FEMINIST TRANSLATION AS INTERPRETATION
by David J. Eshelman
W hen translating the plays of Québécois
dramatist Dominick Parenteau-Lebeuf, I
have found the interpretive methods and
strategies of feminist translation to be very
useful. To put it simply, feminist translation
theory recognizes that gender matters: whether
of an author, translator, character, or pronoun,
gender is a legitimate concern. The field of
“feminist translation” is largely a Canadian
invention, resulting from the cross-pollination of
two languages and the feminisms of at least
three nations. It became prominent in the 1990s
through the writings of translators like Barbara
Godard and Susanne de Lotbinière-Harwood
and as a result of two influential books, Sherry
Simon’s Gender in Translation (1996) and
Luise von Flotow’s Translation and Gender
(1997).1 Feminist translation is an inclusive term
that covers studies of how gender has been
translated in already-published works,2 in
addition to statements and written reflections by
practicing translators who describe the
relationship of feminism to their work.3
Feminist translation, though, has so far not taken
translation studies by storm.
In my view, feminist translation has not
caught on because of suspicion from translators.
Despite the call on the part of Rainer Schulte
and others to attend to interpretation,4 there is a
great fear of any interpretive method that can be
named. This attitude is apparent when I talk to
other translators. When I ask about either
feminist translation or about the role that gender
plays in translation, the typical response is that a
feminist approach is unnecessary and that
gender plays no role whatever in translation. It
is as if translators, ever fearful of being called
textual infidels, refuse to acknowledge that there
can be anything in their minds besides the “text
itself.” Feminist or other considerations cannot
be acknowledged in translation work, for fear
that, by so admitting, one simultaneously
confesses to having been “led astray” by these
16 Translation Review
considerations and to have produced translations
that are somehow “tainted.” In my view, though,
the human mind is far more expansive than
many are comfortable admitting. The human
mind can, in fact, easily accommodate both a
translation process based on careful reading and
rigorous study of a source text, while, at the
same time, using a named interpretive theory
like feminist translation. In fact, I would argue
that, in certain cases — such as when one is
working on a text with an overt feminist agenda
— then the translator’s mind had better contain
an interpretive framework like feminist
translation. Otherwise, there is the danger that
other interpretive frameworks — unintended,
unrecognized, and unamenable to the project of
a text — may creep in.
Feminist translation answers the call issued
by Rainer Schulte in a recent editorial in the
Translation Review, in which Schulte asks
translators to pay more attention to
“interpretation.”5 The call is provocative. For
my part, I would like to explore more fully what
exactly “interpretation” means. Schulte
admonishes against two extremes: (1) “literal
translations,” defined as “the correspondence of
word to word from one language to another”6;
and (2) interpretive “theories of theories that are
no longer connected to a work.”7 This second
admonition is most intriguing to me. It brings to
mind Susan Sontag’s classic essay, “Against
Interpretation,” which likewise argues against
applying interpretative frameworks that are not
organic to the work studied.8 In Sontag’s essay,
she argues against interpretative methods that
ignore form for content, separating out
individual content elements and applying a
prescriptive “code” or “rules” in order to make
sense of these elements.9 However, if
prescriptive rules or frameworks are jettisoned,
then how exactly does one interpret? I would
like to explore in more detail what interpretation
is. Sontag attempts to answer the interpretation
question by suggesting the need for “an erotics
of art” rather than a “hermeneutics.”10 But what
does this mean? The question of how to interpret
is of great importance to the translator. It is my
belief that feminist translation theory provides a
potential answer.
Objections to Feminist Translation
In spite of the proliferation of texts
dedicated to gender, sexuality, and queer theory,
feminist translation has not caught on in the
United States and appears to be waning even
among Canadian scholars and practitioners.
Although von Flotow’s 2002 assertion that the
discussion around “gender in translation” is
alive and well,11 the field has not seen a
sustained flurry of publication like that in the
1990s and seems ever less likely to cross the
U.S.-Canadian border and reach scholars south
of the 49th parallel.12
The main objection to feminist translation
arises from an overly simplistic equation of
feminist translation with translator intervention.
In reality, feminist translation practice is far
more complex than the simple alteration of a
source text in blind allegiance to an “agenda.”
This oversimplified view arises from an oft-
quoted list of feminist translation strategies,
originally put forth by von Flotow. This list
includes the techniques of “supplementing,
prefacing and footnoting, and ‘hijacking’.”13
Note that von Flotow includes intervention, or
“hijacking,” only as one of many strategies, not
as a definition of feminist translation praxis.
Also, while some translators do intervene in
translation, fears of this practice are grossly
overblown. In my research, I have found this
strategy hardly ever used, even by the most
adamant feminist translators.
Unfortunately, “hijacking” has received the
most critical attention. The reduction of
complex thinking to its most extreme form
happens, all too often, to feminist work. Bold
statements, intended to inspire readers to think
to extremes, are misinterpreted as the norm. A
clear example of this phenomenon can be found
with Valerie Solanas’s “SCUM Manifesto.”14 In
this document, Solanas describes a “Society for
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Cutting Up Men,” whose aim is “to destroy the
male sex.”15 This manifesto constitutes a bold,
performative response to injustices against
women and was never taken literally by
mainstream feminism. Unfortunately, this text
has been and continues to be paraded out
whenever proof is needed that feminists are
“crazy.” While the “SCUM Manifesto” is
undeniably extremist, it does not follow that all
manifestations of feminism are. Similarly,
“hijacking” — or “womanhandling,” to use a
phrase coined by Godard16 — represents an
extremist practice that is erroneously equated
with all feminist translation.
In my view, the fear of the hijacking
translator is unfounded. The most adamantly
interventionist translators also tend to be the
most careful with their technique and choosy
with their source texts. One example of this kind
of translator is Lotbinière-Harwood, who
advocates “writing subversion” / “écrire la
subversion”17 while at the same time
acknowledging that context determines
strategies.18 She prefers to translate texts that are
both feminist- and lesbian-identified, such as the
writing of Nicole Brossard. It is apparent then
that “hijacking” and “womanhandling” are
negligible threats to contemporary literature:
only those authors amenable to feminist
concerns, like Brossard, allow their work to be
translated by feminist translators; therefore, only
authors like Brossard will find their work
translated in this way. Furthermore, for a writer
like Brossard, a feminist translation is more
likely to capture the nuances of feminisms
already present in the text — nuances that other
translators may be liable to miss. If, on the other
hand, an author is hostile to the more radical
feminist translation practices, s/he will exercise
his/her rights in choice of translator, thereby
precluding even the possibility of intervention.
Feminist translation of contemporary literature,
then, is not an “invasion” of a given source text;
rather, it is rather a decision on the part of
author and translator to use feminist strategies to
ensure that certain gendered aspects of a text are
not lost.19
17
Feminist Translation in Practice
To further allay fears associated with
feminist translation, I will describe how I used
techniques from this field in my own translation
work. In writing this essay, I considered using
another term besides “feminist translation
theory.” One scholar, M. Rosario Martín, brings
up “gender conscious” or Carol Maier’s
“woman-identified” as possible alternatives to
“feminist.”20 I considered using the complicated
phrase “gender in translation theory.” However,
I have consciously chosen to stay with “feminist
translation” because it fits well with my
particular project. The play that I have
translated, Dévoilement devant notaire by
Dominick Parenteau-Lebeuf, deals explicitly
with feminism; it is, therefore, a natural fit with
feminist translation methods. As a product of
1990s Quebec, the play shares its origins with
the specific cultural moment of the inception of
feminist translation. Although a “cultural
feminist” agenda may not fit every milieu, the
play that I have translated engages self-
consciously with some of the very same issues
dealt with by theorists like Simon, von Flotow,
and Lotbinière-Harwood.
The strategies of feminist translation
emerge from a feminist project but tend to
emphasize transparency of the translation
process — an attempt to ensure that the
translator’s work can be viewed somewhat
separately from the author’s words. One of the
most refreshing aspects of feminist translation is
that it is less a method and more a considered
study of process. This tendency is evident when
von Flotow writes that feminist translators are
less concerned with the final product and its
equivalence or fidelity than with the processes
of reading, rereading, and writing again.21
Feminist translation shares with the larger field
of gender studies a suspicion of binaries such as
right and wrong, being instead more concerned
with how translations are made.
In the remaining sections of this essay, I
will describe feminist translation as it relates to
my work with contemporary Québec playwright
Dominick Parenteau-Lebeuf. I have translated
two of her works: the full-length play
18 Translation Review
Dévoilement devant notaire, which I call in
English The Feminist’s Daughter; and the short
play, “Nacre C,” which I call “Pearloid C.”
Although feminist translation theory is
multifaceted, this discussion of my work will
concentrate on the three specific strategies that
have been most important in my work:
supplementing; close attention to the gender of
words; and “closelaboration” (borrowing
Suzanne Jill Levine’s term for the working
relationship of author and translator).
Strategy 1: Supplementing
To “supplement” means to provide
additional information along with the
translation. It arises from the need to be as
honest as possible about translation choices.
There is a danger in texts that are not heavily
footnoted and packaged with long introductions:
they seduce readers into forgetting that what is
being read is mitigated through another person’s
reading of the source text.22 It is especially
important to supplement feminist texts lest they
be read in a “monolithic” way contrary to the
ends of feminism.23
The insights of cultural studies suggest that
translations or writings on translation ought to
account for the process of creation.24 In order to
avoid the temptation of objective posturing,
translators — especially feminist translators —
must account for choices made, not only
describing individual word choices but also
accounting for their readings of the original text
and of the author’s œuvre. To help recall their
reasoning behind readings and choices, many
translators have kept what Barbara Godard calls
a “translator’s diary.”25 My own diary consists
of the various drafts of my translation, along
with reflections on Parenteau-Lebeuf’s text
made along a specifically gendered line of
inquiry.
By attending to the translation process,
feminist translators answer the call that
contemporary translation must be self-reflexive.
It is disingenuous for a translator to attempt to
“hide.” More and more, translation theorists
have come to the same conclusion as Lincoln
and Guba: that all inquiry is value-bound.26
Being “openly ideological” is not the same thing
as being “blatantly ideological” and is infinitely
preferable to being “covertly ideological.”27 To
that end, there has been a move away from the
“invisible” translator.28 Feminist translators, too,
strive to be open about their process, lest they
inadvertently re-inscribe the forces that they
seek to critique with their project.
