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Celebrating the Unsung Heroes of Literature: An Interview with Korean Literary Translators scrap download

한국 문학의 숨은 영웅들을 위해: 한국 문학 번역가와의 인터뷰

International Translation Day (September 30) is a global day to commemorate and reflect on the significance of translation and the role of translators. It’s thanks to translators that stories written in one language can be read on the opposite side of the world, allowing people across cultures to communicate and understand each other.


To mark this special day, KLWAVE is making a modest effort to highlight the often-overlooked work of translators. Korean literature has been able to reach a wider global audience thanks to translators who break down language and cultural barriers, carrying stories to all corners of the world.


To gain a deeper understanding of the complexities and challenges of literary translation, we’ve interviewed seven renowned translators: Anton Hur (English), Joo Hasun (Spanish), Han Yumi (French), Jan Henrik Dirks (German), Jeong Insoon (Russian), Kang Banghwa (Japanese), and Tian Hezi (Chinese). Through their insights, we hope to raise awareness of translators’ significant contribution to the literary world and encourage greater recognition and appreciation for their work.


Please note that these were written interviews and have been edited to include a variety of voices.





                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     



There are many analogies for translators. They’re sometimes compared to ninjas—invisible and unnoticed unless they make a mistake. What’s your take?


Kang Banghwa (Japanese):  If translators are ninjas, they need to be ones that possess shape-shifting ninjutsu. When I’m translating, I try my best to become as close to the author as possible, mentally and emotionally. I’ll read the author’s interviews from back when the book was published and explore their other works. It’s almost like wanting to become the author’s spiritual twin


I believe creativity is essential when translating fiction. For example, if there’s a pun in the original text, a direct translation will often fall flat. So, I try to find a similar joke or wordplay in the target language. I first make sure I fully understand the original text, then brainstorm ideas for equivalent expressions, write it out, and finally check if the translated version achieves a similar level of humor and if it’s consistent throughout the work.


I sense that translators' agency is gradually gaining more recognition, with readers starting to say things like, "If it's translated by this particular translator, I know I can trust it."


Joo Hasun (Spanish): ): I believe translation can be considered a form of creation. As many different translations can be created for a single original text as there are translators translating that text. In that way, a translator’s work is original and unique. It is writing that fully reflects the translator’s own vocabulary, style, interpretation, and thoughts. If we compare it to a road, translation is the work of constructing a new road that connects to an existing road.



So how would you describe the relationship between the author and the translator?


Joo Hasun (Spanish):  Continuing the road analogy, the materials and construction method are the choice of the builder, in this case, the translator. However, there is something that must be strictly adhered to: the new road that the translator creates should not disregard the existing road or take shortcuts, nor should it veer off in a completely different direction. In this sense, the author and the translator are travelling companions. The author goes one step ahead, and the translator follows. But they’re on different paths. The decisions they must make at each moment cannot be the same, and they have different literary, lexical, and stylistic resources at their disposal. But what is important is that they are in it together as companions walking in the same direction.


Han Yumi (French):  A translator must indeed know how to stay in the background. In that sense, they are like the author’s ghost or shadow. But at the same time, they need to be constantly present, even down to the smallest comma. In this sense, they’re more like the author’s guardian angel, accompanying them everywhere, perched on their shoulder, invisible to the reader’s eyes.


But is the translator really always invisible? They can be noticed in two ways. Through the creativity of their word choices, their phrasing, their sense of style, and their mastery of language registers (making people say, “It feels like it was always written in French!”). Or, they might stand out for the wrong reasons: awkward wording, clinging too closely to Korean expressions, weak logical connections or flat dialogue (and people will just say, “This is poorly translated.”).


Translating a literary text is like interpreting a musical score; you first need to decipher it note by note, analyze its structure, rhythm, and harmony . . . Then it’s up to us, translators, to perform it, using our instrument, as a piece intended for another language and culture. We need to play it, and play it well. But to extend the metaphor, how can we transcribe a “haegeum sanjo” without turning it into a “violin sonata”? And yet, we still have to “translate” it.


To me, a musician adapting a piece as faithfully as possible to their instrument mirrors what our fellow translators do with Korean literature across the world. And we must remember that every performer is unique—translation is like a concert, an act of “reinventing” the score.



Translators face countless decisions throughout the translation process, and their choices can significantly shape the way a story is told. 


Anton Hur (English):  A translator can make or break a book, and that doesn’t depend on being “invisible,” whatever that means. A translator can alter the narrative distance between the reader and the characters of a book, changing the intimacy level of a work completely. Good translators are deep readers who frequently discover things about the text that lay readers or critics often do not. Quite often I’ve come up with readings the author themselves were not aware of which they would then incorporate into subsequent editions of the source material. The work of a translator is extremely visible, it is literally every single word of the target language edition, and to pretend this isn’t the work of the translator is disingenuous and vile. Also, ninjas are evil and I am good.


Jan Dirks (German):  In my opinion, the basis of all sincere translation work is empathy, i.e., the ability to understand thoughts and feelings of other people, the spirit of other cultures and forms of expression in other languages. (This, by the way, is something AI will never be able to do.) In my view, the so-called “creativity of the translator” is only ever the translator’s tool for expressing the spirit of the original work. Creativity per se is not necessarily a desirable quality in translations. The undisputed fact that every perception is necessarily subjective and that every translation inevitably creates something new should not be used as an excuse to stop struggling with the original text. Insofar as translation is a matter of recreating something given, I do not regard it as an art, but as a craft, whereby linguistic artistry is, of course, an indispensable part of the translator’s tools of the trade.



What motivates you to translate? Do you have a mission as a translator? 


Jan Dirks (German): My ultimate mission as a literary translator is—Lo and behold!—the translation of literature. No more, no less. Of course, there may be some pleasant side effects: “mediation between cultures,” “international dissemination of good literature” or an occasional “moment of happiness or enlightenment” for the foreign reader. Who knows? But these are not the things I am dealing with when I do my work.


What motivates me in my work is the technical challenge and the intellectual pleasure of translating sentence after sentence from the beautiful Korean language into my beloved mother tongue.


Kang Banghwa (Japanese):  I believe all humans share common ground, regardless of their country, history, or social background. I want to be a translator who can evoke emotions in readers that they may not have been aware of due to their different upbringing. 


There are countless works in the world, each containing its own unique universe. I’m grateful to have been born into a world with literature, and I find joy in introducing people to the diverse worlds within these works.


Joo Hasun:  I translate because it’s fun. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit this, but I don’t have any grand motivation or aspirations. The job is incredibly challenging at times, but when I finish one project and get commissioned to translate another, I find myself excited all over again. There’s a part of me that gets thrilled imagining how to translate while reading a book. I think I continue to translate because of that excitement and thrill.


Jeong Insoon (Russian):  Thirty years ago, while studying abroad at Moscow University I lived in a dorm for four years, where someone often played loud music. It was annoying, but I could understand them to some extent. They just wanted to share the music they liked with others, nothing to be overly critical about. The reason I translate now is similar to the feelings of that student who played loud music: I want to share the emotions I feel while reading Korean literature with others.


Recently, I’ve gained another motivation. In Russia, most Korean literature enters through Western countries, translated first into English and then into Russian. This often leads to a loss of the original charm and meaning. I dream of introducing Korean authors directly to Russian readers before they are filtered through Western translations.


Anton Hur (English):  What mission? I don’t have a mission. I despise evangelical missionaries and I’m not an astronaut. Nothing motivates me. I am very lazy and unmotivated and I hate sitting down to work every day. Nothing I do has anything to do with motivation or being motivated. 



How do you define success as a translator? 


Joo Hasun (Spanish):  The number of works translated, sales, good reviews, awards—they are all important. But do they mean you’ve succeeded as a translator? I’m not so sure about that. What does success as a translator mean? I think that each and every book I translate is one of my small successes as a translator. The word “success” is too heavy, too macro, and I don’t really know what it means, but the small successes of each day certainly mean a lot to me. When the translation of a page I set out to finish today turned out relatively nice and clean. When I find the perfect expression in the target language for a sentence I’ve been struggling with for a long time. When I read a nice review of my translation on social media. And when the author DMs me to thank me for my translation. It’s these daily, unexpected, micro-successes that collectively enrich my life as a translator, and I wonder if that enrichment is what makes me successful as a translator.


