STRATEGIES OF DEALING WITH CULTURAL GAPS AND TRANSLATION LOSS

Cultural Transposition Levels

the principle of equivalent effect. In a nutshell, this principle stipulates that the TT should produce ‘the same’ effects
on its audience as those produced by the ST on its original readers.

“But it is much more realistic to start by admitting that the transfer of meaning from ST to TT necessarily involves a
certain degree of translation loss; that is, a TT will always lack certain culturally relevant features that are present in
the ST. Once one accepts the concept of inevitable translation loss, a TT that is not, in all important respects, a
replica of its ST is not a theoretical anomaly, and the translator can concentrate on the realistic aim of cutting down
on translation loss, rather than the unrealistic one of seeking the ultimate translation of the ST.”
e.g. chior/blind in one eye

Hervey and Higgins (1992) establish a scale of cultural transposition, described as a “cover-term for the various
degrees of departure from literal translation that one may resort to in the process of transferring the contents of a
source text into the context of the target culture.” (Hervey & Higgins, 1992: 132). Their paradigm goes from
exoticism to cultural transplantation, passing through cultural borrowing, calque and communicative translation:

Hervey and Higgins’ Generalization

exoticism cultural borrowing calque communicative translation cultural transposition

This generalization makes use of concepts that need to be explained below:

- exoticism – is the actual grafting of linguistic and cultural features from the source of language/culture,
with only a minimal adaptation, constantly drawing attention on the cultural strangeness of the original, and
has the disadvantage that it produces on the target language readers an effect that the original would not
produce on native speakers;

- cultural borrowing – is the verbatim transfer of a source language expression into a resulted text, in the
cases in which the textual context suffices to make its meaning clear – and many of these expressions
gradually pass into the target language and are not even perceived as foreign any more (such is the case
with words like ‘tableau’ or ‘taboo’ or ‘menage’) in so much that the translator doesn’t have much choice
but to use this type of cultural transposition or risk extreme awkwardness;

- calque – supposes the exact rendering of the source language structure in an expression which is
unidiomatic in the target language; since it is hard to understand or even unrecognizable as such by the vast
majority of the readers, it should only be used when there are very strong reasons for maintaining the
original structure or words;

- communicative translation – contrasts with cultural borrowing and is mostly used for translating proverbs,
sayings, idioms a.s.o. This is not usually made necessary by the fact that the aforementioned expressions
would cause almost no reader of the source language to quirk an eyebrow, while the use of a literal
translation would puzzle target text readers, even in the unlikely event that they recognized the origin of the
resulted expression. In the odd case when it is necessary to keep the words and structure of the original
idiom, one solution would be to discretely signal the fact by introducing a short ‘as the saying goes’, ‘you
know what they say’, etc. Still, since most such expressions have long since lost their original denotative
meaning, one rarely needs to conserve them – a well-known example is the (very) British greeting formula
‘how do you do’.

- Cultural transplantation – is the very opposite of exoticism and is a radical measure supposing the moving
of the entire context in a setting more familiar to the target readership, either geographically or historically
closer; it is often used in the scripts of classical theatre plays staged by directors looking for a fresh outlook

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 on a theme that has already been repeated many times. Needless to say, this entails a full-scale upheaval of
the source text; in fact, it is arguable if the result is a translation at all.

Newmark (1988) also introduced some other strategies for dealing with cultural gaps:
1)Naturalization:
It is a strategy which transfers the SL word into TL text in its original form.
2)Couplet or triplet and quadruplet:
It is another technique adopted by the translator at the time of transferring, naturalizing or calques in order to avoid
any misunderstanding. According to Newmark, it is combination of several strategies, to be used in order to handle
one problem.
3)Neutralization:
This particular strategy is a kind of paraphrasing at the level of the word. If it were to happen at a higher level, it
would actually have been a paraphrase. When the SL item is generalized (neutralized), it is paraphrased with some
culture free words.
4)Descriptive and functional equivalent:
In the explanation of SL cultural items, there are two elements: descriptive and functional. The first one refers to
size, colour and composition, while the latter talks about the purpose of the SL culture-specific word.
5)Explanation as footnote:
In some cases, the translator may want to offer extra information to the TL reader. He can do this by inserting it in a
footnote. Although it is usually preferred that it is introduced at the bottom of the page, it may also be found at the
end of chapter or at the end of the book.
6)Cultural equivalent:
The SL culture-specific word is translated by a TL cultural word.
7)Compensation:
Compensation is a technique which is used when the translator is confronting a loss of meaning, sound effect,
pragmatic effect or metaphor in one part of a text. The particular word or concept is compensated in other part of the
text.