Strategy 1A: Supplementing in Action
My answer to the call to supplement is to
disseminate information surrounding the
translation. In answer to this call, I will provide
some information about Parenteau-Lebeuf and
her relationship to contemporary Quebec
theater. This strategy is commonly seen in the
tendency in feminist translation to provide
introductions and prefaces. The information that
I provide is pertinent for two reasons: (1) rather
than assuming that the audience is familiar with
Parenteau-Lebeuf, it helps to introduce her to a
wider Anglophone audience; and (2) it provides
additional information that will help with the
understanding of Parenteau-Lebeuf’s work that
will then help create more understanding for the
translation choices I make. By including this
information, I provide an example of what might
be included in a translation “supplement.”
Parenteau-Lebeuf is a young artist (born in
1971) currently working as a playwright and
translator in Montréal. She received her degree
in dramatic writing from Canada’s National
Theatre School in 1994 and has had a steady
record of productions, publications, and awards
since that time. Her plays have been produced at
many top Canadian theaters, including
Toronto’s Théâtre français and Montreal’s
Espace GO. She has been the recipient of
numerous prizes and residencies from theaters in
France, the United Kingdom, and parts of
Canada. Her published plays include Poème
pour une nuit d’anniversaire (1997),
Dévoilement devant notaire (2002), Portrait
chinois d’une imposteure (2003), La Petite
scrap (2005), Filles de guerres lasses (2005),
and the children’s plays L’Autoroute (1999) and
Parc Lafontaine (2005).29 When we began
working together, none of her plays had been
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translated and made available to English-
speaking audiences.
Parenteau-Lebeuf’s work engages issues of
gender, autobiography, and heroism. Rather than
writing in a realistic vein, Parenteau-Lebeuf
employs a beautifully dense, evocative, and
poetic language, crafting sumptuous speeches
that lift her characters out of the everyday to the
realm of modern mythology. Her proclivities
lead me to call her a “language playwright,” a
term coined by Paul Castagno in New
Playwriting Strategies that describes “a major
influence on the practice and pedagogy of
playwriting.”30 Though Parenteau-Lebeuf does
not trace her playwriting technique back to the
specific playwrights that Castagno mentions, her
work nonetheless shares traits with the
“language playwrights” on Castagno’s list,
including Mac Wellman, Constance Congdon,
Eric Overmyer, Paula Vogel, and Tony
Kushner.31 Simultaneously combining social
concerns with linguistic innovation, Parenteau-
Lebeuf’s work is reminiscent of France’s Hélène
Cixous or the United States’ Suzan-Lori Parks.
The Feminist’s Daughter32 follows its main
character, Irene-Iris, a twenty-eight-year-old
woman who undergoes a torturous night after
the funeral of her mother, a woman identified as
“feminist” throughout the text. Over the course
of this one painful evening, Irene-Iris awaits the
arrival of the notary and the reading of her
mother’s will; while waiting, Irene-Iris relives
her mother’s death and her own fears, finally
coming to terms with the feminist legacy left to
her. The short play “Pearloid C” is part of a
larger work called Filles de guerres lasses
(War-Sick Girls).33 Though “Pearloid C” does
not deal with feminism per se, it tackles issues
of power and the male gaze.
Both “Pearloid C” and The Feminist’s
Daughter deal frankly with issues of gender
from Parenteau-Lebeuf’s unique subject position
as a young woman born into a feminist
household, into a linguistic and cultural context
set apart from the (Anglo-Canadian) world
around her. The Feminist’s Daughter is
somewhat unique in that it deals so explicitly
with what it means to be “feminist” in Quebec
19
in the current age. The play hinges on meanings
of “postfeminism.” Parenteau-Lebeuf uses the
term many times within the text, clearly
situating her play and her main character within
the “postfeminist” age. The term is first used in
Scene 12, when Parenteau-Lebeuf’s protagonist
rebukes herself, saying, “Nous vivons l’ère du
postféminisme, Mlle Lamy.”34 I translate this
statement as, “We live in the era of
postfeminism, Mademoiselle Lamy.”35
Parenteau-Lebeuf’s views on “post-
feminism” evolve within the text itself. On the
simplest level, Irene-Iris is post-feminist by
reason of birth: she is the daughter of a feminist.
However, at many points within the play, Irene-
Iris is also “post-feminist” in its more usual
meaning: she is hostile to feminism. This
hostility, however, is complex: because she was
raised by Clarissa, a woman who is a vehement
1970s anti-patriarchy advocate, Irene-Iris’s
response cannot dismiss “feminism” wholly;
instead, she must find her relationship to it. The
play suggests — as does contemporary feminist
theory — that there is not just one “feminism.”
The Feminist’s Daughter dramatizes one
woman’s discovery of the intricacies of
feminism.
The character of Irene-Iris represents a
relatively unexplored subject position: the
woman who was raised feminist. In order to
translate a play like Dévoilement devant notaire,
a translator must have some awareness of the
history of feminism, the reception of feminism,
and the unique vantage point portrayed. There is
some risk that, without the tools of feminist
translation, a translator could oversimplify the
ambiguities within the text — for instance,
drawing out Irene-Iris’s hostility toward
feminism without recognizing her long history
with the movement. Similarly, since the text
hinges on issues of gender, it is important that
the gender of words be careful noted and
thoughtfully handled.