Anton Hur (English): People are constantly telling me that I’m “successful,” which I find hilarious. If I wanted “success,” I would not be working in the book industry, certainly not with a law degree and my extremely commercial level of bilingualism. I don’t think about success. I’m busy. And lazy.


Kang Banghwa (Japanese):  I think I could say I’ve succeeded as a translator if my translation conveys the work well and elicits empathy from readers. Another thing is if I find myself still reflecting on past translations in the future. The success I envision is on the opposite end of completion. Just as authors grow and change repeatedly, I think translators, as expressive individuals, should grow and always try new things. My goal is to never stop growing.



So it’s not about the number of works you’ve published or how many copies you’ve sold —there’s something more special. 


Han Yumi (French):  That’s right. In the long run, my main goal is to carve out a place in the literary world, so that French readers can discover reliable critical editions of essential Korean literature. Sometimes, we dream that we are working for posterity. Let’s just say we are trying to find our place.


Tian Hezi (Chinese):  Being also a reader who loves Korean literature, I would like nothing more as a translator than to be able to convey to Chinese readers the same emotions I feel when I read Korean literature, the wonderful expressions, thought-provoking issues, and the diversity and boundlessness of its themes.



What is the most rewarding aspect of being a translator?


Han Yumi (French):  One of my most moving experiences, thanks to the unique privilege translators have of connecting with the audience, was when a spectator, deeply moved by a pansori performance I had subtitled, approached me afterward and simply said, “Thank you for existing.” Isn’t that the ultimate joy for a translator? It makes you want to say, “Mission accomplished.”



“So, we try, with humility but also with great tenacity, to always, no matter what, find a solution.




How do you typically choose the works you translate?


Jan Dirks (German):  Literature that I consider worth translating must fulfil two criteria above all: It must deal seriously and sincerely with the human soul, that is, with what people feel and think. And it must be convincing in its linguistic and aesthetic form. Everything else (exciting plot, social message, etc.) is rather secondary for me personally.


Han Yumi (French):  There’s always a bit of chance, encounters, and surprises involved. But the key factor is always our own “joy of reading,” which turns into the desire to “share that joy” with others, inviting readers into works they wouldn’t otherwise be able to experience.


Jeong Insoon (Russian):  The works I translate are sometimes determined by myself, and sometimes requested by publishers. When I decide on the book, the criteria are that 1) it should be either really fun or deeply resonate with me, 2) it should have universal themes and subjects that people around the world can relate to, and 3) it should have clean and concise writing with minimal superfluous elements.


Tian Hezi (Chinese):  I strive for clear and fluent language, so no matter how much I love a work, if it deviates significantly from my preferred style, I think I’ll have a hard time translating it. For instance, texts that are heavy on metaphors, modifiers, and long, convoluted sentences are still difficult for me.


Translating Han Kang’s works was honestly very challenging. Especially Greek Lessons, which is a novel that delves deeply into the protagonist’s inner world and contains many delicate sensory descriptions and abstract symbolism. When translating it, my primary concern was accurately conveying the overall atmosphere and ensuring that my understanding of the work was correct.


Kang Banghwa (Japanese):  I focus on introducing works that are compelling and persuasive. As a translator, it’s important to convince editors of a work’s merits, but it’s also crucial to be able to articulate clearly what makes the piece interesting.



Were there times when you faced a passage that felt almost untranslatable, leaving you feeling discouraged or defeated? Conversely, is there a translation that is particularly memorable for how successfully you dealt with the challenges?


Anton Hur (English):  No, I have never felt “defeated” by an “untranslatable” phrase or passage. I am, it should be obvious at this point in my career, very good at translating, it’s very easy for me. I feel defeated by things outside of translation. I feel defeated by bureaucracy. I feel defeated by falling levels of funding for translators. I feel defeated by Korean rightsholders who are hostile to translators for no good reason. I have had some awful, soul-crushing experiences as a translator that have nothing to do with translation itself and wanted many times to leave literary translation and go back to translating contracts and exhibition pamphlets and simultaneous interpreting. It’s only last year when things began to improve when my agent, Safae El-Ouahabi, agreed to take on my translation paperwork. If she ever fires me as a client, I will quit publishing. Becoming a literary translator is hard, but being a literary translator is even harder.