Translation Loss and Its Reverse: Compensation

As already explained by Newmark, and later on more extensively by Hervey and Higgins (1992), one of the
strategies a translator can employ in order to successfully deal with translation loss is the strategy aptly called
compensation. Defined as a frequent technique used by translators to reduce translation loss, compensation consists
of acknowledging the loss of some important ST textual features in the TT, and making up for their effects in the TT
by using other means than those employed in the ST.

Since the late 1980s, translation theorists have tried to address the issue of compensation more thoroughly,
as is the case with Hervey and Higgins’s attempt. They list four categories of compensation, as explained below:

1) Compensation in kind, by means of which a particular type of textual effect in the ST is recreated
in the TT by using different linguistic devices than those used in the ST. This type of compensation is often
employed in the translation of puns, like in the following example from the movie Le dîner de cons (The Dinner
Game), where one line of dialogue refers to a Château Lafitte that has just been adulterated with vinegar: Voilà. Le
gros Lafitte qui tache, translated as “There. Wino’s delight’ in English, the French line being a play on words
derived from the common phrase Le gros rouge qui tache, meaning ‘rough red wine”

2) Compensation in place, where a particular effect found in the ST is achieved at a different place in
the TT, as in the following example from Astérix the Gaul, where the translator had to recreate the subtle effects of
alliteration, assonance, and of the resemblance of the words ‘villes’ and ‘villages’: ‘Voilà ce que veulent dire les
viriles acclamations de nos villes et de nos villages, purgés enfin de l’ennemi’. (This is what the cheering means,
resounding through our towns and villages cleansed at last of the enemy).
3) Compensation by merging, which is used to condense ST features in the TT, as in the example
offered by Hervey and Higgins, which consists in the translation of the title of an article on fire-containment in
mines: ‘Amélioration des moyens de fermeture des enceintes à confiner en cas de feux ou incendies.’ (Improvements
in stopping-off methods used in the event of fire.)
4) Compensation by splitting, where the meanings of the ST are expanded in the TT so as to ensure
the rendering of subtle effects. Thus Hervey and Higgins discuss the splitting of French papillons into butterflies