Strategy 2: Looking at Gender on a
Word-by-Word Basis
Another key feature of feminist translation
is the examination of how words are gendered in
20 Translation Review
one language, such as French, and then how this
gendering is translated into a differently
gendered language, such as English. The
linguistic choices made by translators reveal a
lot about attitudes regarding the cultural
meanings of gender. As a hypothetical example
of how such decisions can reveal translator
prejudices, Susanne de Lotbinière-Harwood
points to the title of Luce Irigaray’s famous
theoretical work, Ce sexe qui n’est pas un. The
French “ce” can mean either “this” or “that,”
depending on the situation. Irigaray’s title is
usually translated as This Sex Which Is Not One.
However, as Lotbinière-Harwood points out, it
could be translated as That Sex Which Is Not
One. Whereas “this” suggests togetherness
around a community — in this case, a sex — a
distancing “that” might arise in a translation by
someone unfamiliar with or hostile to the
discourse in which Irigaray engages.36
Another example concerns the translation of
the French word auteure. In French, where all
nouns are gendered, the creation of new
feminine nouns is an activist strategy that makes
language more inclusive. Since the French word
usually used for “author” (auteur) is always
masculine, many Québécois women authors,
including Parenteau-Lebeuf, have taken to
calling themselves auteures. To translate
auteure into English, Lotbinière-Harwood
coined the word “auther,” in an attempt to retain
the femaleness.37 Other neologisms include
Lotbinière-Harwood’s “other” for “une autre”
(a female “other”)38 and Godard’s Lovhers,
which she uses for the title of Nicole Brossard’s
Les Amantes (“lovers” — both of whom must be
female and therefore lesbian).39
For Parenteau-Lebeuf, I had to decide when
and if to use similar translation strategies.
Obviously, innovations like “other” only work
on the page and are unavailable to spectators in
a theater. In my work, I discovered that my
engagement with linguistic gender had less to do
with my use of highlighting strategies and more
to do with the gradual development of a
particular way of reading the text. Each time I
translated a gendered noun, I took stock of what
I was doing. By considering gender, I avoided
carelessly neglecting important features of
Parenteau-Lebeuf’s text.40
In three cases, Parenteau-Lebeuf draws
attention to noun gender by using/creating
feminine versions of common masculine nouns:
guerrière, bourrelle, and femme plancher.
Guerrière (“warrior”) is an accepted French
word. The others, though, are neologisms based
on the common French bourreau
(“executioner”) and plancher (“floor”). When
the word guerrière first appears, it is closely
associated with the Amazons, legendary female
fighters. Irene-Iris uses this term in a speech
about undressing in front of men. She feels
shame because of the “battle scars” left by her
garments and because of her ambivalence
toward her own menstrual blood:
Quel galant voudrait d’une guerrière? Quel
homme voudrait d’une amazone incapable
de manipuler les fils de ses désirs?
What gentleman would want a woman
warrior? What man would want an
Amazon unable to handle the bowstrings of
her desire?41
Because the context of the speech refers to
battles faced particularly by women — battles
with fashion and reproduction — and because
the next line includes the image of the Amazon,
both femaleness and warrior-ness were
important to the understanding of the text and
neither element should be sacrificed. However,
English has a tendency to shy away from
feminine noun endings as needlessly specific, a
tendency that has grown with widespread
objection to such terms as “poetess,”
“stewardess,” and “waitress.” However, in The
Feminist’s Daughter, gender specificity is often
called for. Since “warrioress” is not an English
word, I chose instead “woman warrior” — a
term not wholly unfamiliar because of Maxine
Hong Kingston’s well-known memoir, The
Woman Warrior.
In contrast to guerrière, bourrelle is a
completely new word that is nonetheless
comprehensible to French speakers. Bourrelle
gives a feminine ending to bourreau
(“executioner”): the cognitive dissonance that
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would be experienced by a Francophone can be
recreated for an English speaker simply by
adding a feminine noun ending. I decided to
translate bourrelle as “guillotineress.” Having
often encountered the word bourreau in
literature about the French Revolution, I feel
justified embedding the specifically French
context within the word itself. Since
Francophone thinking may naturally turn to the
guillotine, I decided to turn the Anglophone’s
mind in the same direction. Also, Irene-Iris’s
speech suggests that beheading is the bourrelle’s
usual technique:
Tous les jours, sans répit, je guillotine des
milliers de têtes de projets, de résistances,
de guérillas internes, comme la sale
bourrelle que je suis.
Every day, I relentlessly behead thousands
of plans, instances of
resistance, internal guerrillas — like the
dirty guillotineress I am.42
In addition to the textual evidence supporting
“guillotineress,” I also chose the word because
of its sound. “Guillotineress” has echoes of the
term “murderess,” thereby evoking images of
early twentieth-century female killers.
The last word, femme plancher, makes use
of a convention in French that has parallels in
English. In French, certain occupations — for
instance, author — do not traditionally have
easy feminine equivalents. Instead, a woman
who is an author is often called a “woman
author” (femme auteur). Like their French
counterparts, English speakers would
understand “woman author,” even if they did not
approve of the term. Many English speakers
rightly object to “woman author” on the grounds
that the term needlessly highlights an author’s
sex, which should be irrelevant in most
situations. Many Québécois would react
similarly to the femme ____ construction as their
U.S. counterparts would to “woman ____.” As
previously mentioned in an earlier section, there
has been a shift in Quebec away from femme
auteur toward auteure. The term femme
plancher (“woman floor”), then, represents a
step backward, a parody of former gender usage.