Jan Dirks (German):  First of all, it is never the case that something is completely translatable or completely untranslatable. With every sentence, you always choose aspects that you consider important. Sometimes it is about the purely factual content, sometimes it is about the tone, sometimes it is about a single word.


Often, the problems of translation are extremely specific. One particularly tricky passage I still remember was in the book Welcome to the Hyunam-dong Bookshop by Hwang Bo-reum. In that passage, two characters spend quite a while talking about certain nuances of Korean grammar. It was particularly about the word gidarida, which means ‘to wait.’The protagonist used the expression gidaryeojida (a passive construction) instead, which, in the given context, was incorrect. So I had to find an equivalent in German that had to do with ‘waiting’ and might also be used incorrectly in everyday German. 


Unfortunately—no, wait, fortunately! Ninjas have to remain invisible—almost nobody who reads the passage in German will realize how much the translator has racked his brains at this point and what an ingenious solution he has found . . .


Jeong Insoon (Russian):  I was translating writer Kim Do-yeon’s Riding Home with a Bull in which the protagonist happens to come across a temple called Mabsosa. Conveying the author’s intended name of the temple in Russian was quite challenging. Mabso-sa is a name humorously created by combining a pure Korean exclamation (which means “Oh my God!”) with the common Chinese character suffix “-sa,” which is typically used for temple names. It took almost a month of collaboration with my Russian co-translator to come up with a satisfying translation. In the end, we translated it as “бог мой храм.” The first word means “god,” the second means “my,” and the third means “temple,” or it could also mean “church.” So, “My God!” in Russian corresponds to the Korean exclamation “Mabsosa!”and the final word means “temple,” making it a very appropriate translation.



Each language has its unique way of expression. Were there any difficulties stemming from language structure or vocabulary?


Tian Hezi (Chinese):  When I had to translate the writings of the character Shim Sisun from the novel From Sisun by Chung Serang, I worked hard to capture the tone of a woman in her forties to fifties. Sisun is an artist and an intellectual, and is outgoing. Although I haven’t experienced being in my forties yet, I translated her writings in a formal literary style, limiting the use of colloquial filler words and particles like ‘了’ (le), ‘的’ (de), and ‘啊’ (a). 


On the other hand, Han Kang’s Greek Lessons contains many philosophical speculations and reflections on God that are Western in nature. I had to read philosophical books to imitate the vocabulary and grammar.


When I reflect on the age, personality, profession, and experiences of the characters in the book, I often feel like I’m “channeling” or “becoming possessed by” the character each time I translate.


Han Yumi (French):  There’s translation theory (with its grand universal principles), but there’s also the practical side (each text has its own unique challenges!). Every major work requires specific solutions, and some texts are particularly daunting. 


With pansori, you have to find French rhythms that capture the musicality of the text, cultural references that need to be accessible without notes (though you may include comments at the end of the performance), proverbs that don’t sound too cliché while not being literal translations (which would make them incomprehensible), onomatopoeias, dialect expressions (saturi), and then jokes and wordplay, which demand a lot of care and creativity. Success means making people cry where they’re supposed to cry and laugh where they’re supposed to laugh! In a way, the footnote that says “untranslatable wordplay” is like the translator’s badge of shame, the sign that says, “I failed.”


So, we try, with humility but also with great tenacity, to always, no matter what, find a solution. Sometimes the challenge starts right with the title, especially when it contains a double meaning: this was the case with Kim Hoon’s Hwajang, which we published with Picquier. Depending on how the word is written in Chinese characters, it can mean “cremation” or “makeup.” This double meaning is central to the story, so we chose the title En beauté, which ties together the French expressions “finir en beauté” (“to end on a high note,” for the cremation aspect) and “être en beauté” (“to look beautiful,” for cosmetics). 



Are there any Korean books not yet translated that you’d like to recommend to readers in your working language? 


