The third and final day of the salon brought to the fore another key issue for the creative writer, that of translation. The dominant creative writing courses of British and American universities attract a wide international student base, yet the focus, inevitably, is writing in English. As readers, we enrich our understanding of literature, and as writers, develop different influences, as much through literature in translation.

This week’s events have been in collaboration with another jewel in UEA’s crown, the British Centre for Literary Translation. Amanda Hopkinson, director of the BCLT, introduced the discussion. She introduced the Tamil writer and translater Lakshmi Holmstrom, who gave us an overview from the Indian perspective. A number of the Indian writers present this week write primarily in English – yet within India, the wide range of languages spoke creates a particular challenge, in that books need to be translated between as well as from outside those local languages. And the steady translation of books from and between these languages has been as a result of political and bureaucratic imperatives rather than purely literary motives.

The discussion was an interesting one, with translation not being simply about direct translation between languages, but about how we “hear” the translation. For a writer, the challenge of translating – whether a contemporary or a classic – is in preserving the tone and music of the original when translating that may be the most difficult thing. A “good” translation by this definition may appear “bad” if it is translated into an unfamiliar English for instance. Whereas writers – and, I suspect, some readers – are keen to hear these differences, publishers and the more “mass market” are more inclined to wanting a “levelling.” Perhaps this is also for good reason. The foreign writer translated into English in a way that appears stilted or unfamiliar may reflect badly, not on the translator or the process, but on the qualities of the original writer.

Jean Boase-Beier identified how other difficulties could also come into play. “We want a small, readable volume, with a bright cover which can appeal to a general readership,” she said, whilst the writer, a poet, wants a “large, scholarly, book with an austere cover, for an academic audience.” At the other end of the scale, as Marcella Edwards pointed out from a publishing perspective, many of the bestselling novels of the moment are, in fact, in translation, but whether its crime fiction or a one off international bestseller, the books are not sold as “translated fiction” at all. Even backlists, such as Penguin Classics, have to justify new translations in terms of expected sales.

Translation always comes down to readership at the end of the day. Certainly my M.A. in novel writing Manchester had an explicit international fiction list as part of our reading, and I almost certainly learnt more reading Lampedusa, Lispector and Ginzburg than some of the contemporary novels in English we also covered.

We were then very pleased to have Zhu Wen, and his translator Julia Lovell, talk about their collaboration. Zhu, a Chinese writer, now turned film maker, was asked what he looked for in a translator. He wanted the translator to be a good writer in the translated language. He felt it was important to have a good relationship with the translator so that it would be a true collaboration, and finding a translator for his work had been difficult. With having many friends around the world, the translation of “I Love Dollars” allowed them to finally read his work. Memorably Julia gave the contrast between them; Zhu as “epitomising the Chinese avant garde”, and her as “English twinset personified.” For Julia, one of the challenges for her had been the speed of change in the Chinese literary scene, with Zhu now making films rather than writing, and writers having a short, intense period of fame and success, before the market moved on. Also, because Chinese writers tend to publish without much editorial intervention, translation can also involve some editorial role, as contradictions and inconsistences have to be resolved. She also mentioned how during the 1990s, many more established Chinese writers were obsessed with who might become a Chinese Nobel winner.
Asked what the differences were between film and fiction, Zhu stressed how film was easier to understand, and therefore easier to get an international audience for, whilst the translation was a slower, but more satisfying route.

In the discussions that followed, there was a sense that those of us who were not involved in translation, had gathered some insights, both into the questions that translation posed, but also into the continued value and importance of translation. If serious fiction and poetry were finding it increasingly difficult to find a place in the market place – echoing our concerns from yesterday – then translation was a further hurdle. For young poets in particular the act of translation, even if not knowing the source language, could be a useful additional skill. The BCLT’s work includes training of translators, and Giles Foden and others had attended a summer school the previous summer, where translators and the writers, such as himself, being translated, were put together – a highly useful experience.
What struck me was that we often don’t think of translation at all. There’s an expectation that the classics will somehow have been translated into English, and that our current bestsellers will somehow be translated into other languages, without giving much thought to the particular skills and publishing models that make this happen.
In a globalised world, English’s may be useful, but its also a barrier – as writing from other languages may offer particular qualities that can only be read in the original. Ensuring that there is resource and recognition for translation, and for publishing translated works – including contemporary poetry and fiction – is clearly important.

