Moving

Hi Everyone!
I'm moving to LanguageDigger.com - stop by for new articles and photos of Russia!
-Elizabeth

Wednesday Photo

Maria Avetisian

This week's photo matches the mood around here perfectly - we're all down with the flu, the weather's cold and rainy, and spring seems like something that only happens to other people.

What you're looking at is площадь Калинина (Kalinin Square) in Korolev. Several years ago on a snowy New Year's day I watched my son and nephew ride stocky little ponies around this square. There was at least a foot of new snow on the ground and the city was absolutely silent after the big holiday night. The boys both held tight to the ponies' manes and looked down to keep the soft snowflakes out of their eyes. It was a memorable end to a memorable holiday,

Wednesday Photo

Maria Avetisian

This is a view of one of my favorite routes for cross-country skiing along the edge of Losiny Ostrov. I've never run into a real, live moose while skiing there, but I've seen plenty of tracks!

The Wall

There's a wall you hit sometimes in online research. Most of the translation research I do on the internet is pretty straightforward - checking proper names, verifying financial terms, looking up patents to harvest industry vocabulary. But if the information you need doesn't have a commercial angle or an enthusiastic fan base, soon you come to the place where the sidewalk ends.

I've had a little internet research project cooking on the back burner for a couple of years now. I want to know where the Russian word гуталин (goo-ta-LEEN, an old-fashioned word for shoe polish) comes from. Tracking down the etymologies of words borrowed into Russian in earlier generations is not the kind of hobby that will get me invited to lunch at the White House, but it satisfies a curiosity that I’m sure other translators understand.

So… I poked around in all sorts of places and found out that a material called guttaline was patented in the 1890s. The journal I found it in described it as a synthetic substitute for rubber (check it out, the recipe's a doozy). But there the trail ended, as if the inventors patented it and then forgot about it. My husband, who is both an engineer and a sympathetic listener, heard me out recently and said, "There's nothing on it because it was a dud." Why so? "Because there weren't any successful synthetic rubbers until after WWI." I looked it up. He's right. But here's an idea: if guttaline was a flop as a synthetic rubber, could it have proven to be a fair shoe polish? Accidental inventions happen all the time.

Sources on the Russian internet lean toward a German etymology because the first two syllables sound like gute, or good, in German. This feels like a false friend to me, but I can't put my finger on why. 

When you find yourself going in circles and not finding anything new in an internet search, here's a tip: try an image search. I did a search for гуталин in Yandex images and came up with a bunch of funny photos of little kids with shoe polish all over them. And then there was this:

This gives me a brand name - Альберта Закса - and some other information to check. Better yet, when you open an image in Yandex it gives you links to all the places where you can find the image online. I can't wait to find out where this new information will lead!

Wednesday Photo

Russian street cats have wonderful body language. These two are doing something more confident than a slink and less aggressive than a prowl. My own cat - a proud stray from Korolev - walks like this when he follows me to the park. Our neighbors here in the U.S. laugh when they see us go by, me out in front and the cat stalking along behind me from parked car to trash can to mail box. I'm not sure whether he follows me because he wants to go to the park or because he likes to know what I'm doing. Either way, he gets noticed a little more than he probably wants.

Wednesday Photo

Maria Avetisyan

I love this photo of a Russian playground, looking through a wrought iron fence and with the winking lights of apartments in the background. 

Wednesday Photo

Andy Kartashov (Creative Commons Attribution 3.0 Unported)

I thought it would be fun to start a tradition of sharing photos of Russia every week. On Wednesdays I'll put up something I enjoy looking at on the off chance that you'll enjoy it too. 

This building is the Narzan Baths in Kislovodsk, a resort town in southern Russia. Kislovodsk also happens to be the place my husband and I spent our honeymoon back in the day! Good memories. We were there in early September and the local market was amazing every morning - amber honeycomb, thick sour cream, sweet figs, spicy ajika. We ate a lot of sandwiches that were random combinations of things we found at the market.

