Journale Lucy Fricke’s Töchter: A Translation Road Trip

SNACKS FOR THE JOURNEY

By Isabelle Liber, translated by Odile Kennel


Typing away, I continue my journey with Betty, the narrator of Töchter. She has just arrived (or been stranded on) on a Greek island, determined to find the man she once saw as her father. She sits down outside a bar and notices that the previous patron has left his traces on the table in front of her. What is the stuff piled on the table? In the German source, it says “Schalen von Sonnenblumenkernen” (sunflower seed husks). The technical French translation would be péricarpes (pericarps); in other words, what’s left over after you’ve eaten the seeds inside.

Tüte mit gerösteten und gesalzenen Sonnenblumenkernen, aufgenommen von unserer Sonderberichterstatterin in Griechenland, in dem Fall meine Schwester.

As I work on the first draft of my translation, I keep thinking about these husks. What do people call them in France? What did I used to call them when I was a kid? When I look up the word “sunflower”, Wikipedia informs me that “roasted sunflower seeds are particularly popular in Mediterranean countries. In Spain they are known as pipas or pipasol.”1 Yes, pipas rings a bell; I remember calling them pépites back home in the south of France.

By now I have several terms: graine de tournesol, pépite or pépite de tournesolpipa. But in the German source, these snacks are simply called either Sonnenblumenkerne (sunflower seeds) or Kerne (seeds).  So in French I should probably also restrict myself to just two terms. Graine de tournesol and graine 2 would work, but I feel that pépite is more commonly used. I decide to do a bit of research back in France.3

Austausch auf WhatsApp mit meiner „herzallerliebsten Kindheitsfreundin“

Remember those salty little pépites we used to eat when we were kids?

What did we used to call them?

And what did we call the bits that were left over?


I can visualise the packet and I remember exactly how they tasted, but I can’t find the right word … And I have a feeling you are more of an expert on pépites than me!


So the roasted sunflower seeds were called pépites or pipas … and sometimes pipasol (but that’s a brand name)


And I’ve asked a few people about the bits that are left over . . . coque écorce or coquille … opinions vary

The term pépite has now been empirically verified. But as I continue translating, I notice that I’m not really happy with it, particularly as Lucy Fricke simply uses the term Kerne (which means both “seeds” and “cores”) at several points.4 s And these seeds play a core role in the novel: as in a fairytale, they lead Betty to the person she seeks. Just when she seems to have reached a dead end on this Greek island, the narrator’s encounter with the seeds turns out to be a major personal milestone. I’d like to convey the “content” of the German word Kern in French. Pépite seems to me too descriptive, not resonant enough. 5

In the end, I opt for graine (and graine de tournesol), which evokes a range of associations to do with birth and life itself. But every now and then, I use the word pépite to maintain a colloquial tone. To ensure that this leitmotif isn’t weakened by my using several synonyms, I know I will have to find a way to draw attention to the motif, which is invoked so frequently towards the end of the novel.

Below you’ll find one example of how I might do this:

 ⁶ Vorläufige Übersetzung, erscheint im September 2021 beim Verlag Le Quartanier.

["In front of me on the table lay a tidy heap of empty husks, the sunflower seed hulls often left behind by men who are on diets, experiencing withdrawal symptoms or suffering from some other psychological defect."]

In my translation, I draw attention to the first appearance of the sunflower seeds by placing more emphasis on the object in the French[footnote]In German, a pile of seeds lies there, and in French the sentence is "verbally elliptical" [a note from the translator's translator] [1] and by using a dash to foreground the seeds [2]. The alliteration of coques/coquilles [3] adds further emphasis.

As I’m translating, I keep note of every passage that mentions sunflower seeds in a separate file, copying and pasting the original passages next to my translations as I have done above. I revise and edit these passages separately so that the pattern of French terms that emerges resembles the “sunflower pattern” in the German. Then I paste the passages back into my main translation file and revise them one more time to make sure that my translation as a whole is coherent. In order to find the right balance – in other words, to ensure that the leitmotif is apparent in French without sounding too contrived or banal – I sometimes jump between the various terms, trying them out and swapping them around. And sometimes I’m hit by a sudden craving to devour a whole bag of these salty seeds!

Drive On.

Fußnoten
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