I’m going to talk about the theme of language in the novel.
Language appears in the novel in many forms, both positive and negative. The primary set-piece in which language is discussed is Jakob’s learning of Greek and English. This action is presented as both an escape of the past horrors, and a loss of identity. As Athos tells Jakob stories, his memories are ‘diluted’ – but at the same time the melody of Yiddish is ‘gradually eaten away’ (p28).
This isn’t to say that this is merely a passive loss – Jakob actively embraces the language – English is described as food, Jakob is ‘hungry for it’ (p92). He longs ‘to cleanse [his] mouth of memory’ – this is a preservative tactic. The loss of identity is just part and parcel of escaping trauma.
This escape, however, eventually creeps up on Jakob, and he realises that he may have forsaken his deceased family, his heritage, by taking up English and Canadian traits – ‘How will [Bella] ever find me here, beside this strange woman? Speaking this language, eating strange food, wearing these clothes?’ (p126)
That’s spoken language – written language is also presented in the novel. Written language can be destructive – two of the more resounding images from the novels are single letters – either the J stamped on Jewish passports (p207), or the anti-fascist Graffiti (p78). I think this in microcosm shows the dichotomy of written language in the novel – one is imposed, destructive, reductive, dangerous and genocidal, the other is a display of courage, of defiance. Language accommodates tyranny and resistance.
Writing is also beautiful, it closes gaps and offers opportunity. Poetry and translation are shown as acts of immigration – language is presented as a bridge between two lives, two cultures (p108-109). Also, when Jakob comes to write his childhood memoirs – language, English, is represented as empowerment, as opportunity – it is ‘an alphabet without memory’ (p101).
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Related Quotes
p28: 'Athos's stories gradually veered me from my past. Night after night, his vivid hallucinogen dripped into my imagination, diluting memory. Yiddish too, a melody gradually eaten away by silence'
p92 –‘Athos instructed me in the subtleties of English at the kitchen table on
p126 – ‘Bella, who is nowhere to be found, is looking for me. How will she ever find me here, beside the strange woman? Speaking this language, eating strange food, wearing these clothes?’
p207: 'Who knew that even one letter - like the "J" stamped on a passport - could have the power of life or death'
p78: 'A single letter was a matter of life and death'
p108-9 – ‘This was my first introduction to translating. And translating of one sort or another has supported me ever since. For this intuition, I will always be grateful to Kostas. “Reading a poem in translation,” wrote Bialek, “is like kissing a woman through a veil”; and reading Greek poems, with a mixture of katharevousa and the demotic, is like kissing / two women. Translation is a kind of transubstantiation; one poem becomes another. You can choose your philosophy of translation just as you choose how to live: the free adaptation that sacrifices detail to meaning, the strict crib that sacrifices meaning to exactitude. The poet moves from life to language, the translator moves from language to life; both, like the immigrant, try to identify the invisible, what’s between the lines, the mysterious implications.’
p101: 'And later, when I began to write down the events of my childhood in a language foreign to their happening, it was a revelation. English could protect me; an alphabet without memory.'
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