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and moths in the English title of an article on lepidoptera (Hervey, Higgins 38), or the splitting of the Spanish el
toreo into ‘the art of bullfighting’, for cultural reasons, namely to remind that ‘bulfighting’ is more than a mere sport
or spectacle (Hervey, Higgins, Thinking Spanish Translation 32).
Every morning during our yearlong travels I had to
devise some expectation, some special point in space
and time for her to look forward to, for her to survive
till bedtime. Otherwise, deprived of a shaping and
sustaining purpose, the skeleton of her day sagged and
collapsed. The object in view might be anything—a
lighthouse in Virginia, a natural cave in Arkansas
converted to a café, a collection of guns and violins
somewhere in Oklahoma, a replica of the Grotto of
Lourdes in Louisiana, shabby photographs of the
bonanza mining period in the local museum of a Rocky
Mountains resort, anything whatsoever—but it had to
be there, in front of us, like a fixed star, although as
likely as not Lo would feign gagging as soon as we got
to it.
By putting the geography of the United States into
motion, I did my best for hours on end to give her the
impression of "going places," of rolling on to some
definite destination, to some unusual delight. I have
never seen such smooth amiable roads as those that now
radiated before us, across the crazy quilt of forty-eight
states. Voraciously we consumed those long highways,
in rapt silence we glided over their glossy black dance
floors. Not only had Lo no eye for scenery but she
furiously resented my calling her attention to this or
that enchanting detail of landscape; which I myself
learned to discern only after being exposed for quite a
time to the delicate beauty ever present in the margin of
our undeserving journey. By a paradox of pictorial
thought, the average lowland North-American
countryside had at first seemed to me something I
accepted with a shock of amused recognition because of
those painted oilclothes which were imported from
America in the old days to be hung above washstands in
Central-European nurseries, and which fascinated a
drowsy child at bed time with the rustic green views
they depicted—opaque curly trees, a barn, cattle, a
brook, the dull white of vague orchards in bloom, and
perhaps a stone fence or hills of greenish gouache. But
gradually the models of those elementary rusticities
became stranger and stranger to the eye, the nearer I
came to know them. Beyond the tilled plain, beyond the
toy roofs, there would be a slow suffusion of inutile
loveliness, a low sun in a platinum haze with a warm,
peeled-peach tinge pervading the upper edge of a two-
dimensional, dove-gray cloud fusing with the distant
amorous mist. There might be a line of spaced trees
silhouetted against the horizon, and hot still noons above
a wilderness of clover, and Claude Lorrain clouds
inscribed remotely into misty azure with only their
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M-am căznit, dimineață de dimineață, în timpul
călătoriilor noastre din anul acela, să născocesc o
perspectivă, punctul de atracție al zilei – plasat undeva
în spațiu și timp – care să o îmbie permițându-i să
supraviețuiască până la ora de culcare. Altminteri, în
lipsa unui scop care să o orienteze și să o susțină,
scheletul zilei ei se lăsa pe o parte și se prăbușea.
Punctul de atracție putea să fie un far în Virginia, o
peșteră naturală în Arkansas transformată în restaurant, o
colecție de pistoale și viori, undeva în Oklahoma, o
copie a grotei din Lourdes în Louisiana, fotografii
deteriorate din perioada goanei după aur în muzeul unei
stațiuni din Munții Stâncoși, sau orice alt lucru – însă
trebuia să strălucească permanent acolo, în fața noastră,
ca o stea fixă; și, cu toate acestea, de îndată ce ajungeam
acolo, Lo se prefăcea aproape întotdeauna că se simte
rău.
Punând geografia Statelor Unite la treabă, m-am
străduit din răsputeri, ore întregi, să-i dau impresia că
vizităm locuri interesante, că rulăm spre o destinație
precisă, spre o delectare ieșită din comun. N-am văzut
niciodată drumuri așa de netede, încântătoare, cum erau
cele care se întindeau în fața noastră, ca niște raze pe
cuvertura peticită a celor patruzeci și opt de state.
Înghițeam lacomi kilometrii autostrăzilor fără sfârșit,
extaziați și tăcuți alunecam pe podelele lor negre,
lustruite ca pentru dans. Din păcate pe Lo n-o interesau
peisajele, ba, mai mult, reacționa furioasă când
încercam să-i atrag atenția asupra detaliilor încântătoare
ale panoramei pe care eu însumi am învățat să le
descopăr de-abia după ce am absorbit o vreme,
inconștient, frumusețea delicată ce ne însoțea
permanent, cu discreție, călătoria noastră netrebnică.
Printr-un paradox al gândirii pictoriale am receptat
priveliștea regiunii depresionare nordamericane cu un
șoc – șocul recunoașterii amuzate – datorită
mușamalelor pictate ce se importau odinioară din
America, pentru a fi atârnate deasupra lavoarelor în
grădinițele de copii din Europa Centrală și care, la
vremea culcării, îl fascinau încă pe copilul somnoros cu
peisajul lor rustic și verde – arbori cârlionțați și opaci,
un hambar, vite, un pârâu, albul mat al unor nedeslușite
livezi în floare și, probabil, un gard din piatră și dealuri
de guașă verzuie. Însă reprezentările rustice primitive s-
au destrămat și s-au șters din amintirea mea pe măsură
ce cunoșteam de aproape peisajele autentice. Dincolo de
câmpia arată, dincolo de acoperișurile ca de jucărie,
