good for the book.

Have you yourself been criticized? Or does the idea of criticism make you nervous?

No, I’m not nervous about anything. I mean, why should I be? It’s happened, I’ve responded, issue resolved, okay.

A couple of questions before we let you go. Are you optimistic about the future of translation and translators in Greece?

Very much. There was also the attempt with EKEMEL. Things are getting serious. Translators are gradually specializing, if not in authors, in genres. For example Argyro Makarov has translated all of Simenon. Andreas Apostolidis has translated James Ellroy and detective stories. So the situation is progressing to where the translator isn’t just a machine but a person with tastes and preferences, which makes it more pleasant, of course. If you do something you like, you do it much better.

What advice would you give a foreign literature student who aspires to be a translator, some day?

Get a good pair of slippers. Read a lot and not just literature. Translation requires knowledge of cinema, music, math, baseball. This thing called baseball drives me mad because it’s always in American novels and I still haven’t figured out how it’s played but I’m learning. Knowing bridge, or chess. A translator must become a scholar who has to know a little bit of everything and that’s very interesting for them, too. You educate yourself when you translate. And that’s an advantage.

Thank you very much.

Thank you.