This chapter explores the relationship between the Four Quartets (1936–42) and Eliot’s roughly contemporaneous Greek-inspired verse plays, The Family Reunion (1939) and The Cocktail Party (1949). The author traces the development of Eliot’s programmatic use of increasingly distant reading, and of his implicit argument for not translating Greek. Eliot’s letters to Emily Hale reveal that Eliot deliberately thought about the use of Greek prototypes in the late 1930s, assessing both his own earlier effort with Aeschylus’s Agamemnon and other Greek-inspired plays. The author examines the theoretical questions that prompt and frame Eliot’s approach and that tie the plays together with his last great poetic work. She thus outlines major aspects of his late poetics which surprisingly depend on his treatment of Greek materials, showing how they bring to a close his first foray into such materials in the late 1910s/early 1920s. Finally, she suggests that Eliot’s own Herakles character in The Cocktail Party is indebted to H.D.’s portrayal of Freud in Tribute to Freud.

The idea of textual autonomy and singularity was secured not so much by the transparency of translation but by the opacity of what was essentially untranslatable. These untranslatables might include anything from ethnographic details of local cultures to “exotic” religious or literary practices, but the central point remained that their impermeability was a necessary guarantor of textual integrity and authenticity. Across literary and legal translations like Charles Wilkins’s The Bhăgvăt-Gēētā (1785) and The Hĕĕtōpādēs of Vĕĕshnŏŏ-Sărmā (1787), Charles Hamilton’s The Hedāya, or Guide (1791), and William Jones’s Al Shirājiyyah (1792), I argue, the untranslatable emerged as a political category, as an essential ingredient of the literary sovereign. This political character of the untranslatable was eventually ratified in the sensational impeachment trial of Hastings. Analyzing the speeches and other documents from the trial, I demonstrate how the untranslatable Indian culture became the central point of contention, and how it was the autonomy of this cultural core that determined the course of colonial governance.

Focusing on contemporary life writing of chronic pain, specifically lyric essays, this chapter explores the language of pain, refuting its untranslatability, and suggesting that creative forms and experimental expression are helping to develop language to meet experience. Recent illness narratives are building a common language with which to articulate their physical sensations, with Eula Biss’s ‘The Pain Scale’ (2005) encouraging a community of pain expression, and becoming a generative intertext. While pain sufferers reclaim their experiences, they are also reclaiming and renewing diagnostic vocabulary, for example through ‘subterfuge‘, which requires readers to better engage in attentive listening, with an ethical obligation not to overlook or mishear marginalized voices. Alongside Biss, this chapter explores the work of Amy Berkowitz, Molly McCully Brown, Anne Boyer, Sinéad Gleeson, Sonya Huber, and Lisa Olstein.

This essay introduces key issues relating to the translation of Sebald’s work into English and to his international reception in general. It shows how the reception of Sebald’s work in translation led to his canonization as “Holocaust author”, due in part to the sequence but also due to the tone of the translations. The essay discusses Sebald’s personal interest in translation practices and his heavy involvement in the English translations of his own work. It shows how Sebald might change the meaning in translated versions because of issues he identified with the German originals, and how his interventions and revisions impacted on his collaboration with the translators. In addition to the grammatical complexity of the German language, Sebald’s writing poses specific problems for the translator, such as the inclusion of very long sentences, regionalisms, unacknowledged citations, and a syntax and style partially modelled on nineteenth-century writers. The essay concludes with a discussion of untranslatability concerning Sebald’s use of troublesome vocabulary, such as the Nazi Jargon in Austerlitz or the offensive term ‘Neger’ (‘negro’) in The Emigrants.

In this chapter, which takes a psychoanalytical approach, the author references Jean-Paul Hiltenbrand’s work on untranslatability in situations of migration and bilingualism, and presents the case history of a thirteen-year-old adolescent who is the third daughter of a Korean mother and a French father. Silent and depressed, Ohé was brought for counselling by her mother, who learned French at university on arriving in Paris, where she settled as a young woman. When she became a mother, she chose to speak to her daughters only in French. The therapy sessions focus increasingly on the analyst’s intuition that something is lacking in the adolescent’s Mother tongue, leading to the hypothesis that the daughter’s difficulties might be related to the mother’s dilemma of untranslatability in certain crucial areas of experience. This is related to the adolescent’s passion for Japanese cartoons. To Ohé, it seems, Japanese has come to represent a kind of halfway house in which the maternal dimension can be found between the second Mother tongue and the first (albeit missing) Mother tongue.

Chapter 13 argues for the central importance of translation to philosophy, which is ‘born translated’ and constantly renews itself through translation. It considers leading philosophical accounts of translation, focusing on the question of untranslatability, before addressing complementary ways in which translation studies as a discipline has been exercised by philosophical questions, especially concerning translation equivalence and the ethical duty of the translator. The chapter examines some of the purposes met by translations of philosophical texts, and some of the practical issues involved in translating philosophical texts by canonical German philosophers into English.