Jeong Insoon (Russian):  I’d like to recommend The Gray Man by Kim Dong-sik. Kim’s works don’t attempt to deeply understand or analyze the inner workings of the characters. He simply narrates events in an easy and concise style and describes people’s reactions to these events. Through his works, I've had the opportunity to reflect on myself and human nature. 


Tian Hezi (Chinese):  I really like Goodbye, Drunkard by Kwon Yeo-sun. I think Kwon is one of the best novelists in Korea. Behind her slightly crazy and pathological characters, there is always a story that touches the reader’s heart. Personally, I think Kwon Yeo-sun is the novelist who best writes about the Korean concept of ‘jeong’ (deep affection or attachment).


Joo Hasun (Spanish):  The Last of Seven Years by Kim Yeonsu is a novel I love and wish more people would read. This book is particularly moving, with many moments that stir the heart. It tells the story of Baek Seok, a poet who is an essential figure in Korean poetry, and his life—both known and speculated—after he went to North Korea. It’s also a narrative about how an era impacts an individual, an artist—the freedom it grants or the pressure it exerts, and the scars it leaves behind. If twentieth-century Soviet composer Shostakovich lived in fear every night of being purged under Stalin’s regime, taking an ambiguous position between collaborator and dissident, Baek Seok existed in a similar way on the Korean Peninsula during the same century.


Kang Banghwa (Japanese):  I recommend Altar of the Moon by Sim Yunkyung. It’s an excellent work that revives the concept of ‘han’ in modern Korean literature by unraveling the tragedy that occurs when human desires reach their peak while depicting the love and hatred of a family. I’m confident it will help those interested in Korean content gain a fundamental understanding.


Jan Dirks (German): There are, of course, some authors whose works are close to my heart as a translator. Jung Young Moon, a master of absurd humor who, with his unmistakable style, uses deliberate linguistic hyper-precision to reveal the very openness and vagueness of language, Bae Suah, who, in an intuitive way, creates fascinating, dream-like atmospheres in her works.


Han Yumi (French): In France, there are some translations of key works from the 1920s–30s, but it’s rare to find those written by Korean women during this period of Japanese occupation. I’m particularly drawn to Kang Kyeong-ae (1906–1943), who died far too young but tackled themes of poverty under Japanese rule and the harsh realities faced by women with great intensity. (See Jihachon (Underground Village) and Sogeum (Salt), for example).


The key, though, is to stay committed over time—to keep cultivating the cultural landscape, planting seeds, and eventually reaping the fruits. This requires a consistent editorial strategy, and we’re deeply grateful to everyone who has supported and encouraged us over the years. 

After all, translation is never a solitary endeavor!



Any final words as we wrap up?


Anton Hur (English):  I’m astonished by emerging translators coming up to me and asking me what they should work on. If you have to ask someone that, you should not be a literary translator. You should be reading widely and constantly, you should be overflowing with books you want to work on and agonizing over which to choose. I am mystified by translators who say they want to be literary translators but do not read literature and need to be told what to be interested in. And whether a work is “worthy of wider international recognition” depends wholly on the alchemical interaction between an author and the translator who discovers them. No one is entitled to that, no writer is born deserving that.



                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     



Through our conversations with these seven accomplished translators, we’ve gained valuable insights into their craft and calling. We hope this interview provides readers around the globe with a deeper appreciation for the art of translation and the pivotal role translators play in bringing Korean literature to international audiences. As these translators continue to break down barriers, they pave the way for greater cultural understanding and literary exchange. Thank you, dear translators. 


Happy International Translation Day!



*The interviews were conducted in Korean, English, and French. 

Korean–English translation by Joheun Lee, Si-Hyun Kim, and Snigdha Gupta

English–Korean translation by Bo Kyong Kwak

French-English translation by Benoît Di Pascale

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    English

    Your Utopia

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  • School Nurse Ahn Eunyoung

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    Медсестра-заклинательница

    School Nurse Ahn Eunyoung

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  • If We Can’t Go at the Speed of Light

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    Si no podemos viajar a la velocidad de la luz

    If We Can’t Go at the Speed of Light

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  • The Story of Sukhyang

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    Histoire de Sukhyang Dame Vertueuse

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    Frau Yeoms kleiner Laden der großen Hoffnungen

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    千個の青

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    失语者

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