Translating with Baby

Wow, being back at work with a tiny little baby is a challenge! It was hard when I did it the first time eight years ago and it's still hard today. But in some ways, working fast during those precious naps clarifies the mind. I've also found a few other benefits:

1. I've been forced to upgrade my technology (if you know me in real life, you know that only something momentous like a baby can make me do that). My hands hurt from hauling around a wiggly girl, so I bought an iPad and have started dictating translations using Siri. Oh my goodness, Siri is one smart app! But as I mentioned last year, I've had to face the fact that I don't think in straight lines when translating. Old habits are hard to break, but I'm optimistic about dictation for certain types of work.

2. Did you know that breastfeeding is good for your mind? In those first months, I plowed through dozens of books - thick classics I'd been meaning to read since college - while breastfeeding my baby. I've also gotten a lot of professional reading done, including articles and a couple of new books on finance and the stock market.

3. This is an intangible, but I feel smarter overall. Having a baby in the house means you're always on your toes and constantly multitasking. If there was a multitasking muscle, right now I bet I could get mine on the cover of some bodybuilding magazine! Here's an example: I just translated a power of attorney while listening to a presentation by Marian Greenfield and knitting a sweater for the baby that inspired this post. Not too shabby.

Anyone else feel like your kids make you smarter?  

Flying Carpet

Here is a closeup of a nice handwoven rug I just bought. I hope you can see the airplanes! Does this make it a ковер-самолет? My son certainly thinks so.

Tired Hands, Reading Backwards

I love translating, but my hands get very tired most days. Each particular task comes with its own ache - the first two fingers on my right hand burn after a day of time coding subtitles, my left wrist gives out on me after a couple of hours of fast typing, and the space between my right thumb and forefinger gets sore when I use the mouse to edit. And for a hobby, well, I knit!

Since I want to keep working for many, many years these aches and pains are starting to worry me. I've already tried the fancy ergonomic keyboard. It didn't help. Other translators swear by speech recognition software. I'm kind of a technophobe, so I've put off investigating this possible solution. But I noticed the free Dragon Dictation app in iTunes the other week and decided to give it a spin.

Two observations: 1. The software works surprisingly well. 2. I don't like dictating translations.

Working with Dragon Dictation has made me realize how deeply ingrained my translation habits are. When I look at a chunk of Russian text, I start typing words that I think may be useful in the translation. Not always in order. Then I use shortcut keys to run back and forth between the words, rearranging them and adding new information. To an observer, it probably looks like I'm playing a strange version of the shell game. If I want to use dictation software, I'll have to form complete sentences in my head and then read them aloud. That's doable, but it won't be easy.

I do have one trick up my sleeve, though. When I'm in a big hurry, I do what I call "reading backwards." Longer Russian sentences tend to organize their information "backwards," putting the new or important information at the end. English puts new or important information at the beginning of sentences. So I read each Russian sentence backwards and type it out in English as I read. This works surprisingly well, and it may be a good technique to combine with dictation to save my poor hands some pain.

О шерифах и ментах

Наконец-то решила заняться шерифом. Почему? Потому, что меня часто спрашивают, чем этот шериф отличается от state trooper или police. Попробую ответить коротко.

Шериф появился раньше всех в истории правоохранительных структур в Америке. Власти в Англии назначали шерифов, чтобы следить за порядком и собирать налоги в колониях. После революции, должность шерифа продолжала существовать без особых изменений. В случае надобности, шериф мог призывать местных жителей на облаву преступника, но шерифские будни протекали иначе - содержанием тюрьмы, организацией выборов и собиранием налогов. Такая общая административная работа.

State troopers и police - структуры более современные. Бостон создал первый городской police department в 1838 г. State troopers (они же и Highway Patrol) появились уже в 20-м веке. Должностные инструкции у них бывают разные, в зависимости от штата, но как правило state troopers занимаются движением на трассах и личной безопасностью губернатора, а police просто ловят преступников в черте своего города.