21
This sense of parody and backwardness is made
evident in the text. When Irene-Iris reveals her
desire to become a femme plancher, the text
makes it clear that such a desire is no longer
appropriate to a modern woman.43 This
backward glance is underscored by the old-
fashioned, sexist phrasing. Unfortunately,
“woman floor” is confusing — suggesting,
perhaps, the all-female part of a dormitory. I had
to find another solution; and I initially chose
“she-floor,” which borrows the prefix used for
certain female animals — for instance, “she-
wolves” and “she-bears.” However, upon
speaking with Parenteau-Lebeuf, I understood
that femme plancher is funny in French: the
image of the femme plancher was a favorite of
audiences of the original production. Parenteau-
Lebeuf suggested “floorwoman” for femme
plancher. I have chosen to follow Parenteau-
Lebeuf’s lead: “floorwoman” is more humorous
because of the super-hero resonance
(“Superwoman,” “Catwoman”).
In addition to finding/creating feminine
English nouns that reflected the French, I also
chose at times to allow the gender of certain
French nouns to dictate pronoun choice in
English. In places, the gender of certain nouns
seemed important to the text, so I found ways to
allow French gender to seep into the English.
One such example is la Boule, a dominant
image in the latter half of the play. Before I
describe how I dealt with the gender of this
noun, let me first describe how I translated the
word itself. La Boule means literally “the Ball.”
In the text, it refers to a terrible physical and
psychological pain exclusive to women. La
Boule is a feeling of distress that Irene-Iris feels
in her stomach. It is also described as “an
executioner in the belly” / “un bourreau dans le
ventre.”44 When Irene-Iris, at age sixteen, first
confronts her mother about la Boule, her mother
refuses to talk about it.45 The text indicates that
la Boule is difficult to describe; it follows that
the word is difficult to translate. After much
experimentation, I settled on “the Knot” as my
translation: “Knot” suggests both a twisted
feeling inside (a “knot in the stomach”) and
“Not” or “lack” referred to by French feminists
22 Translation Review
like Luce Irigaray. Before I arrived at “Knot,” I
rejected two alternatives: “Ball” because it is an
unnecessarily masculine image (suggesting a
testicle) and “Pit” because of ambiguity, since
the term can mean either the hard center of a
fruit (like a “peach pit”) or a “hole in the
ground.” Since la Boule is described as
something almost palpable, “a hole in the
ground” did not seem appropriate. During a
face-to-face encounter, I asked Parenteau-
Lebeuf to explain la Boule to me. Affirming my
understanding that la Boule is something felt
deep within a person, Parenteau-Lebeuf relied
on gesture in her description: as she spoke, she
clenched her fists and contorted her face and
body. La Boule is something oppressive, like a
Knot, that comes from within and causes
outward distress.
Because la Boule is specifically depicted in
the text as something that women have, I
thought that the noun’s feminine gender was
significant. For that reason, I used a feminine
pronoun when translating the phrase, “Elle fait
partie de vous, croyez-moi.”46 A literal
translation of this line is “It makes up a part of
you, believe me.” However, the French elle can
be translated as either she or it. Though a boule
would typically be an “it,” I decided to make
more explicit the connection between la Boule
and femininity, present in the elle. I translated
the line as “She’s a part of you, your Knot —
believe me.” Because English speakers would
not be familiar with an inanimate object like a
Boule referred to as a “she,” the subject is re-
inserted to make explicit what the “she” is. In
this case, I developed a strategy that used
gendered pronouns in a way that reflected
French rather than English convention.
Strategy 3: Closelaboration
Collaboration with the author is the last
strategy that I will discuss. This method is key
to feminist translation theory; scholar Isabel
Garayta refers to collaboration as “a trademark
of feminist translation of today’s women
authors.”47 Similarly, Simon points out that
much of feminist translation arises from a
“willful collusion and cooperation between text,
author and translator.”48 I like the term
“closelaboration,” derived from translator
Suzanne Jill Levine’s: suggesting that the
working bond between author and translator is
unique, Levine uses “closelaboration” to refer to
this relationship; the term was coined by
Guillermo Cabrera Infante, a Cuban author with
whom Levine worked closely.49 With Parenteau-
Lebeuf, I have been fortunate to find an author
who showed immediate and sustained interest in
working with me.
