The Voice Beyond Words

There is a magical dimension to literature, one that sometimes gets taken for granted. It is the connection we feel, even when the story comes from a land far removed from our own or is penned down in a language we do not speak. This connection became palpably clear to me one evening in Varkala, with the amber hues of the sunset as my backdrop and Gabriel García Márquez’s “Love in the Time of Cholera” in my hands. My friend Shah, who is no longer, knowing my penchant for immersive tales, had given me this book. And from the first page, it felt like not just a reader but a companion to Florentino Arizo in his quest for Fermina’s love. Márquez’s genius is universally acknowledged, but as the pages turned, another name emerged from the shadows, connecting me to this story in my native tongue: Edith Grossman. It’s one thing to translate words and another to translate emotions, culture, and the soul of a narrative. As the story unfolded, a feeling of being in Latin America, amidst its vibrant streets and passionate people, enveloped the senses. Grossman’s work wasn’t a mere word-to-word translation.

She ensured that readers could feel the beats of the Latin American heart in the prose. She bridged a gap, not just linguistic but cultural, and in doing so, offered a profound experience. Her loyalty to Márquez’s original narrative was evident. It was as though she had donned the cloak of a guardian, ensuring that the story’s essence remained untouched, preserved in its pristine form. The depth of emotion she conveyed was unparalleled; the love, longing, and despair were palpable, making me wonder: Was this a translation or an original creation in English? This sentiment lingered as other works translated by Grossman were explored, from the writings of Mario Vargas Llosa to those of Alvaro Mutis. There was a signature, a touch, a feeling that was quintessentially hers, yet never overshadowing the original author. Perhaps that’s the mark of a great translator: to shine while allowing the author’s brilliance to remain at the forefront, to bridge worlds without building walls. In Edith Grossman, not just a translator was found, but a conarrator. Through her, stories from lands never visited felt close to home. The world of literature is vast, and while authors are its pillars, the translators are its bridges. They ensure that tales of love, despair, hope, and adventure reach us, irrespective of the language they were first penned in. As I reflect on that serendipitous evening in Varkala, I feel immense gratitude for Edith Grossman. For, through her, the learning occurred that the soul of a story is universal, transcending borders and breaking linguistic confines.