В больших городах, старый шериф теперь всего лишь доставляет подозреваемых из jail в courthouse и обратно. В глухих местах, шериф и его помощники патрулируют за чертой городков и населенных пунктов.

Если есть еще вопросы, пишите!

The Snake Eaters

Hedgehogs are blessed with wonderfully descriptive names in every language. The English name brings to mind a little animal snuffling around under bushes. In German, they are called igel, from an Old Teutonic word for "prickly." In Russian, a hedgehog is a ёж (yozh). I couldn't think what the root would be offhand, so I decided to look it up for fun.

According to Vassmer, the name ёж is like the name медведь (med-VED', "bear") because it is a cyper, in this case meaning "snake eater."

If you look at the Vassmer entry on ёж you, too, may notice something I found strange at first. He says that the Russian name for hedgehog also gave us the word for blackberry - ежевика (ye-zhe-VEE-ka), a spiny hedge if I ever met one! Perhaps hedgehogs got their English name not because they waddle around under bushes, but because they are spiny like hedges.

Thinking about spiny hedges reminded me of the Czech hedgehog, an anti-tank obstacle from WWII.

In parting, here is a Russian hedgehog doing what all Russian hedgehogs are supposed to do when no one is looking - carrying mushrooms on his quills:

More Reading

I had a bit of a lull in late November and got some reading done. I'd been looking forward to stepping back from the actual work of translation and reading about why it's so important (not that I need convincing, mind).

Even though I've been a translator for 12 years now, something about Why Translation Matters made me feel like I was on the outside looking in. Much of the discussion is on academic issues - Should students be allowed to read translated literature at university? Why do literary critics give translators the cold shoulder? - that don't really get my blood pumping.

On the other hand, I did enjoy Grossman's plucky attempt to define good literary translation and her discussion of all the ways linguistic insularity hurts us as a culture. One particular sentence stuck with me:

"In short, there seems to be overwhelming evidence to the effect that if you wish to earn your living as a writer, your works must be translated into English regardless of your native language."

That's a huge obstacle for most, if not all, young authors and authors from small countries. Since I am so often approached by authors looking to have their manuscripts translated into English, let me share the advice I give them:

1. If you're still looking for an agent, don't get your whole book translated right away. Most agents only want to see a summary plus a chapter or two. You can get the rest of the book translated after you have a lead.

2. Get your translator to help you write a good pitch letter to go along with the synopsis you send out to prospective agents.

3. Only proposition agents who say they handle international fiction.

4. Think about submitting translated short stories to magazines that publish fiction before trying to shop a big novel.

5. If you're unfamiliar with the U.S. publishing industry, invest in a book like Writer's Market to find out what publishers might want to see your work.

Black Bread

Like black bread? Me, too.

Thinly sliced black bread with butter and caviar. Black bread with a piece of sheep's milk cheese and sprigs of green onion. Black bread spread with thick buckwheat honey.

I'm intrigued as to why English recipes for Russian black bread always include things like molasses, cocoa and espresso powder. While black bread goes WITH lots of things, not many things go IN it - the recipe for real Russian black bread is utter simplicity.

My personal favorite is a bread called Darnitsky. Called "gray bread" in Russian, the only ingredients in Darnitsky are whole rye flour, wheat flour, salt, water and yeast. When you cut it open it is gray and soft inside and has small, evenly spaced holes.

My next favorite is Borodinsky. This is a dark rye whose dry ingredients are limited to rye flour, whole wheat flour and rye malt. A small dollop of molasses is added with the salt and yeast, and each loaf is topped with aromatic coriander seeds. Borodinsky is a dense bread that makes excellent garlic croutons.

