Translated Literature - Blog Posts

I was discussing with a friend about the translation choice for The Fellowship of the Ring in French. In the first translation, the translator Francis Ledoux uses ‘communauté’ for ‘fellowship’, in the meaning of ‘a group of people united by a common goal or shared traditions’*. This is almost exactly the same definition the online Cambridge dictionary** gives for ‘fellowship’. However, ‘fellowship’ has another meaning, a little outdated, that keeps the idea of a shared goal or interest but with the added nuance of a bond of friendship formed over this goal.

And that’s where the new French translation comes in, with the title La Fraternité de l’Anneau instead of La Communauté de l’Anneau. Daniel Lauzon chose ‘fraternité’ for fellowship, meaning ‘the bond between people within a same group, working toward a same goal’*** There is an outdated and specific use for ‘fraternité’ in the context of a medieval, feudal society, to design the bond between knights who swore to protect each other in battle and always fight for the same cause. And knowing just how much Tolkien was influenced by the Middle Ages for his universe, this seemingly trivial difference of translation has me foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog. Because it means the translator, Daniel Lauzon in this case, really took the time to study and look for the exact nuance of a word to best render the idea of The Fellowship of the Ring in the translated title of the book. This is so in line with Tolkien’s love for languages and words, I am over the moon.

There is a big debate amongst French speaking Tolkien fans about old vs new translation but I am a hardcore defender of Daniel Lauzon’s translations of The Lord of the Rings because it’s the one that made me fall in love with Tolkien’s style and poetry even though it was not the original version, and that’s a feat. It’s not perfect, no translation is ever perfect, but it had this feeling of deliberate choice for each word to best render the multiple meanings of a sentence or poem. Francis Ledoux’s translation feels too dry and artificial to me, even though I love how he translated Strider by Grand-Pas, or ‘Big-Steps’

* https://www.larousse.fr/dictionnaires/francais/communaut%C3%A9/17551

** https://dictionary.cambridge.org/dictionary/english/fellowship

*** https://www.larousse.fr/dictionnaires/francais/fraternit%C3%A9/35113

Aurora (Arshaluys) Mardiganyan was just 14 when the sky collapsed on her head. In 1915, as the Armenian Genocide began, her village was torn apart by turkish soldiers. She watched as her father, her brothers and all the men in her family were dragged away and murdered. The women and children, including Aurora, were spared only to be marched into the desert—a death sentence of a different kind.

The march was relentless. Day after day, Aurora trudged through the searing heat, surrounded by the dying and the dead. There was no food, no water—just the constant, gnawing hunger, thirst and sexual mutilation. Those who fell behind were shot or left to die under the unrelenting sun. Aurora witnessed countless mothers cradling their dying children, their bodies wasting away before her eyes. The air was thick with the stench of death, and the ground was littered with the bodies of her people, unburied, forgotten.

According to her story, the turkish soldiers decided to nail the 17 girls of her village in the group to crosses—in a grotesque parody of their Christian faith, but they miscounted and only constructed 16 crosses; Aurora was the lucky one who was not crucified.

She endured much, being sold into a harem as a teen, for 85 cents. She was beaten, assaulted and dehumanized in ways no child should ever endure. Aurora’s spirit was broken over and over again, yet somehow, she survived.

When she finally escaped, Aurora found her way to the United States, carrying the weight of what she had witnessed. She was alone, orphaned by genocide, but she was determined to tell the world what had happened. Her story, Ravished Armenia, recounted the horrors in graphic detail—images too painful for most to even imagine. But for Aurora, they were not just stories; they were the memories that haunted her every day.

She agreed to relive her trauma once more, acting in the film Auction of Souls, where she portrayed her own suffering and the atrocities she had witnessed. But even then, Aurora was exploited. The people behind the film saw her pain as a commodity, and she was never properly compensated. She gave everything—her story, her dignity, her voice—but received little in return.

In the early 1930s, both the book and the film faded from the public’s attention. The sudden and complete silencing of the film had two explanations: the growing U.S.-turkey alliances, and an agreement between Hollywood and Germany. Aurora had written about being raped by a roving gang of german soldiers in turkey before being sold into a harem

The film that was supposed to tell her story was lost, leaving behind only fragments, just like the memory of the millions of Armenians who were massacred.

Here you can find Aurora Mardiganyan's book, "RAVISHED ARMENIA".

Walking with the Wind, Abbas Kiarostami (translated by Michael Beard)

“Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth.”

Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky