Giving Birth to Maryam Again
Each time a book comes into the world, it feels like giving birth to a child. Translating a book, however, feels more like giving birth through a caesarean section. The process may have a more defined outcome, but it is somehow no less frightening—or exciting.
Translation always has a character of its own. It becomes a work, and a product, in its own right. Each time I choose to translate myself, I find myself caught in the familiar dilemma between the translator and the writer. It usually takes me some time to remember that, in this case, the translator and the writer are the same person—and that I am allowed to take liberties with my own words.
While translating On the Trail of Maryam, I was especially worried about returning to the novel’s most stressful moments. These were scenes that had always been extremely difficult for me to move beyond. I realised again how much tension and heaviness the characters carry and, unbelievably, encountering them in English did not make them any easier to bear.
There is so much weight in these characters that I find it difficult to disconnect from them. More than once, I had to remind myself that I was the writer, that I had created them, and that they were not real.
And yet, as I touched the book and held it in my hands as a physical object in the world, I was not entirely convinced.
I could not help thinking of the beautiful time I spent at Château de Lavigny, which gave me the rare space to breathe and to work on the manuscript with the quiet, concentration, and care it needed.
And, of course, I thought of Abdel Hadi at Al Nasher, who always welcomes my “children” and gives them a place on the shelf.