An important thing to understand about Russian food is that most of it is highly regulated by state standards called GOSTs. All bread labeled Borodinsky must contain 80% whole rye flour, 15% whole wheat flour and 5% malted rye. A Reinheitsgebot for bread, if you will.

You can put cocoa and grated lemon in your rye bread if you want, but the Russian government's official position is that such additives are nonsense. And most of the bread-eating public seems to agree. Expensive hearth-style breads with creative ingredients (and without the GOST stamp of approval) are starting to appear in upscale supermarkets, but the majority raises an eyebrow and buys traditional bread.

Bread lovers in Russia will tell you that where you buy your bread is just as important as the GOST stamp. The best bread comes from bread factory stores.

When I'm in Korolev, I go to Freshest Bread (in the photo), the store operated by the local bread factory, Kaliningradkhleb. According to the factory's official history, it was once part of a chain that belonged to the legendary Moscow baker Ivan Filippov. Nationalized and then privatized (or re-privatized?), the bakery is still there, and its bread is supremely good.

Good Food

Russian Cuisine in Exile, by Pyotr Vail and Alexandr Genis

I bought this book many years ago in a basement book store somewhere in Moscow, but it wasn't until quite recently that I was able to appreciate it. I think I had to go through years of trial and error in the kitchen followed by mother-in-law boot camp to be worthy of the wisdom Vail and Genis share in Russian Cuisine in Exile, namely: put the garlic in the soup after you've turned off the heat. You'll get more bite that way.

Gender and Language

Time for another reader question:

"I've always been curious about the cultural and psychological effects of an overtly "gendered" language, i.e., having to conjugate verbs and decline words specific to the speaker's or subject's gender. (In English, I could write a whole blog in the first person and nobody would know I was a woman, for example. In Russian, I'd have to "lie" with my grammar.) What do you make of this?

Good question. It seems very intuitive that gendered languages would reveal something about how people think about the objects or individuals they apply those grammatical genders to. However, gendered languages don't universally apply grammatical gender based on actual or even symbolic gender. Using Russian as an example, is there anything feminine about a digital camera or masculine about a suitcase? (I've always shied away from symbol-hunting, but I won't stop you if that's your thing.)

But could it work the other way around? What if - instead of us imposing our gender concepts on our languages - our languages are sneakily imposing a point of view on us? The official answer is no. Very few linguists today believe that people's feelings about actual gender are affected by their language's use of grammatical gender. English has practically no grammatical use for gender, while Russian, Spanish and lots of other languages do, but you wouldn't say that Russian and Spanish people are more strongly attached to or bound by their living, breathing, human genders than English speakers are, would you? What about the Finn who calls his son "it" and his daughter "it," as well? I know for a fact that lots of little Finnish girls like Disney princesses, so their language has not hobbled or empowered them. Yet.

And here's a few workarounds for writing a blog in Russian without revealing your gender:

1. Use the plural pronoun "we."

2. Use lots of passive constructions - It seemed to me instead of I thought (since the past tense of the verb would reveal your gender in Russian)

3. Switch maddeningly back and forth between genders

Love and the Translator

I got a question from a reader today asking if I knew anything about the Russian bride phenomenon. She wanted to know if it's true that lots of Russian women go to great trouble and expense to marry American men and if I'd ever encountered these brides in my translation business.

Honestly, it's much easier for me to talk about the second part of the question, so I'll start there.

I occasionally do phone interpreting for an immigration attorney who helps international fiancées prepare for visa interviews at the U.S. embassy. Most of the time I do written translations sitting alone at a computer, so it's always a stretch to do interpreting, which requires faster reactions and listening closely to a conversation over a poor connection. However, these conversations are fairly scripted and I've come to learn what to expect.

Sometimes this attorney refers me to men who would like me to interpret personal calls with their fiancées. This is harder, and I always review my interpreter code of conduct before making each call:

Rule 1. Interpret everything without editing. No matter what (and I do mean no matter what), the interpreter has to relay everything both parties say. These two folks are planning to get married, so communication is vital.