percepeam o revărsare lentă de frumusețe inutilă,
soarele coborât aproape de linia orizontului, într-un abur
de platină cu o tușă caldă de piersică jupuită ce se
răspândea peste partea de sus a unui nor bidimensional
de culoarea porumbelului cenușiu, care se contopea cu
cumulus part conspicuous against the neutral swoon of
the background. Or again, it might be a stern El Greco
horizon, pregnant with inky rain, and a passing
glimpse of some mummy-necked farmer, and all around
alternating strips of quick-silverish water and harsh
green corn, the whole arrangement opening like a fan,
somewhere in Kansas.
Now and then, in the vastness of those plains,
huge trees would advance toward us to cluster self-
consciously by the roadside and provide a bit of
humanitarian shade above a picnic table, with sun flecks,
flattened paper cups, samaras and discarded ice-cream
sticks littering the brown ground. A great user of
roadside facilities, my unfastidious Lo would be
charmed by toilet signs—Guys-Gals, John-Jane, Jack-
Jill and even Buck's-Doe's; while lost in an artist's
dream, I would stare at the honest brightness of the
gasoline paraphernalia against the splendid green of
oaks, or at a distant hill scrambling out—scarred but
still untamed—from the wilderness of agriculture that
was trying to swallow it.
At night, tall trucks studded with colored
lights, like dreadful giant Christmas trees, loomed in the
darkness and thundered by the belated little sedan. And
again next day a thinly populated sky, losing its blue to
the heat, would melt overhead, and Lo would clamor for
a drink, and her cheeks would hollow vigorously over
the straw, and the car inside would be a furnace when
we got in again, and the road shimmered ahead, with a
remote car changing its shape mirage-like in the surface
glare, and seeming to hang for a moment, old-
fashionedly square and high, in the hot haze. And as we
pushed westward, patches of what the garage-man
called "sage brush" appeared, and then the mysterious
outlines of table-like hills, and then red bluffs ink-
blotted with junipers, and then a mountain range, dun
grading into blue, and blue into dream, and the desert
would meet us with a steady gale, dust, gray thorn
bushes, and hideous bits of tissue paper mimicking pale
flowers among the prickles of wind-tortured withered
stalks all along the highway; in the middle of which
there sometimes stood simple cows, immobilized in a
position (tail left, white eyelashes right) cutting across
all human rules of traffic.
(Vladimir Nabokov – Lolita)
pâcla senzuală și îndepărtată. Uneori apărea un șir de
copaci ale căror siluete se profilau pe cer în amieze
încremenite și fierbinți, deasupra unei întinderi de trifoi
pustii și norii Claude-Lorrain păreau gravați în
depărtare în azurul pâclos, doar partea lor de cumulus
fiind vizibilă pe fundalul extatic și neutru. Sau, alteori,
se vedea un orizont El Greco sever, saturat de ploaia
neagră ca cerneala și luminiscența fugace a vreunui
fermier cu gât de mumie și în jur alterna argintul viu al
apei cu verdele zgrunțuros al porumbului, iar întregul
aranjament se deschidea ca un evantai undeva în Kansas.
Din când în când, pe imensitatea acelor câmpii, arbori
uriași înaintau spre noi și se strângeau în pâlcuri,
sfioși, pe marginea șoselei, pentru a oferi o fărâmă de
umbră umanitară deasupra unei mese de picnic, cu pete
de soare, pahare aplatizate din hârtie, ghindă și bețe de
înghețată împrăștiate pe pământul cafeniu. Modesta
mea Lo, care frecventa asiduu grupurile sanitare de la
locurile de popas, se delecta cu plăcuțele de la toalete –
Băieți – Fete, John – Jane, Jack – Jill și chiar „Pentru
Cerbi” – „Pentru Căprioare”; în timp ce eu, pierdut
într-o reverie de artist, contemplam strălucirea autentică
a pompelor de benzină proiectate pe verdele splendid al
stejarilor sau un deal îndepărtat ce se zbătea speriat, dar
încă neîmblânzit – încercând să se smulgă din
întinderile searbede ale agriculturii care voiau să îl
înghită.
Toată noaptea camioane înalte, împodobite cu lumini
colorate ca niște uriași și înspăimântători pomi de
Crăciun, se iveau din beznă și treceau ca fulgerul pe
lângă micul Sedan întârziat. Și, din nou, în ziua
următoare, cerul aproape gol, cu azurul dizolvat de
căldură, se topea peste creștetele noastre și Lo spunea
zgomotos că îi e sete și obrajii i se scobeau când sorbea
energic cu paiul și interiorul mașinii părea un adevărat
furnal când ne urcam din nou în ea și drumul lucea în
fața noastră, iar în depărtare, asemenea mirajului, o
mașină își schimba forma pe suprafața orbitoare și
rămânea o clipă suspendată parcă – pătrățoasă,
demodată – în înaltul pâclei fierbinți. În timp ce ne
îndreptam spre vest începeau să se ivească petice
acoperite cu o plantă pe care oamenii de la service o
numeau „salvie” și apoi, pe rând, contururile misterioase
ale dealurilor de eroziune, surpăturile roșii pătate de
negrul ienuperilor, un lanț muntos, cenușiul-cafeniu
devenind treptat albastru și albastrul devenind vis.
Deșertul ne întâmpina cu vânturi puternice, neostoite,
cu pulbere și mărăciniș cenușiu și oribile bucăți de
hârtie, parodii ale unor flori palide, rătăcite printre
spinii tulpinelor uscate, chinuite de vânt de pe marginea
șoselei în mijlocul căreia stăteau uneori vaci inocente,
încremenite într-o poziție (coada spre stânga, genele albe
spre dreapta), ce se puneau de-a curmezișul tuturor
regulilor umane de circulație. (tr. Horia Popescu, Ed.
Universal Dalsi, 1994)