As I have described the process of
translation and my decisions on specific choices,
I have often revealed that I sought the guidance
of Parenteau-Lebeuf as author. Her English is
quite good, having spent a year in Australia and
making a portion of her income as a translator
from English to French. In the course of
working on The Feminist’s Daughter and
“Pearloid C,” we exchanged countless e-mails. I
have also managed to see her face-to-face on
several occasions.50
To illustrate the “closelaboration” that
occurred between us, I will briefly recount some
experiences in working on “Pearloid C.” Almost
immediately after beginning our e-mail
correspondence, we began an English translation
of her “Nacre C,” the short play that is part of
Filles de guerres lasses. In the first place, I was
confused about the title. “Nacre” is French for
“mother-of-pearl.” Translated quite literally, the
playlet’s title is “Mother-of-pearl C.” I referred
to the play to see how “Nacre C” was used. In
the play, Nacre C is a skin disease, found only in
women, that makes their skin pearl-like and
beautiful to men. Later in the play, as Nacre C
becomes epidemic, the disease is marketed on
billboards as if it were a cosmetic. I needed,
then, a title that could work for both a disease
and a brand of perfume. At this point, I
consulted Parenteau-Lebeuf and asked her for
thoughts on the title. She pointed out to me that
“Nacre C” is an anagram for “cancer” (the same
in French as in English): by linking an
ornamental substance with an insidious disease,
the title links beauty with death. Parenteau-
Lebeuf said that, while she realized the anagram
was not obvious upon hearing, she hoped that
Translation Review
they would leave traces in the hearers’ minds.
Attempting to recreate this effect, I tried to find
an anagram for the title. Unable to find an
anagram, I eventually decided on “Pearloid C”
as the title. The morpheme “pearl” captures the
sense of beauty present in “nacre” (“mother of
pearl”). I chose to combine “pearl” with the
suffix “-oid”: this way, the title retains the trace
of disease present in the original “cancer”
anagram. I chose “-oid” over other suffixes,
such as “-itis,” because I felt that “-oid”
suggests illness (as in “rheumatoid”) while not
being too obvious. I left the floating “C” in
“Pearloid C” because I felt it suggested a
commodity to be marketed, like “Chanel No. 5.”
When I wrote to Parenteau-Lebeuf and
explained my choice, she was pleased.
Another illustration of “closelaboration” in
action involves my choice of the English title,
The Feminist’s Daughter. In this case, I
considered Parenteau-Lebeuf’s suggestions
weighed against my own knowledge of English
usage. The French title, Dévoilement devant
notaire, literally means Unveiling before
Notary. According to Parenteau-Lebeuf, the
French title is “a sexy and mysterious title” / “un
titre sexy et mystérieux” to native speakers.51 In
contrast, a literal English translation, Unveiling
before Notary, struck me as awkward and
clunky. On several occasions, Parenteau-Lebeuf
suggested that I simply use the title Unveiling;
however, I feel that “unveiling” and dévoilement
are not the same. To me, “unveiling” suggests
something light and joyful — a new automobile
revealed at a show, a painting displayed in a
gallery. While dévoilement can also have these
meanings, the “unveiling” that Parenteau-
Lebeuf writes about is more painful, involving
exposure. In English, veils are lifted — they
almost float off — so that what is underneath
can meet with another’s appreciation. In French
— or, at least, in Parenteau-Lebeuf’s work —
unveiling is violent: it is a slow, painful, yet
ultimately healthful process. For a time, I
considered using as title Deveiling — which
orthographically suggests “deveining,” ripping
veins out of something. In the end, I decided on
The Feminist’s Daughter, which does not
23
attempt to translate the title but rather uses the
subject matter as title in a straightforward and, I
hope, intriguing way.
“Closelaborating” did not mean that I sent
each line of translation to Parenteau-Lebeuf for
“approval.” In the first place, that would have
annoyed her. Second, it is impossible to do a
translation without some degree of autonomous
decision-making power. I did not second-guess
myself at every juncture. However, I did
approach Parenteau-Lebeuf with specific
translation challenges. I also sent her drafts for
comments. I had done the same thing with
“Pearloid C” and appreciated her comments.
The most important result of our working
together — as far as the translated text is
concerned — is that we formed a relationship
that helped me to understand better her play, her
other work, her culture, and her as an author.
Since I wanted to experience another’s
voice, I felt that “closelaboration” would help
me to do so. Levine describes vividly how she
felt when she entered into collaboration with
Guillermo Infante Cabrera:
I was the willing apprentice of Count
Dracula Infante, ready to tread upon his
dread Transylvania … to follow him
unfaithfully … into that dimension of the
Living Dead, the world of writing.52
Garayta finds this passage especially disturbing
from a feminist perspective, as it recreates a
male-dominant/female-subservient relationship:
“Levine casts the author as mentor, teacher, and
figure of authority, and herself as the uninitiated
student and follower, or perhaps apprentice-
learner.”53 While I appreciate Garayta’s critique
of Levine’s re-inscription of patriarchy through
“closelaboration,” I am intrigued by Levine’s
model for my own work — even by the idea of
being Parenteau-Lebeuf’s “apprentice.” In our
case, the genders are reversed and patriarchy
troubled. This troubling adds yet another
feminist dimension to my project.
24 Translation Review
Conclusion: Translation and “Theory”
(with a Capital “T”)
In this essay, I have outlined three simple
techniques for engaging in feminist translation:
1. Describe the translation process in detail
in supplementary materials.
2. Attend carefully to words that are
gendered.
3. When possible, collaborate with the
playwright.
The first point is especially important, in that, by
supplementing, one both interprets and makes
one’s interpretation known. By using these
methods, I believe that I was able to create
translations of Parenteau-Lebeuf’s plays that do
justice to her language and the views on
(post)feminism represented in her texts.
In conclusion, far from being unamenable
to the concerns of translation, feminist theory is
necessary in some cases. As I have laid them
out, feminist translation methods provide a way
to understand the “interpreting” component of
translation. Although these methods may not be
appropriate for every source text, they certainly
can be useful.
I mentioned earlier in this article that many
translators distrust the motives of feminist
translation and do not see the need for it. I
believe that the objection can be traced to an
antagonism that many writers feel for “Theory.”
I have much experience with those who, like
translators, identify themselves as “writers.” All
too often, such individuals are fearful of
“theory,” as though it is a giant monster waiting
to suck up their “writerliness.” There remains
among many an unjustified fear that too much
thought destroys art, that the study of theory
poisons the font of creativity. In my view,
theory — feminist or otherwise — should not be
an object of wariness or dismay but rather one
of the translator’s tools.
Feminist translation theory can be useful
when working on texts identified as “feminist.” I
urge my fellow translators to take a closer look
at this body of work and to see what is useful.
Theories, like feminist translation theory, may
well help better to define the nature of
interpretation.
 Notes
1
Sherry Simon, Gender in Translation: Cultural
Identity and the Politics of Transmission
(London: Routledge, 1996); Luise von Flotow,
Translation and Gender: Translating in the
“Era of Feminism” (Manchester, U.K.: St.
Jerome, 1997). Simon and von Flotow explore
the interconnections of gender and translation
praxis. Both authors are inspiring because of the
enormity of their scope. Rather than limiting
discussion to one specific “method,” they cover
a wide range of topics including the
recovery/discovery of female voices through
translation, the revaluing of the contributions of
female translators past and present, feminist re-
envisionings of translation metaphorics, and the
feminist interventions of certain translators.
2
One example of this particular kind of
scholarship is Anton Pujol’s article that
appeared recently in the Translation Review
(Anton Pujol, “Middlesex and the Translation of
Amiguity,” Translation Review 71 (2006): 31–
36). Though Pujol does not use the term
“feminist translation,” he attends to gender
through his comparison of several translation of
Jeffrey Eugenides’s Middlesex. The novel’s
intersex protagonist posed challenges when
translated into various Romance languages.
Other examinations of gender in published
translations include Wendy Rosslyn’s
comparison of how women are differently
presented in two translations of Anna
Akhmatova’s Rekviem; and Myriam Díaz-
Diocaretz’s account of how she handled the
pronouns in Adrienne Rich’s work, so that the
lesbian-centeredness of the poetry was not lost
in translation to Spanish (Wendy Rosslyn,
“Gender in Translation: Lowell and Cixous
Rewriting Akhmatova,” in Gender andSexuality
in Russian Civilization, ed. Peter I. Barta
(London: Routledge, 2001), 71–86; Myriam
Díaz-Diocaretz, Translating Poetic Discourse:
Questions on Feminist Strategies in Adrienne
Rich (Amsterdam: John Benjamins, 1985).
3 15
See Suzanne Jill Levine, The Subversive
Scribe: Translating Latin American Fiction (St.
Paul, MN: Graywolf, 1991); and Susanne de
Translation Review
Lotbinière-Harwood, Re-belle et infidèle: La
Traduction comme pratique de réécriture au
féminin / The Body Bilingual: Translation as a
Rewriting in the Feminine (Montréal: Remue-
ménage/Women’s Press, 1991).
4
Rainer Schulte, “Editorial: ‘In Other Words’:
The Interpretative Dialogue with the Text,”
Translation Review 27 (2006): 1–2.
5
Ibid, 1.
6
Ibid, 2.
7
Ibid, 1.
8
Susan Sontag, “Against Interpretation” in
Against Interpretation and Other Essays (New
York: Picador, 1966), 3–14.
9
Ibid, 5.
10
Ibid, 14.
11
Luise von Flotow, “Gender in Translation: The
Issues Go on,” Orees 2 (2002),
<http://orees.concordia.ca/numero2/essai/von%
20Flotow.html> (5 December 2006).
12
The project of “feminist translation” has been
the subject of criticism since its heyday. See M.
Rosario Martín, “Gender(ing) Theory:
Rethinking the Targets of Translation Studies in
Parallel with Recent Developments in
Feminism,” in Gender, Sex, and Translation:
The Manipulation of Identities, ed. José
Santaemilia (Manchester, U.K.: St. Jerome,
2005). According to Martín, critiques arise
because roots in “cultural feminism” keep the
field from being influenced by more recent
developments in gender theory. In Martín’s
view, feminist translation — especially its 1990s
Canadian form — is predicated on a male vs.
female binary that is no longer au courant.
Martín writes that Canadian scholarship has, “on
the whole [been] grounded in a universalized
definition of ‘women’ as generically oppressed
and opposed to males and their patriarchal
language and system” (35).
13
Luise von Flotow, quoted in Simon, 14.
14
Valerie Solanas, “SCUM (Society for Cutting
Up Men) Manifesto” in Radical Feminism: A
Documentary Reader, ed. Barbara A. Crow
(New York: New York UP, 2000), 201–222.
Ibid, 201.
16
von Flotow, Translation and Gender, 43.
17
Lotbinière-Harwood, 27.
25
18
Ibid., 30.