Rule 1a. Keep your kids out of the room while you're interpreting (see above). Learned this one the hard way.

Rule 2. Speak in the first person (don't use "he says/she says" constructions). The idea is to let the parties feel that they are speaking to each other instead of talking to the interpreter.

Rule 3. Introduce yourself to the fiancée before getting started. I like to make it clear that I work with the attorney and am in no way personally acquainted with the man. This is also an opportunity to explain Rules 1 and 2 so that everybody's on the same page.

Of the three, Rule 2 is definitely the hardest for me. I'm naturally a shy person and don't always like to mirror other people's tender emotions.

Now for the first part of the question: do lots of Russian women really put themselves out there on the internet to find American husbands? I suppose they do. Like all of us, I only know the people I know, so my insight is pretty limited. Now that the Russian economy has picked up considerably over the 1990s, my sense is that most "Russian" brides are actually from Ukraine and Kazakhstan.

But it's a fact that lots of younger Russian women complain about the male sense of entitlement and wonder if men in other countries might not be more fair and enlightened. Case in point: some women I know were recently cheering on Bozhena Rynska, a TV journalist who was so disgusted when a drunk photographer groped her at a gathering that she tasered him. He responded by punching her in the face. The police get to sort that one out.

Just imagine interpreting for Ms. Rynska as she interviews potential husband candidates - yikes!

Бисквит

Until recently бисквит (beesk-VEET, sponge cake) was a mystery to me. Store-bought cakes in Russia tend to aim for mile-high showiness and are overly flavored on the inside with liqueurs or syrups, but good homemade бисквит is a treat. If it's done right, you can eat a lot of it without feeling physically or morally compromised.

For some reason my usual approach (pestering people in their kitchens) didn't help me master бисквит. Finally I found a recipe that spells out in detail what the eggs and sugar should look like at each stage and how exactly to fold in the (sifted!) flour. The little individual cakes in the picture will be the foundation for strawberry shortcakes with whipped cream.

Here's another idea: my mother-in-law makes her бисквит in a round pan, slices the finished cake into two layers, puts sliced bananas and custard between the layers, slathers it all with chilled custard, and decorates the top with sliced kiwi and pomegranate seeds. Then she chills the cake before serving. For some reason this dessert reminds me of the banana pudding of my childhood. Or maybe that early banana pudding was reminding me of something wonderful I wouldn't get to try until much later.

The Russian word бисквит is obviously borrowed from French or Italian, and according to my etymological dictionary Bulgarian, Polish and Czech all use a form of the same word. The earliest use of the word in the Russian National Corpus dates to 1783: a Mr. Novikov explaining what desserts are appropriate for little ones in his "On the Rearing and Instruction of Children."

Flying Contraptions

What do you call airplanes in your language? The Russian for airplane is самолет (sa-ma-LYOT), or "flies on its own." The cool thing is that the word is actually older than the Wright brothers or Alexander Mozhaisky.

Originally самолет could mean anything zipping along under its own power. In fairy tales, the flying carpet was a ковер-самолет (ko-VYOR sa-ma-LYOT). Speedy ferries on Russian rivers were called самолеты. In the early years of aviation, Russians did use the word aeroplane, but eventually the word самолет achieved a monopoly over the flying contraptions, and vice-versa. Interestingly, Russian directly borrows the words "airport" and "aerodrome" instead of creating something out of the word самолет.

Losing My Mind

I spent a good three minutes looking at a completely new word the other day. It was at the end of a marketing text, and I couldn't for the life of me figure out what it meant. Ретвитните (retvitnitye). The root was a mysterious "tvit." The prefix means to do the "tvit" again. The suffix means that it's an imperative.

And then it dawned on me - "tvit" means "tweet!" The text is asking you to retweet an announcement (on Twitter). A Yandex search turned up lots of ретвитните, плз (retvitnite, plz), which means "retweet this, please."