The salon’s discussions had continued outside of the seminar room, as well as inside it, and a full program of events and readings had made for a highly stimulating week. An array of fascinating books by fascinating writers were on display at the campus Waterstones’ and following on from the various readings at the Millennium Library and elsewhere, and most attendees went away with an enhanced reading list.

In the three days of the salon, the role of creative writing had been torn apart and put together again. It seemed there was a conviviality and consensus to the debate, perhaps because we were all involved in the subject as practitioners. I was struck by how, “creative writing”, a term that can sometimes seem to be a pejorative, is also a liberator. There is much “writing” that goes on within universities outside the imaginative disciplines, and yet how much of that could benefit from some of the thoughts and discussions of practicing writers for whom writing is the end, not just the means? It seemed a long distance since Geoff Dyer’s opening thoughts on how America’s literary dominance during the 2nd half of the 20th century coincided with it being the world leader in teaching creative writing. Yet, the international nature of the group, meant that this was never a “given” (and Dyer had made it as an observation, rather than as a proof.) We were reminded that English is an international language, “owned” by English-speaking writers wherever they are, and that the Anglo-American discipline of the “creative writing masters” much begin to recognise this.

The creative writing course, with its production of yet more creative writing graduates, may have to change in the forthcoming years, as we are yet to see the impact – good or bad – of the exponential growth of its teaching in Britain over the last decade. The quality and the rigour of the best of these courses was not doubted, and as anyone who has been through one knows, its often what you gain from your peer group that matters as much as any formal teaching. The squeezing of creative writing into the masters or doctorate format, may well be a model that has only a limited shelf life – yet, perhaps its those formats that will have to change, (and are beginning to do so; modular courses, PhDs through practice), and that a vibrant creative writing department can be an agent for that change.

Everyone who contributed to the week came here with multiple roles; these were writers who were also thinkers, academics, administrators, translators and editors. For a university, where creative writing is seen as an asset, as at UEA, Iowa and elsewhere, rather than an add-on, the additional benefits that creative writing can bring – through working with other disciplines (translation and languages would be only one example) – seem clear. The creative writer who is based in a university, has an ambivalent role, as seen in some of the articles circulated this week, or in fictionalisations such as Michael Chabon’s “The Wonder Boys” – being there for their creative practice, but perhaps finding that practice the last valued part of their job. In going round the table at the end of the final session, themes kept re-emerging; of the continued importance of ensuring the quality of creative writing workshops and courses; or the vital role that reading plays and how these graduates of creative writing are also being trained to be readers; of how the changing literary economy means that we should perhaps see these courses as less about the “creative economy” and more about writing as a “vocation;” and that whether or not creative writing can be taught – much, indeed, can be learnt.
At the end of a long productive week, our last event together was on Thursday evening, at the launch of Norwich’s bid to become a UNESCO city of Literature, alongside Edinburgh, Melbourne and Iowa City. Literature, that most private of obsessions, is becoming confident enough to inhabit the public space, and being clear about the benefits that being in that spotlight will bring. What is without doubt, is that the commitment to creative writing at the UEA, and within the city and region, have continued to reap benefits year-on-year. Anyone who has written anything of worth knows how good literature requires time; and the supportive environment we all found ourselves in this week, will, I’m sure bear fruit in the months and years to come.

Looking back on this year’s blog posts, I feel I’ve hardly touched the surface of what we discussed, and haven’t had room to talk about the range of stimulating readings that also took place across the city. I’d encourage everyone to explore the work of all of the writers at this years worlds festival, and I’m sure that myself, George Szirtes and others may well have other reflections on the event in the weeks to come.