19
As one can see, my argument applies to
contemporary authors who are still living. These
authors, of course, maintain control over their
own work. It is true, however, that texts by non-
living authors may also be translated and, in
these cases, the author would not be able to
collaborate. I believe that this is a moot point,
since the dead authors who are translated are
usually widely known. If, for instance, one is
dealing with the legendary author Molière, then
even the most radical intervention does little to
“damage” Molière’s legacy, since his works are
already so familiar and available. It should also
be pointed out that the Canadian roots of
feminist translation become apparent with this
insistence on collaboration. Many Canadian
authors (especially contemporary Québécois
authors, such as Dominick Parenteau-Lebeuf,
whose work I translate) can speak, read, and
write in both French (source language) and
English (target language). Such circumstances
make collaboration much easier.
20
Martín, 36.
21
von Flotow, Translation and Gender, 41.
22
See Simon, 107, for a discussion of the
importance of textual “interference.” See also
Isabel Garayta, “‘Womanhandling’ the Text:
Feminism, Rewriting, and Translation,” (Ph.D.
diss., University of Texas at Austin, 1998), 126.
23
Illustrating the pitfalls of not supplementing,
Simon gives criticisms against the translator-
editors of the influential 1980 anthology New
French Feminisms, claiming that, because of a
lack of “notes or other visible signs of
‘interference’ … they reproduce conventional
attitudes toward language transfer,”
undermining the very texts that they translate.
(Simon, 107).
24
Simon, 7.
25
Ibid., 23.
26
Yvonna S. Lincoln and Egon G. Guba
Naturalistic Inquiry (Beverly Hills: Sage, 1985),
38, 161.
27
Ibid., 185.
28
von Flotow, Translation and Gender, 35.
26 Translation Review
29
Dominick Parenteau-Lebeuf biography,
CEAD: Catalogue des traductions des membres
du CEAD, <
http://www.cead.qc.ca/eng/repw3/parenteau-
lebeufdominick_eng.htm> 7 December 2006.
All of Parenteau-Lebeuf’s work is available in
French from Lansman, a Belgian publisher.
30
Paul C. Castagno, New Playwriting Strategies:
A Language-Based Approach to Playwriting
(New York: Theatre Arts, 2001), 3.
31
Ibid.
32
My translation of Dominick Parenteau-Lebeuf,
Dévoilement devant notaire (Carnières-
Morlanwelz, Belgium: Lansman, 2002).
33
Dominick Parenteau-Lebeuf, “Nacre C,” in
Filles de guerres lasses (Carnières-Morlanwelz,
Belgium: Lansman, 2005), 20–28. See also
David J. Eshelman, Review of Filles de guerres
lasses, Theatre Journal 58 (2006): 355–356.
34
Parenteau-Lebeuf, Dévoilement, 32.
35
All translations of Parenteau-Lebeuf’s work
are my own.
36
Lotbinière-Harwood, 95.
37
Ibid., 131.
38
Ibid., 124.
39
Nicole Brossard, Lovhers, trans. Barbara
Godard (Montreal: Guernica, 1986).
40
Paying careful attention to gendered words is
necessary so as not to rewrite a feminist text
within the dominant discourse of patriarchy.
Although many critics of feminist translation
fear the effects of “hijacking,” as I have
previously mentioned, feminist translation
scholars assert that “hijacking” occurs more
often of feminist texts by non-feminist
translators who ignore gendered elements. von
Flotow describes cases in which suspicion of
non-feminist translators appears to be merited.
She cites as an example Howard Parshley, the
translator of Simone de Beauvoir’s Le Deuxième
sexe, who leaves out ten percent of the French
original in his English translation, giving an
inaccurate picture of Beauvoir’s thought
(Translation and Gender, 49). Recounting
similar abuse by a translator, Wendy Rosslyn
describes the many liberties taken by Robert
Lowell in his English translation of Anna
Akhmatova’s Rekviem: Rosslyn points to places
 44
where Lowell’s translation “trivializes” the Ibid.
45
woman speaker, changing her speech rhythm to Ibid., 29
46
make her sound less stable (73); gives voice to Ibid., 32.
47
men who are voiceless in the original (74); and Garayta, 3.
48
lessens the solidarity of the women by replacing Simon, 16.
49
“we” with “I” or “they” (74). All of these Suzanne Jill Levine, The Subversive Scribe:
changes affect how the women in the poem are Translating Latin American Fiction (St. Paul,
read. Drawing attention to yet another instance Minn.: Graywolf, 1991), xiii.
50
of antifeminist “hijacking,” Lotbinière-Harwood These visits were thanks to grants from the
points to a specific passage from the Bible Working Group in Canadian Studies and the
where mention of a priestess is translated into Center for Arts and Humanities, both at the
French as “quelqu’un qui se tient au centre” University of Missouri-Columbia, and thanks to
(19). Since “quelqu’un” is masculine, the contributions from the Arkansas Tech
translator has turned a priestess into a priest. University Departments of English, Foreign
According to Lotbinière-Harwood, this act Languages, and Speech-Theatre-Journalism.
51
creates “a grammatical fiction,” “a slip in sense Dominick Parenteau-Lebeuf, “RE: first draft
— from gynocentric to phallocentric” (17, fini,” 16 December 2005, personal e-mail (16
translation mine). December 2005).
41 52
Ibid., 40, emphasis mine. Levine, xi.
42 53
Ibid., 30, emphasis mine. Garayta, 78.
43
Ibid.

Translation Review 27